Archive of Our Own

Edgar’s father dies when he’s 25. 

Edgar doesn’t tell him much about it. What of it he does tell Kevin is without much heart. The sort of tone someone takes when asking about the weather. Kevin is mending up one of their shirts, his feet propped up on the table, and Edgar is leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in hand when he goes -

“Oh,” And then, “I suppose my father is dead.”

Kevin startles, poking into his finger in the process, “Shit,” He says, under his breath. And then, louder, “Shit, Valden. Are you -”

“Oh I’m fine . It’s been a long time coming. He was already well into his years when he had me,” Edgar tells him, looking down at the letter with an almost dazed look about him, “Well. Hell. That would would be an understatement, really. This has been coming since before I came of age.” 

Kevin watches Edgar drift over to the seat next to him. When he sits, his whole body seems to go stiff. He places his head in his hands, and the letter in his hand crumples. 

“I will have to travel back to the family house soon, I suppose,” Edgar tells him, tone dripping with an all encompassing exhaustion, “Prepare arrangements for his funeral, among other things.”

Kevin gives a small, “Hm.” just to let Edgar know he’s still paying attention and what-not. Kevin’s never been good with - with all of this. With death. Normally he would fuss and poke and at least try to assure, but Edgar doesn’t seem particularly beat up over the fact his father is dead in so much as he is the fact he is left with the aftermath of it. Kevin doesn’t know how to comfort that. It almost feels heartless. 

“... You will be coming with me.” It’s a question, but Edgar says it like a statement. Kevin gives him an odd look from under his hat.

“Nah. Figured I’d’ve just kept the place up and running for us.”

Edgar’s nose wrinkles. He turns to look at Kevin directly, real tired-like, and Kevin is met with the immediate impression that he’s missing something, “No. You’re coming with me,” Edgar says, more firmly, more of a demand than an offer. And there’s always that itch, when Edgar gets like this. That irritation and annoyance that bubbles in Kevin’s gut. It’s not that Kevin particularly likes starting fights with Valden - But…

Kevin does have enough of himself to be the bigger person. And so he sighs, tilts his head side-ways, and says, “I ‘unno if that’s really a good idea, Valden,” With an awkward, uncomfortable sort of tone to him.

Edgar frowns at Kevin through his fingers.

“You know,” Kevin says, and looks away, “Don’t really think a group of those civilized pigs, ” The word is said through his teeth, and lingered on. Edgar seems unbothered, if not particularly amused, “Would take kindly to some dirt-grown yankee bothering their funeral.”

“... That's what you’re worried about?” Edgars eyebrows raise, seemingly to great bemusement, “Honestly. Nevermind that there will maybe be 6 people who show up, anyone that's actually going to bother to come to his funeral will likely keep their head too far up their own ass to notice you. They’re going to be too preoccupied hoping that he left them something in his will. And when they realize he has not, they will leave,” He snorts, but his amusement is cynical and irony-poisoned. But his gaze dulls, and his lips further thin. 

“... Is that something ‘yer worried about?” Kevin asks, momentarily confused. Edgar’s wealth - His family wealth, that is, was once something that loomed heavily over Kevin. Money never led to anything good, and the things men did to obtain it only led to the suffering of those who never wanted part of it.

It was, however, to his knowledge, that Edgar agreed with him. So maybe he is surprised that it's something Edgar is concerned about. He thought they lived a comfortable enough life. Well - He supposed the supplies he collected over the years didn’t come cheap, and no amount of irritation to the wealthy would change that Kevin had come back to the society that valued it. But Edgar turns and looks at him. And he has this tired, long suffering look that told him Edgar still probably agreed with him, “What? His will, or the men around him.”

Kevin isn’t sure himself. So he shrugs, his shoulders tight and fingers nervously rolling the needle he’d been holding between them. 

“I’m the heir to the Valden family fortune. Like it or not, I have to be concerned with it,” Kevin’s shoulders further tense, this pit in his stomach only consuming his feelings further. Edgar leans over to get into his space, “You’re being childish, Ayuso.”

... Kevin sighs and nods.

“I would like you there with me,” Edgar tells him, more blunt, “I don’t want to be left to deal with those civilized pigs alone.”

Kevin’s brows furrow, and Edgar nudges him.

//

And so. Kevin finds himself at the funeral with Edgar not even a week later.

The funeral is cold, and wet, and as Edgar had expected, small. There’s enough people there that Kevin can maybe count it on two hands. The sky is gray. Freezing rain pelts the ground, and fog steams around Kevin’s nose and mouth. 

It’s odd, seeing Edgar dressed to convention. He knows the kind of clothing the man generally prefers and it’s nothing like the clothing he’s wearing today, with his boring black suit and boring black slacks. His hair is done as neatly as he normally tends to - But the rain has long since soaked through it, leaving it lifeless and clumped. 

Kevin watches the funeral from a distance, taking sanctuary against one of the nearby catacombs. Though Edgar had assured him he’d go unnoticed closer, his own heart wouldn’t let him stand the ceremony, and so he’s left watching the group from a distance. Occasionally, Edgar will lift his gaze in Kevin’s direction, more concerned with his presence than the immediate death of his father. Kevin’s not sure how well that makes him feel. It’s one of those emotions that he’s never been good at handling, and so he takes the way his stomach turns and he tuck it away to avoid, lest he succumb to the temptation to run from it.

He didn’t know Valden’s dad well enough to be sad for his death - Never met the guy, and Edgar hadn’t wanted him to, and Edgar isn’t upset enough to be sad for him to be sad for Edgar. 

From here, he looks cold, and tired. And Kevin’s biggest concern is he’s gonna get sick, sitting out here like that. 

…

Kevin only approaches Edgar once the main party has left

He doesn’t leave with them, which doesn’t really surprise Kevin. Edgar had assured him on the ride here that there would be no reception. No one loved him well enough to stay.

“Could have asked for the umbrella,” Kevin says, as he settles in next to Edgar. Edgar rubs at his face with the end of his sleeve, like it's going to do any good in drying him off now. Kevin had managed to do better in keeping himself warm and dry, and so he’s sure the two of them look comical next to eachother. Kevin’s heart, just as it couldn’t handle the funeral, can’t handle letting him sit there like that. So he takes his scarf and wraps Edgar up in it proper like. Edgar wrinkles his nose and tries to pull away without thinking about it, but he must realize just how cold he is around the same time Kevin does, because the tension in his shoulders leaves.

“Goin’ to go the way of your father if you aren’t careful,” Kevin says, reaching up to push some of his soaked hair off his face. Edgar shoots him a dirty look for it, but Kevin’s hands are warmer than his cheeks, and so he lets Kevin’s touch linger without much protest.

“I’m fine ,” Edgar says, sharply, but in an almost comical contrast to his words, he closes his eyes and digs himself into the fabric. Kevin snorts, but it doesn’t earn him the dirty look that he expects, “We should head back to the estate,” He says, and takes a step closer to Kevin, “It has hot water, and I’m sure the food stayed well stocked, even with his passing” He mutters under his breath, ever concerned with the details that he can be, “... Perhaps it will be nice to have the chance to collect a few things from my old studio.”

Kevin feels his lips twitch upward as Edgar speaks, the man already seeming to come back to himself. He’d been awfully quiet in the lead-up to the funeral. And - Hell, Edgar is normally a quiet man, all caught up in his own misery. Hard for Kevin to read on the best of days, let alone in times like this.  

Kevin reaches out to touch his hand to Edgar’s shoulder. He smiles. 

…

Edgar hesitates, then. He looks down at the hand on his shoulder. There’s no irritation in his gaze. Nothing to tell Kevin directly that he wants him to shove off - And really, Edgar could be real blunt about that sort of thing. It’s not a trait Kevin hates by any stretch of the means. Maybe once upon a time he had, but that was then and this is now, and Kevin had softened to it. Though he had no words to describe why and no way to express it, he knew how to listen to his heart.

Edgar tenses, and quiets. 

Kevin doesn’t move his hand, because Edgar doesn’t ask him to. The hand opposite to his begins to drift to his shoulder. Kevin’s hands are gloved - They normally are, and he hadn’t gone through the same effort to fancy himself up for the funeral. But Edgar still holds his hand on top of Kevin’s. And he stands there, holding them both still.

“... Valden?” He asks, and his brows furrow, “You feelin’ alright?”

“I ah…” He hesitates, and he squeezes Kevin’s hand. Kevin lets him, resisting the temptation to squeeze back. Kevin can practically watch the way his expression rolls back into being dazed, and Edgar can get real skittish about his affection when he thinks too hard about it. Kevin lets him take what he wants, and maybe later when they were in a less public place Kevin would return the favor.

Edgar stares down at the ground for a few moments more.

And then, at last, he meets Kevin’s gaze again. His thumb traces over where Kevin’s knuckles are, and he says, “I would like to show you something. Before we head back.”

Kevin straightens up. There’s a difference in tone here, one so obvious even Kevin would struggle to miss it. Edgar isn’t a passive person, and even his uncertainty is often backed with this heavy confidence. But here, his voice softens, and his eyes narrow anywhere other than Kevin. Edgar grips his hand so hard it hurts and that only seems to add weight to what he wants to say. 

There’s a headstone, a fair distance away from his fathers burial site. One far larger than any single slab that had been etched into the ground. Edgar guides him there, hugging his arms close to his chest as he walks. From a distance, he thinks it’s strictly a monument. He’s never seen anything like it so close before, and so he misses the name immediately etched into the flat of it. But Edgar kneels in front of it, his finger tracing along the bottom. His brows furrow, frustration momentarily flashing across his face. 

And maybe it’s a little inappropriate - Kevin hasn’t caught quite on to what Edgar wants to show him yet, so he doesn’t know either way. But Kevin can’t help the way his lips twitch at the sight of Edgar like that. Maybe it’s humor, or maybe it’s fondness. Kevin’s worry aside, he looks something like a wet kitten, his clothing sticking to him like they are and hair clumped together without any of his characteristic elegance. Kevin does his best to shield him from any further rain, but the damage is done.

Edgar’s eyes widen when he finds what he’s looking for, and he says, “Here - It’s my uh - … Here,” He says, and waves Kevin down to look with him.

Kevin, after giving him a glance of his own, kneels down close with him. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that Edgar’s been looking over a list of names. Edgar is covering the name on the first date, and so Kevin can’t get a clear look at who it is. But he does get a look at the dates next to it. 

1857 - 1883  

Beneath it - And the one Edgar seems to pay more mind to, reads similarly.

Ella Valden    -     1879 - 1885

“This one is my mother,” He tells Kevin, of the one that his hand covers, “And… my sister,” He says, and his fingers trace against the name etched into the stone, “My fathers name will be etched into it, maybe here, next to my mother’s name. And then mine…” He trails off, and his fingers trace to match under his sister's name, “Here. I suppose. If I never marry. I probably won’t. By some chance I do, it would be here, instead. To start off a new branch of the family, you see.”

“Huh.” Kevin says, miffed. He blinks, “Hold on,” He says, because Edgar is talking too fast for him. And so, Kevin joins him. Kneels carefully in the mud with him, and closes the gap between them in doing so. Edgar spares him a glance, and moves his hand  to balance against him instead so he can get a better look. Kevin realizes what he’s looking at, then. And immediately, Kevin feels particularly dumb. They’re in a graveyard, afterall. So caught up in his own thoughts, he didn’t even try to intuit that. 

“Mother,” He repeats, placing his own finger next to her name, “And sister?” 

“Yeah,” Edgar says, and hugs his knees tight to his chest, “They both passed when I was younger.” His brows furrow. He side-eyes Kevin, and apparently grasps his expression before he does, “Oh, remove the look from your face. It was just-” He hesitates, and rethinks his words, “It was illness,” He tells him, plain and simple, “Consumption,” He says, in a tone lower than his first.

Ah. ‘Course.

“That could take anyone out,” Kevin tells him, and reaches up to rub his back. 

The rain continues to fall around them. 

Edgar’s face is beginning to flush from the cold, his cheeks and ears taking on a bright red color. He’s grabbing at his pant legs with a tight grip, and his body tremors. Kevin is unsure if it's from cold, or from whatever is running through his head at that moment. 

Kevin realizes that he’s never actually asked about Edgar’s family before. He’s heard him talk about his father, sure. But never anything more than the last letter the man had sent. Kevin assumed, just as he always had, and Edgar had never corrected him.

Then again. Edgar had never asked about his family. Kevin didn’t know what Edgar thought of it, and really, he’d always been a little grateful for that. He didn’t like talking about his parents. Liked thinking about them as much as Edgar seemed to think about his father. Not that he didn’t miss them. He did - He struggled to imagine anyone who wouldn’t miss their birth-home even a little. But in their greed, they’d left a hole in his heart that they could never replace, not with love not with apologies not and sure as hell not with any amount of property or blood money.

Suddenly feeling quite sick himself, Kevin grits his teeth and forces himself calm. It wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about his grief. And now was as good of time as any to unravel Edgar. He imagines no other reason for the man to bring him here.

“Do you… I ‘unno. Do you even got any other family?” Kevin asks him.

Edgar looks to Kevin. His lips thin into a line. and then, looks over his shoulder. Kevin follows his gaze, to the scattering of smaller stones behind them. Kevin processes what he could possibly be looking for around the same time he realizes that Edgar has turned his gaze back to him.

Kevin’s eyes widen, and he goes stiff. Edgar’s expression immediately turns to a sneer, “Why are you looking like that?” He asks, his voice gaining new life, “Don’t misread too much into the situation - No, I don’t have any other family. You’re so - …” Edgar’s shoulders stiffen, “Heartless.”

“ Heartless ?” Kevin says, his voice catching in his throat. 

“Heartless, asking a question like that now!” Edgar ducks his face away from him, hiding it. He looks angry again - But the kind of irritated that he usually is. So Kevin scoffs, reaching over to nudge him. 

“Bein’ all dramatic like that with me. Come on Valden, get up,” He scoffs, then clicks his tongue and begins to stand. Edgar’s hand comes to catch him quick. It would be funny, how quickly his expression could change, if they were anywhere else. But they are here. And so, he doesn’t laugh at how quickly his irritation is wiped from his face.

“We aren’t leaving yet,” Edgar tells him, firmly, and when Kevin says nothing follows it with, “I don’t. Want to go.”

Oh. And that just breaks Kevin’s heart a little.

“You’re gonna get ill if you stay out here,” Kevin points out, and nudging him with his foot, “Don’t really matter how rich you are. You’re gonna make yourself ill.”

“....” Edgar ducks his face into his hands. And, cause Valden has to dig his heels in the ground, he says, “I would like to stay a little longer. You’re free to go back to the estate if you wish. You know the way, I’m sure.” Edgar tells him again. Less firm this time. 

Kevin sighs, looking down at the man with a tight lipped frown. Too stubborn for his own good, and Kevin was too weak-hearted to fight it. He grinds his boot into the ground, trying to find it in him to insist that really, they needed to go back now. But this is a show of character he normally does not see from the man, and really, who was he to say not to follow his heart?

“I ain’t just gonna leave you out here alone,” Kevin says, leaning down to touch his hand to Edgar's head, “More stubborn than a bull. Where do you fit all of that.”

Edgar grits his teeth, “Don’t piss me off anymore then I already am. I can’t handle it right now.”

“...” 

And so, unsure of what else to do, Kevin joins him. 

And they sit in silence.

//

They don’t end up going back to his family’s home that night.

“If we leave now we can get back home before it’s too late tonight,” Edgar had told him, once his fingers had gone numb from the cold. And Kevin thinks that it might have been smarter to do - to go back to his family home. Would have gotten warmer, faster. But he more than anyone knows how it feels to just want the comfort of home, and so they make their way to the station in quiet, cold unease.

They’re quite a sight, wandering into the train station like they are. ‘Course, Edgar is already quite a sight wherever he is, and Kevin tends to stick out in a crowd himself. But Edgar’s expensive clothing is all covered in mud, and he looks like he was just drowned in the river Thames. 

Edgar orders a bottle of wine before they even get into their compartment. To his credit, he also pours Kevin the glass of wine when they sit down. Kevin hadn’t asked for one, and really, Edgar seems like he needs it quite a bit more than Kevin does, but it’s not like he’s going to decline his offer. The rich wine he tends to order hurts Kevin’s stomach when he drinks too much of it, but there ain’t no harm in sharing a drink with him when he needs it. 

Kevin takes a sip, and Edgar fills his own glass to the brim. In any other time and any other place, it might be funny. A man as small as he is tanking back a glass so large. Here, it just hurts his heart.

The train starts slowly, but it’s raining so heavily that it drowns out the whistle that generally alerts its start.

Kevin drinks maybe a third of his glass before he speaks. No point in beating around the bush, he figures. 

 “Y’know,” Nerves crawl under his skin, “Never said nothin’ about a sister.”

Edgar’s gaze whips over to him. He stares at Kevin with a grief struck look across his face, and it’s so startling that Kevin feels the need to clarify, “I mean. I figured you had a mother. Just figured - You know. It was like your father.”

Edgar sucks in a breath. He tries to place a stoic look back on his face, but Edgar’s never been good at hiding the emotions he has, and so it just comes across as uneasy, and heavy, “It just - It never came up,” Edgar says, and he finally averts his eyes back to the window. He’s quiet. The tension in his shoulders eventually begins to fail, and Kevin watches as the man moves to curl up against the wall of the train cart. Then, forcing his voice firm, Edgar says, “Not that it matters. She was a child when she died, just as I was when my mother died,” Kevin, unable to help himself, makes a sharp, irritated sound as Edgar dismisses that. His annoyance surprises Edgar, clearly, because he sits up a bit stiffer, and he looks to Kevin out of the corner of his eye. Before Kevin can speak, he hurries to correct his thoughts, “It’s been so long Ayuso. And I can’t go throughout life sulking about that fact.”

And Kevin feels the anger begin to boil up in his throat. That irritation that he can’t fathom controlling - That Edgar dismissing his feelings could hurt like it's Kevin’s own is a laughable thought, but it does. And the only thing that stops Kevin from succumbing to that irritation is the crack in Edgar’s voice.

Edgar is lying to him.

Kevin doesn’t call him on it. Kevin’s lied to him before. About his feelings. And his family, really. And Kevin’s about as subtle as a bull in a china shop when he’s all caught all in his emotions. Edgar has never had so much audacity to call him on his feelings, and if he had Kevin might have broken. He doesn’t know if he could handle Edgar breaking. Edgar is stronger than he is - More assured of his feelings, Kevin thinks. Kevin’s always respected that about him, even when he didn’t think he respected him at all. Kevin had always been, and still is, a coward. Ran from things with his tail tucked between his legs. 

In the end, he doesn’t have to prod Edgar for more. Kevin drinks. Edgar talks.

“It’s the first time I’ve been back to her grave since - Since - … For a while,” Edgar tells him, against his hand. His free hand traces the edge of the wine glass, “I’ve been to my mothers a few times when I was younger. My father used to bring my sister and I there, before she -” He waves off the rest of his statement, and then tosses back the entirety of his glass in a single go. Without much hesitation, he goes for another glass of wine. And - Hell. Kevin isn’t about to stop him. He’s had those nights. Maybe not recently - But certainly, he has, “... Suppose on the bright side, she never had to watch Ella die. I suppose no parent should have to witness the death of their child.”

… What a morbid thought.

…

…

And then, Kevin feels sick.

Edgar’s hands, still heavy with tremors, grip the stem of the wineglass. He says something else, but Kevin suddenly finds his thoughts being washed in with the rain. He is brought back to being a young twenty something himself, sat in front of a fire. It is cold, then. Raining like it is now, though the tribe has settled in for the winter, and so their home is warm. A couple sits across from them. When he was younger, he’d’ve thought they were on the older end of things, but he’d been naive then. Though older than him, they had a youth to them that Kevin only understands in hindsight. They are normally kind folk - Kinder than those he grew up with. Kind enough to take him in, kind enough to keep him safe.

And he’s met with a choice, then. 

Kevin had always been a coward, is the thing. Kevin is not one who can ignore the panging of his heart, and he cannot fight his shame. 

No parent should have to grieve the death of their daughter. It was better that way, he’d lied to himself. 

And then, of course, he’d lied to them.

Edgar has gone quiet, sitting across from him. Be it because he realized Kevin got lost in his own thoughts, or because he finished what he was saying, Kevin is unsure. But he does not look like he’s irritated, and Kevin thinks if he’d noticed that he’d be sayin’ something about it.

Kevin stares at Edgar. He’s never told him about Linny. He’s never told anyone about her. He doesn’t know if he’d ever truly find the word to do so. As far as Kevin is concerned, the fact that Edgar can speak on his sister so boldly leaves him a far braver man than he is.

Wordlessly, he reaches over to grab the wine bottle, and help himself to more with Edgar. Edgar holds his own glass for Kevin to fill, and Kevin does so without thinking about it.

“.... My mother wasn’t much older than myself when she died.” He lets Kevin pour him more wine, “I ah. Only just realized as I was sitting and staring at those horrid dates. I suppose I always assumed she was closer to my fathers age,” He tilts his head, “Afterall. Any adult seems old to a child, correct? That’s not an unreasonable assumption to make. Nevermind that she’d always come across as so -” He straightens out his shoulders, his hands swaying out in form, “Poise. Certain of herself.”

Kevin snorts, “Guess you take after her then?” He asks.

Edgar laughs, kicks his legs out of their crossed position, and his smile is so wide it shows teeth, “Oh no! I’m far too much a cunt for that.”

“ Edgar ,” Kevin hisses, the language too vulgar even for him. But all Edgar does is flop back into his seat.

“Oh, it’s true. You know how I am,” Edgar’s smile goes smug, and Kevin hides his flushed face. He expects Edgar to keep teasing - The man generally did, once he got his hands on that. Instead, just as all of his other talking points had, his glee melts into despair in a dime flip. His gaze meets Kevin’s properly, and his smile just drops, “I don’t know why they had to die. I don’t understand, Ayuso.”

Edgar’s hands shake. Kevin reaches out to slip the wineglass from his hand and, only once the glass is no longer close to crashing, brushes his thumb against Edgar’s knuckles, “I know,” He tells Edgar, simply, “It ain’t fair.”

Kevin expects him to keep talking. Hell, he expects Edgar to finally crack and cry. But he doesn’t. And so, they’re left in the same, cold silence they’d started in, Edgar shivering and looking through him from across the cart. 

Eventually, Kevin’s heart can’t handle it anymore, and so without saying a word he pulls himself to the otherside of the train cart so that he can take his place next to Edgar. He relaxes back into the seat, taking his hat to cover his eyes and kicking his legs up and onto the seat across from them. He hears Edgar make a small sound of protest, squirming to sit closer to the window. But he has alcohol in his system, and the privacy of their train cart must ease his paranoia, because he eventually feels Edgar rest his forehead against Kevin’s shoulder. There’s not much else to the gesture. He does not wrap himself around Kevin’s arm, does not clamber into Kevin’s lap to have the man hold him. He simply rests his forehead to his arm in silence, his own folded close to his chest.

Kevin allows his own hand to drift downward, rubbing comforting, careful circles into the other man's knee. 

Edgar’s breath tickles against his arm. Even with long sleeves, Kevin can feel the way it sinks through the fabric. It’s so much warmer than anything else about him. His hair - Still a bit wet from the rain, sticks to his face, and soaks into Kevin’s shirt. But Kevin wouldn’t dare to tell him off. Certainly not now.

Their train-ride drags on. Kevin assumes the man has fallen asleep, but he rarely does. And so, Kevin isn’t surprised when his own dozing is met with Edgar’s voice, some nebulous time after Kevin assumes their conversation has ended. 

“... I’ve dragged you all over creation, haven’t I?” Edgar asks, uncharacteristically small and slurred. He pulls himself upright long enough to rub his eyes. Then, to his surprise, apologizes , “I’m sorry. I know my family home was closer. It's an inconvenience to travel all the way back but I ah - …”
Kevin snorts. He shifts again to cover his face with his hat, as casually as he can manage right now, “Valden, I wanted to go near that place ‘bout as much as you wanted to,” He hears a bit of shuffling, as Edgar goes for another swing of wine. Kevin doesn’t move his hand, and Edgar doesn’t make him.

“I’ll have to go back eventually,” Edgar tells him, and he returns to resting his forehead against Kevin’s arm. Kevin’s lips, despite the emotion of it all, twitch up.

“Could always go back to wandering Europe with me,” Kevin suggests, nudging him. Edgar huffs in amusement. 

“ … Suppose we could. Yes. It would be nice to travel for pleasure again,” he swirls what remains of his wine, “I still have so much to paint. Too early to end it off now.”

“Yeah,” Kevin nudges him, and Edgar, for all his sorrow and anger, smiles against his glass, “Let's focus on gettin’ food in our stomachs tonight. You’re gonna have a bad hangover to sleep off tomorrow.”

//

Eventually ends up being roughly a month later. 

They travel back up to Edgar’s family home, Kevin with his shirt on his back and Edgar with bags at his side. Edgar spends his time shifting through his fathers old paperwork, and even more time emptying out his old art studio. Kevin isn’t entirely comfortable in the place (Too many halls and rooms, the air too dusty and dry) and so when he isn’t able to sit with Edgar he wanders around the property and tries his best to keep to himself. Edgar lets him hunt on the property, though Kevin thinks the idea of any man owning the land men can hunt on to be - Well. He just doesn’t think it’s right, is all.

But more often than that, he sits with Edgar. Edgar would never admit it, but Kevin knows the man enjoys having him around. Stops everyone working in the house from fussin’ over him when Kevin is around, or so he tells Kevin.

“They’re prob’ly just nervous. Y’know. You ain’t exactly the most predictable man in the world - ” Kevin tells him, and Edgar snorts. They’re in his studio - Big enough to be a house in its own right, but most of the space now unused.

“What? I figure I’m plenty predictable on matters of business,” Edgar says, and waves the dust away from his face. Kevin smiles at the sight, unable to help how charmed he is. But the topic matter feels like it should be more serious than that, and so Kevin hides it by tilting his head down from him.

“Figure they’re worried about their livelihood,” Kevin says, coughing, “Anyone would be worried ‘bout that. Concerned about their own families and lives. Y’know how it is.”

“I don’t see why they’d be. No point in changing anything,” Edgar rolls his eyes. He moves to turn around one of the larger canvases, bigger than he is twice over. Kevin stands, hurrying himself over to help steady the thing.

“Valden, they don’t know nothin’ ‘bout that,” Kevin tries to tell him, and finally sits upright, “‘Far as they’re concerned, you don’t live here most of the time. Not married, not plannin’ to be. Ain’t got no reason to keep the place runnin’ the same as usual.”

“I- I mean..” Edgar’s mind trips over itself as they turn the canvas. It’s not too horribly heavy by Kevin’s standards, but Edgar is a small thing, and he doesn’t need to go hurting himself for the sake of cleanup, “.... That’s something they’d be worried about?” 

Kevin tilts his head, but he can’t help the pang of irritation. How he ended up spending so much time with a man that needed this explained to him, he wasn’t sure. It felt like the universe's own personal joke on him.

“My father was not here most of the time,” Edgar explains, and dusts his hands off on his jeans, “It’s no different to that, is it not?” 

“Valden, they don’t -” Kevin begins to repeat, finally beginning to get irritated. At his tone, Edgar sneers at him, though upon realizing the expression he’s making, his face falls, and he turns his head away from Kevin in the closest thing to an apology he knows he’s going to get. Kevin grunts.

“No I… I understand,” He says, and it’s through his fingers. Then, more clearly, he repeats, “I understand, Aysuo. I was just telling you my thoughts on the matter. I’ll talk to the head of staff about it tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Whenever we next see him, I suppose. Set that straight so everyone can stop riling themselves up about it. Maybe then they will finally figure it fine to leave us alone.” And with that decided on, Edgar takes a step back, finally taking a look over the canvas that he’s put the work into turning right. 

He stops, then. His eyes widen, and his hand freezes against the bottom half of his face. He pales like he’s seen a ghost. When Kevin follows his eye, he realizes that he might as well have.

The painting is massive. The canvas on its own had been large, but looking at the way paint lays on cloth and the depth and the color Edgar had layered. Kevin has seen Edgar’s paintings before. Of course he has - Art is all Edgar seems to really know how to share with him. He generally keeps to paintings small enough to hold in one hand. But even those paintings were done with the sort of skill and depth that it could draw your eyes in. With a canvas so large, and details so fine, Kevin figures he might as well be able to step into this one. The fabric of the woman's dress looks as though it’s a moment from spilling from the painting. There’s a child behind her, hiding. Her hands creep up the dress, grabbing into the fabric of the sash. The woman's hand rests on the child's head, her free hand reaching to him.

They have no face, but Kevin feels as though he’s being gazed down upon. 

“I’d forgotten about this,” Edgar explains, simply. Hell - calmer than Kevin thinks he actually is. He feels Edgar’s hand reach for his arm. And then, upon finding it, follow it down. He grips at his wrist so tightly that it’s uncomfortable even through his leather gloves, and so Kevin glances back to him.

Of course, with a second glance the illusion begins to fall apart. It’s odd to think that there may have been a time when Edgar’s talent had been more rudimentary, but he supposed he was staring at proof of that. Not that it wasn’t impressive, of course. Nothing close to anything Kevin could do. But the lines aren’t as… confident, maybe. He doesn’t know. He’s not an artistic type, and he ain’t smart enough to find the words to say what about it is different. 

“I couldn’t remember their faces. I still don’t. I mean I -” Edgar tells him, staring up at the painting with a dazed expression. He raises his hand up to it, as though he wants to grab for it. Then, realizing what he is doing, he recoils in embarrassment, letting go of Kevin’s wrist in the process.

“Well,” Kevin says, unhelpful and clumsy as he always is, “That’s normal. It’s been so long, right?”

Edgar’s expression naps back into place. It’s truly bizarre, how quickly Edgar can pull that off. One second he looks so lost and unaware of himself - The next, he’s straightened himself back up. Most of the time, it’s so seamless and careful that not even Kevin notices it. This time, it fails him. He turns to give Kevin another look - the room sticky and stuffy and silent, and his composure falls apart all at once. 

“Aw, hell,” Kevin says, and he steps forward. Edgar steps back, wanting away from him, and it kind of hurts that he doesn’t want him. Kevin is a selfish man like that. Edgar turns away from him, holding a hand on his hip, the second at first covering his mouth. As though stopping himself from becoming ill. When he steadies himself, he slowly runs his hand back through his hair instead, getting his hair out of his eyes andd giving Kevin a look at the manic, sharp eyed look Edgar is attempting to hide from him.

 Kevin’s arms linger in the air, but eventually they fall, and he’s just left staring at Edgar struggle to keep composure. 

He wants to help him. There’s some raw, uncomfortable bruise Edgar presses with his grief. It’s so sudden, and makes the room so heavy that Kevin almost feels dizzy when he’s caught in it. That's - Ridiculous, of course. It’s Kevin getting too caught up in his own emotions again, let alone the emotions of someone else. 

Kevin feels helpless. 

“Valden…” He tries again, like a coax.

“Get out,” Edgar tells him, bluntly, but it’s on a tone so pointed it stops Kevin in his tracks. Kevin grimances, and waits, “Did you not hear me? I don’t want you in here right now. Get out .”

Kevin blows a sigh out through his teeth, “Okay,” He says, unable to help the way concern and anger mixes in his gut, “Alright.”

Its the only time he gets a good look at that canvas. The next time he sees it, it's a pile of ash in Edgar's studio.

//

Edgar spends the next three days storming through the manor, a cloud of irritation following him wherever he goes.

For that first night, his presence alone is suffocating, leaving whatever room he steps into heavy with tension. He’s left alone, like Kevin suspects he wants to be. The second and third days, he practically disappears, working his irritation off on his canvas god knows where. Scares the shit out of Kevin, truthfully, not having any idea of where he is. But he figures he isn’t going far, what with the responsibility he keeps to this place.

On the fourth, he wakes up to Edgar curled into a tight ball on the other side of the bed. He’s not sure why he’s so surprised by the sight. They normally share a bed, and it’s not like they’d been fighting or anything. He spends the morning laying with him, because keeping to himself over the last few days reminded Kevin how horrible being alone with his own thoughts was.

Kevin tries talking to him when’s a little more awake. 

“Feelin’ a little better?” Kevin tries to ask over breakfast. Edgar is picking at the dried paint on his fingers rather than his eggs, and Kevin thinks he at least looks approachable then. But in the erratic way he can be, he tenses up at Kevin’s words.

“I can’t think of anything to paint,” Edgar tells him, voice filled with so much anger and frustration that it leaves Kevin taken aback. Its not an answer and it doesn’t soothe Kevin’s concerns, and when he drags his hands into his hair, already messy and loose, he says, “I keep trying to go out to find something to paint, but I can only think of that damn painting.”

Kevin, slow in these things and. So he says, “I - I’m real sorry about that,”

Edgar gives him a disgusted, heavy look and throws his arms up at him. 

He doesn’t see him the rest of the day. 

On the fifth day, Kevin finds him pacing around the hallways.

He's muttering to himself, mostly. He's cleaned up better then he's been in days, in a pretty silk shirt with his hair done up properly, but it does little to hide the bags under his eyes and misery on his face. Kevin watches him while leaning against the doorway, and Edgar doesn't really seem to notice him. That is until Kevin reaches out to catch his arm. Edgar's gaze hardens on him, real nasty and mean like. But Kevin has seen Edgar much scarier then he is when he's cornered, and so he just meets his gaze with an equally exhausted look.

"Gonna put a hole in the floors like that," Kevin tells him, bemused, his touch lightening as soon as he's sure he's gotten Edgar's attention. Edgar stares stiffly down to where Kevin's hand touches his shoulder, momentarily looking downright insulted. But Kevin watches his gaze actively follow up to his arm. When Edgar's gaze meets his own, Kevin tilts his head, not bothering to hide his own concern. Edgar would just pick up on that anyway, so there really wasn't any point in keeping that subtle.

"I'm... fine," Edgar says, in a tone that very much does not feel fine, "I'm okay, Ayuso," He repeats, in a tone that doesn't feel okay. He brings his hand up to his mouth. At first Kevin thinks he's biting his nails in his nerves. But it becomes clear, quickly, that he's instead chewing at the skin of his own fingers. Kevin thinks immediately of a trapped fox, chewing at its own leg in an attempt to break itself loose from a trap. It's comically dramatic imagery, and more importantly, not a thought he particularly enjoys humoring. He's never seen the man so stressed before.

And Kevin knows. He knows he should beat his nerves and buckle down and just tell the man it's clear to anyone with eyes that he's not. But Kevin is first and foremost a coward, and so he lets Edgar lie to him.

By the end of the week, Kevin finds himself poking around places he otherwise should not.

Edgar’s childhood bedroom is big.

It’s got this old bed, big enough to fit three people, let alone two. The canopy is big, with curtains thick enough to block out the sun, and dusty enough to hurt his lungs. There's a fireplace - Kevin keeps it going, though it’s clear before they’d got here it hadn’t gotten much use out of it, and two sets of windows that Kevin cracks to try and make the place a little less musty despite the chill.

It feels lonely, being in here alone. Kevin is under the impression that once upon a time, Edgar had inflicted the place with the same mess he’d inflicted on their home and his studio, and when he’s sitting alone in the room he can kind of imagine a much younger Valden tottering around the room alone with paint staining his sleeves. But when that feeling passes, and he’s left sitting here without the man, he’s once again overcome with how lonely, and quiet this house feels.

Kevin does not sleep in the room - Not on purpose, anyway. But he does come in here when he - ... Well. He's not really sure what for. It makes him nostalgic. Not because he's ever had anything close to similar in his life, but for a time before he met Edgar. Most night, he'll lay back on the canopy bed and stare up at the curtains. It reminds him of when he traveled more - Even on cold nights, Kevin had preferred to sleep under the stars. But there were some nights, when the snow got so cold or ground so wet that Kevin had to set up a tent. And it was never quite so comfortable as the bed was. He'd almost come to prefer the ground. The luxury of a bed was better shared with others. But so was the comfort of a tent.

Kevin sleeps alone again. He thinks of that cold winter when he met her.

//

Inevitably, he ends up at that graveyard. 

He doesn't plan to go there, is the thing. He wakes up one morning again, and he's hit with the fact he has to go there. It's an inevitability, he thinks, that he'd come back. It's an inevitability that he'd do so alone. He tries to make a day of it, shopping around town with the spare change in his pocket. But his final destination was always going to be that graveyard.

Kevin kneels down in front of his sisters gravestone first. It seems fair.

“Hey little miss,” He rubs the back of his head, trying to shake off the immediate embarrassment and discomfort of what he’s doing. It’s fine, he tells himself. It’s just him and the dead, “Sorry. You’re probably more confused than I am about all this, huh? I ah… Let me introduce myself. Didn’t do that last time I was here. Been so caught up with your brother and all of that.” Kevin, then, takes his hat off and holds it to his chest, “Names Kevin. Ayuso, these days. I’m your brothers… We’re ah. We’re close, I guess,” Kevin snorts, and moves to put his hat right back where it belongs, “Probably too close these days. Don’t let him know that. He’s a real skittish sort, that brother of yours. Don’t think he thinks he likes anyone. Hey,” He points at the headstone, “Don’t let him fool you. He’s real good at that. Had me for a while, but I figured him out.”

Rubbing his face, Kevin hesitates, “Y’know. Thinkin’ about it, I don’t think I’ve ever really had a place like this before. ‘Course - I’ve seen graves, and the tribe had their own burial rites. But Linny - She’s a bit of a special case…” He trails off. This time, the silence doesn’t last as long. He pats at his sides and hips, as though he’s only just remembering what he brought.

“Actually. I uh - Y’know. I know we don’t know eachother that well, but I - ” He shifts, his thumb brushing against his lasso, “I brought someone for you to meet. She wasn’t with me last time. Tryin’ not to bring her everywhere anymore. See - She’s gotten a little worse for wear over the years. I don’t have the supplies to keep her fixed up properly, so I gotta be real careful with her. But I figured you’d like to meet a new friend. Guess she was a bit older than you but…” He leans down to lay the lasso against the tombstone, his fingers twitching in discomfort as he lets her go. Even leaving her alone in his home made him anxious. If their house burned - If he lost her. He doesn’t know what he’d do with himself.

But he tries not to think about that these days. Did no one any good to live a life sick with paranoia, and so he did what he could as best he could. And right now, he knows he won’t be going far from her, ‘Fraid I can’t let you keep her. Not too long. But I love her. And he seems to really love you. So…” Kevin trails off, and, after making sure his lasso was settled properly on the gravestone, takes a seat as well. 

“Hope you don’t mind if I sit and eat lunch with you. Traveled quite a bit to meet up with you, y’know. Would be a waste of a trip if I left now.”

The lunch in question isn’t anything special. He’d made something for himself - and then enough for Edgar as well, because, “He doesn’t eat if I don’t make anythin’ for him, y’know? Don’t think he means it, ‘course. But he gets so caught up his art. It’s nice to leave him something,” Kevin takes a bite of his sandwich, and chuckles, “Eases my concern more than it does his, I’m sure. He’s a real stubborn sort. Think a tornado could run through this place and he would try n’ paint it. ‘Course, I don’t mind. You should see how much he lights up when he starts talkin’ about all’ve what he’s workin’ on. Becomes a completely different person, swear my life on it.”

Again, he laughs, propping his chin on his hand, “Wonder if he was as much of a pain in your ass as he is mine. But he was real young then. Children are a pain in everyone's rear. Not that they ain’t allowed to be or nothin’ but its a lil’different. Yeah.”

He eats his food mostly in silence. When he gets near the end, he rips off some of it and places it carefully next to her tomb - Enough that is proper to share with the dead, he supposed. Not that he’s ever been too good a judge of that. When his food is finished, and the cover of lunch is over, he knows that he should get up and leave. He doesn’t know how long is generally considered proper to spend with the dead - Not that he’s ever really care much about what polite society thought at all.

But - There’s a wrongness to that thought. About cutting their meeting so short. He fusses with his hat, and sits back in the sun, “It’s been cold recently. Sure you wouldn’t mind if I sit with you a bit longer, right?”

There’s no real answer, of course. But it brings Kevin a sense of calm to ask, and when he closes his eyes, he feels welcomed.

So he stays. He lays back in the grass and, using his arm as a pillow, closes his eyes.

…

“He makes me real happy, y’know?” 

Kevin is still there. An hour later, and then another. Most of that is spent in silence, dozing in the grass like he used to when he was traveling. It’s well past sun high when he begins to speak again, and when he does he doesn’t bother sitting up right. He turns his head to the grave instead. He tries to smile, but he finds it comes out insincere, and do he does not, “Sorry. Bet you don’t need to be hearing about things like that. But I don’t really got anyone else to talk to about these things. I guess there’s Patty but she -” He snorts, “Nah. She’s sweet, of course, but she doesn’t need to hear about all’a my thoughts. So, you’re stuck with me for a bit here.”

He hums. 

“Don’t really know what he thinks about me. He doen’t really like talkin’ ‘bout these things. I’m not too worried about it or nothin’. Used to think I pissed him off, more then anything else. Hell - When I tell you how much he pissed me off back in the day,” Kevin huffs, then, almost immediately after, he finds himself smiling, “Do you actually wanna know how we met? The - just the boldness that boy has? I was sitting in a bar - Somewhere in London, I think. Was so long ago, could have been any one of those big cities. And he came up to me and he told me that he needed to go to China, and I was going to be the one to do it,” He raises a hand, “And I asked him who the hell he thought he was, goin’ around ordering people around. ‘Course, men are alway like that. Thinkin’ they can just go orderin’ other men around.” He sighs, and it’s not with any amount of fondness. As far as he’s concerned, Edgar’s arrogance will get him hurt one day, “Lookin’ back, I don’t think he meant any harm by it. You know how he is. N’ I Think I threw him off a bit there. But I’ll always remember the way he looked approachin’ me like he did.”

And then, there is fondness. Easy on the heart, and easier on the mind. It’s easy for Kevin to put on his rose tinted glasses. He knows, of course, how irritated the man had made him at first. He knows, “‘Course I took him to China. Needed the money real bad, and I was heading off in that direction myself. Wasn’t happy to do it, but I figured sometimes you gotta deal with some real unpleasant people in life. And he… I guess we just stuck together. Like that.” 

Kevin folds his arms over his chest. His brows furrow, and his lips thin. And maybe that should be the end of it. But with Kevin, it never really is, and so as he aways does, he ends up hesitating with his thoughts.

“You don’t need me sitting here blabbering all about my thoughts,” Kevin says, and laughs all nervous like, “Look. I uh - I just came here to tell you...”

He falls silent.

“Oh - shoot. Actually. Hold on there!” Kevin curses under his breath, “I did bring something for ya. You were a kid, right? Kids like toys,” He digs through his pockets, “Made it myself when I was real young. Don’t feel too bad about keepin’ it. I can make myself another one. Got too much time on my hand these days. Wish I could say your brother was keepin’ me busy, but he’s kinda a real boring man,” Kevin’s lips twitch up, “I’m sure you know that, ‘course. Here.”

He places the cactus doll against the grave, and after a moment or so, reaches back down to adjust it properly, “Don’t let the storm take it from you. I know these things don’t stay at graves too long, but it’s nice to cherish while you have it.”

He smiles, pleased with himself, and steps back to get a proper look at it. 

“Course, I didn’t forget about you ma’am,” He tilts his hat down on his head, “I’m sure you understand. Flowers aren’t in season right now, or else I would have brought you the prettiest of the bunch. Next time I visit I’ll bring a big ol’ bunch to make up for it, right?”

And then, hand propped on his hips, he stands in silence, smiling down at the two gravestones in front of him. He takes the time to collect himself and his thoughts. Finally comfortable with the feeling of finality, he says. 

“Listen. I ah - I’m sure it’s not what you’d want for him. Think it’s hardly what he wants for himself. But I came here ‘cause I just wanted to let you know that I’ll keep him okay. Yeah?” As Kevin speaks, he finds his confidence slowly dying. But he smiles nonetheless, presses his first to his heart, “He’s taken real good care of your memory. Kept it real close to his heart. So it’s my turn to take care of him, yeah? Thank you for givin’ me the chance to meet him. You can have him back one day, but I’m not gonna let it be soon. So can you let him go," Kevin asks. His voice weakens, if only somewhat, "Please."

The only answer he gets is the cold rustling of tree branches.

// 

By the time he gets back, it is well into the night. 

He's surprised to find Edgar asleep in bed, by then. He'd taken to spending most nights in his studio, falling asleep in front of that portrait of his. But he finds him there, tucked away under his covers. Kevin takes a moment to push the hair aside from his face, getting a good look at him before he joins him. He gets away with that much, though by the time he is kicking his shoes off, he hears Edgar shuffle under the covers. He reaches out to touch a hand to Kevin’s hip, following up his side and hips. They feel heavy. Like he’s struggling to keep his arm upright in his grogginess. 

“Cold,” He complains, immediately, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Guess I am a lil’ bit, yeah,” He says, lips twitching up.

Edgar’s fingers continue to trace against his skin, and Kevin sits in the feeling of that. And for a period of time, it is just the silence of their room and the feeling of Edgar’s fingertips. He can ignore the stirring in his mind and exhaustion heavy on his head just long enough to focus on the invitation being offered to him.

And Kevin takes the offer. Of course he does. He strips off his outermost layer and leans down so that he can press a kiss to the top of the other man’s head. Edgar's hands coming to instead rest on Kevin’s shoulders. Kevin’s already soft heart weakens, and so he leans down to press another to his cheek, and then his lips. 

Edgar’s nose wrinkles at the attention. Kevin takes it as a sign of it being too much too fast. Not really in the mood to do much else himself, he leans down to rest his head against Edgar’s chest. He tries to be mindful of how much more he weighs then the other man - He always does, of course. But above all else, Kevin is a selfish man, and tonight he wants the assurance of his presence. He presses his ear to Edgar’s chest and, once comfortable, finds solace in the company of his heartbeat and his breathing.

“... Where’d you wander off to?” Edgar asks, voice muffled against Kevin’s hair. And Kevin - He has never been someone good at lying. It makes him too nervous. He is, if nothing else, a man who stands by his words and ideas.

But the idea of telling Edgar feels more wrong than it does right. Not because he believes he’s done anything particularly wrong, but because doing so would feel like giving up a secret that is not his to share. He figures some things were best kept close to the heart. 

“Went to go meet with someone. Lil’ further up north,” Kevin says, and Edgar’s arms settle around him, “Nothin’ you need to worry about or anything.”

“Mm…” Edgar nods, but he’s already beginning to drift off. Staring into the dark, Kevin realizes it's the closest thing to a normal interaction he's had with the man in who knows how long.

And so, comfortable, Kevin sleeps. And with Edgar, he sleeps well.

//

The next day, Edgar has a startlingly normal morning with him.

He gets himself cleaned up with Kevin, slipping wordlessly into the shower with him and running the water hot as the gas heater can handle. Kevin isn't used to running showers with hot water, and it's kind of uncomfortable, but relieved as he is to just have his company again - Kevin lets him have the shower as hot as he damn well pleases. They don't try and talk over the water or nothing. Instead, Edgar spends most of it with his head against Kevin's back, and Kevin takes the time to wash him up properly.

"Feelin' better?" Kevin

"I suppose," Edgar says. He takes a towel to his hair, "I feel like I haven't slept in a month."

Kevin almost points out the fact that he really hasn't been sleeping well over the last month or so - Even before his fit, he'd been working himself up into discontent fits. But this is the best mood Edgar has woken up in a while, and so Kevin decides not to risk pushing any of those buttons for him. Not that he particularly likes walking on eggshells around the man, but he doesn't have much luck in his life to begin with. Instead, he throws Edgar one of his shirts with a snort, and begins buttoning up his own.

"... I want to have lunch with you," Edgar says, eventually, "Today, I mean. It feels as though I haven't seen you for some time now."

Kevin turns to look at him. His brows furrow, "Well," Kevin says, "You've been busy," He points out. Not in a tone that carries any amount of offense, or even anger. He's confused, more then anything. Edgar's jaw holds tension, and he looks uncomfortable. Kevin knows he's a man who's never been good at asking these things directly, but it still hurts him to see him so discontent. So he hurries to remedy the situation as best he can, "It's fine, Valden. You don't gotta ask that."

"I wasn't asking," Edgar says, and his shoulders begin to carry the same tension, "We are having lunch together."

Kevin turns to face him. Edgar's face holds a bright red color that, an other time, Kevin would think is a pretty shade on him. It's the look he gets when he's embarrassed, or when Kevin has spent a little too long teasing him. Kevin decides not to call him on it, "Get yourself prettied up. We can eat outside together."

//

Despite asking (Sorry - Telling him) that they'd be having lunch together, Edgar doesn't end up eating.

He watches Kevin eat instead. He already does not have a lot of food on his plate to begin with, having gone for a small bowl of dried fruits. But he's never actually liked meat, and Kevin knows the man can be something of a picky eater as it stood. So he doesn't press him on it. He lets Edgar stare at him as long as he'd like, grateful just to have his company again.

"Aysuo, why haven't you gone back to the states yet?" Edgar asks him, looking down at his food rather than at him, "You have family back home, do you not?" Kevin chokes on his own food, caught a little off guard. Edgar sighs, and reaches to grab his napkin and hand it Kevin's way without so much as a glance in his direction, "There's no need for dramatics. It's a simple question. I've known you for so long, and the most I've gotten out of you is that you have to have some," Edgar looks off to his family home, chin propped on his palm.

"I guess. I have family," Kevin says, not quite sure of that himself.

Edgar is silent. He tilts his head back and forth, as though he needs to consider what he's about to say. Kevin thinks that he knows where Edgar is going with it before Edgar does, but that makes his question hurt no less when he asks it, "Would you be happier with them?"

"No," Kevin says, bluntly. Edgar startles, seemingly caught off guard by the sudden shift in Kevin's tone. Kevin takes the time he needs to wipe his face up properly, "I'm 'fraid I wouldn't be," Edgar looks at him like this is an interrogation of some kind. His expression falls somewhat, when it clicks in his head that Kevin is being honest with him, "You can say it, if you want. I know it ain't right. But I - ..." Kevin leans back in his chair, trying to get himself comfortable again.

"But you miss it," Edgar says.

"So badly it hurts," Kevin places a hand over his heart, then grabs at the fabric of his shirt until his fist is properly balled up, "But what I miss ain't there anymore, and I ain't welcome back to my family. I ah -" Kevin shifts, uncomfortable, "I hurt them. I ran, when I shouldn't have. Y'know?" He thinks of the tribes and how he'd left him, and the atrocities he'd left them to deal with. Kevin was one man, and he could not stop a war. But he could have stayed. He could have helped them, like they'd helped him.

He couldn't do that now. He's sure he couldn't find them if he tried.

That's clearly not what Edgar wants to hear. His lips thin, and his fingers dig into his shirt.

"I see," Is all he says, and he sounds... well. His voice breaks, "Thank you, for humoring my thoughts."

"... 'Course." Kevin says.

And Kevin does not know why, but as Edgar slips away to disappear into his studio, he recognizes this uncomfortable, building pressure in his head. 

//

That night, there's a fire in Edgar's studio.

//

He almost misses it. The fire. It happens early enough in the day that the warm glow of it is masked by the atmospheric red that haunts the world at that hour. But the stacks of smoke are not normal, nor is the thick, chemical smell that accompanies them. Edgar is sitting on his knees in front of the fire, only a few feet away from it. He's watching it with an uncomfortable stare, though when he finally notices Kevin in the doorway, he does not hide that his attention turns to him instead.

"It's okay," Edgar tells him, "It's contained. The fire, I mean. You can get that look off your face," but his lips twitch up, like he finds some humor in his worry, "Not that the look on your face isn't hilarious, of course."

"What are you doing," Kevin asks him, his throat dry.

Edgar tells him, "I finished that painting. That's all."

Kevin takes a tense step forward. Then another. Until he's moving without thinking much about it. It's not that he doesn't believe Edgar - But he has a tendency to get in over his head. He grabs him by the shoulders. Then, realizing he needs more then a nudge, pulls him back by the arms.

"Did you have to do it in here?" Kevin asks, and his voice cracks. He pulls him back again, with a stronger nudge then before.

"Well. I was hoping that it would take the studio with it."

"Why?" Kevin asks, his voice pitching up so suddenly it breaks it.

"Well. I can't exactly burn the main home, now can I? There are people that live there."

Kevin gives a passive look at the still burning canvas scraps. And in that moment, he realizes that he will not understand. He will not understand what Edgar was thinking. There is no world that this would make sense to him. So he takes to looking Edgar over instead. He grabs him by the arms and forces the man towards him. His hands are red, and the cuffs of his sleeves are burnt. There's soot under his nails, and the tips are red. But he is otherwise unharmed.

His touch goes from his hands, to his arms, to his face.

“... You feel better then? After all this?” Kevin asks.

Edgar stares at him with big, glossy eyes, his entire body seeming to shake and tremor under the weight of what he’s feeling. With every inhale his shoulders rise and stiffen, and every exhale comes out in horrible chunks of breath, catching on sobs he’s trying his damnest to hold back. He nods. At first slow, and then fast, like that will kill the strength of his grief. Kevin tilts his head, at first uncomfortable. But he follows it up with, “Y’didn’t hurt nothing doing this? Your hands?” With the same, apprehensive approach. Again, more immediately, Edgar nods, and Kevin says, “That's what's important then, right? We can… y’know. We fix everything else.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Edgar asks, voice weakening in his throat. 

“Well,” Kevin rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah. Nothin’ else to it.”

With his words, Kevin watches the seams of Edgar’s self control rip apart.

Tears spill down his cheeks, and his fists stiffly ball at his sides. He attempts to stumble back, but Kevin follows him, unwilling to let him collapse so close to the fire. He doesn’t fight Kevin grabbing him and he doesn’t fight the way he hiccups and sobs. Kevin guides the two of them to the ground, hands steady on Edgar’s shoulders and arms. And it’s only when he knows Edgar is secured that Kevin says, “Come ‘ere.”

Kevin wraps Edgar up in his arms, and Edgar folds against him. The scream Edgar gives carries years worth of agony and grief.

“I don’t want to do this anymore , ” Edgar says, his fingers gripping so hard into the fabric of Kevin’s shirt that it chokes him. And then he sobs more, and heavier, and his voice warbles, “I want to see my mother , not some - Some - cheap faceless imitation.”

And what could Kevin tell him? That he shouldn’t want that? What Kevin would give to see the dead again. 

"I shouldn't have been the one to experience this -"

"I know."

"My mother should have this luxury,"

"I know."

"My sister should have- have gotten to go through all the horseshit courting - I should have - Have -” Edgar stutters over himself. 

"I know," Kevin says, a third time, pulling back to hold his face, "But they ain’t here Valden. There's no point in hurtin’ their memory by hurtin’ yourself,” Edgar’s expression snaps back into place, wide eyed and distressed. Tension rises in his shoulder as a new wave of emotion passes over him, though it’s not that raw, unfiltered grief he’s been giving Kevin.

“I’m going to be ill,” Edgar says, with an almost comical amount of clarity to him. And Kevin does laugh. He doesn’t mean to - It’s the absurdity of it all, really. Edgar smacks his chest - Which, fair enough, then scrambles off of him to vomit in one of his paint buckets. The whole thing, in Kevins defense, is surreal.

In the end, Kevin ends up making food for Edgar. 

It’s not just that - He puts out the fire with the ease he would a campfire, using the painting tarps to kill it, then kneels next to Edgar to further check over him. Then he holds him again, because he’s not hurt, but there’s less dramatics to it all this time. It’s just him and Edgar, and the quiet between them.

In the end, he does make food for him. Now more than ever, he’s aware of how unfamiliar the food in Edgar’s kitchen is to him. In America, he knows how to make something real nice - That sits well in the stomach. He’s been in Europe for years now, but when he’s confronted with a pantry somehow both as well stocked and alien as the one he is here, he’s met with the near all consuming reminder that this is not his home. 

In the end, He sits him down on the kitchen floor and cooks him some eggs. Nothing complicated, nor heavy on his stomach. Just eggs. It’s all he can think to do to keep him close and keep him well.

“This is annoying,” Edgar says, cleaning his face of his tears again. His throat is still rough, and his eyes puffy, but he’s not the inconsolable mess Kevin had found him in. And really, that’s all he thinks he can ask of the man right now, “And embarrassing. I feel like a child who was never taught to present themselves properly.”

Kevin chuckles, weak in its own right, and folds himself against Edgar’s side. Edgar’s nose wrinkles, and he seems to try to focus his attention on his plate, but he adjusts for his presence. 

"When you're real young and you lose someone so suddenly like that, it takes something from you,” Kevin reaches out to brush Edgar’s hair back behind his ear, his knuckles momentarily lingering against his cheekbone. Too tired to pretend to be embarrassed or flustered, Edgar lets it happen without a fight, “Think you’ll be fine. Just caught up to you tonight, right?” Kevin says, assuring himself more than he is Edgar.

Edgar huffs at him. He slams his fork onto his plate with more force then needed, but gives up the act just as quickly as he tries it, “... I truly hate this place. I don’t have a single good memory here. Not from my studio, not from my father, and certainly not from my teacher. I can hardly remember my sister, let alone my mother. There’s too many noisy, needless people. I don’t want to deal with anything my father left behind, I want to be left alone to paint,” Edgar says, more coherent than his babblings from earlier had been. Despite the new stream of tears that comes with it, he ignores it to focus on getting food in his stomach.

Kevin waits until he finishes half his plate. Which doesn’t take long, for Edgar. Once he realizes he needs the food in his stomach, he eats so fast Kevin figures he might make himself sick.

“Well we don’t gotta stay, y’know.”

Edgar snorts, like Kevin’s told him a cruel joke, “My position in life doesn't give me the leeway of running, Kevin. For better or worse, what my father left me must be fixed."

Kevin snorts, "I'll convince you. Watch me."

//

Just as Edgar had won dragging Kevin to his fathers funeral, Kevin wins dragging Edgar home.

He is a convincing, stubborn man when he wants to be, and once Edgar's gotten a bit more sleep in him and his heads a little more cleared, he sees it Kevin's way. It's better for him, Kevin reasons. He wasn't getting work done here already. The place was driving him mad.

And so Edgar returns home with him, a little worse for ware and with more paper then he can carry alone. It sits on their table, partially touched. Edgar's begun to sort through it, but he assures Kevin that there is no rush.

Life goes on.

Edgar sits on the porch step and watches Kevin struggle to pull out a weed. He has a blanket around his shoulders, and a cup of tea in his hands. Kevin had convinced him to sit outside - The air would be good with him, Kevin’d reasoned, and he could paint out here all he wanted. But he’s spent most of his time watching Kevin rip apart the half frozen garden, exhausted, but otherwise passive.

“It is a shame,” Edgar tells him, like a musing, “It’s a rare privilege for people to have images of their loved ones. I do wish I could have captured what I saw in them on a canvas. But the thought of trying makes me ill,” Edgar rubs his forehead, like he’s trying to ward off the oncoming migraine.

“Can always get someone else to paint it,” Kevin points out, to Edgar’s dilemma, “I know you got kinda a stick up your ass about it, but I’m sure you could find someone whos art your impressed enough by to - Er. Capture. What you saw in them.”

“It wouldn’t be the same.”

“It won’t be,” Kevin agrees, “But it would be somethin’ for your heart.”

Edgar sighs, “I’ll think about it,” He says, and Kevin smiles. He knows the tone Edgar takes when Kevin’s beginning to crack through that thick skull of his, and that bemused, exhausted expression is doing a lot of work to hide the fact Edgar has lost. Edgar stirs his tea absentmindedly, “You’re going to leave me too, eventually.”

Kevin turns to look at him. He doesn’t take it quite so seriously at first - Not as a moment of vulnerability, but as provocation. Here he is, thinking that the man is insulting him like he does. His own irritation shows on his face, “I ain’t goin’ anywhere anytime soon. As long as you need me here, I’ll be here. Cowboys honor,” He says, and puffs up his chest a bit. Edgar rolls his eyes at the man's dramatics, and looks down at his cup.

“You know that's not what I mean.”

Kevin's shoulders fall. 

“... I know,” Kevin says. He stands up straight and he dusts his hands off, “Ol’ Kevins still got a few years left on him, don’t you worry. You’re not gonna be left out here alone that soon.”

 “Never call yourself that again,” Edgar says, simple and quick.

Kevin chuckles. He walks over to sit down next to Edgar, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and letting his lips sit there. Edgar pulls the cup up to his mouth and blows on it

“It’s going to rain soon,” Edgar points out, “You shouldn’t get caught working in it.”

“Need to get as much done until then,” Kevin tells him. But Edgar stares at him with this long exhaustive look, and when he gives him these kind of looks Kevin knows he’s not going to win whatever fight Edgar is about to pick. So he just sighs, leans back against the stairs, and accepts that fact that his work is done for the day.

Edgar offers his drink out to Kevin, and Kevin takes it, grateful for the warmth against his otherwise chilled fingertips. He holds it against his hands and mutters a small thanks. Edgar tightens the blanket around himself, sparing a small glance to the sketch pad he’d otherwise abandoned. 

“It’s kind of a selfish thought, aint it?” Kevin asks, “Thinkin’ I’d chose to leave you all alone like that.”

Edgar shoulders tense, and for a moment the way he’s looking at his sketchbook feels like purposeful avoidance. But that passes. His shoulders slouch, and he sighs deep from his chest, like he has to compose himself for what he’s about to say. Kevin thinks, first, that it’s awfully silly, considering he’s the one that brought the thought up. Then, he’s scolding himself. Afterall. Was he really any better?

“You don’t have the most reliable track record,” Edgar tells him, turning to glare at him. Just as his avoidance was, that irritation is short lived, as Edgar’s expression drops back into belated sorrow, “No, that’s… Ayuso I -” Edgar tilts his head, back and forth. He doesn’t meet Kevin’s gaze. But Edgar is a bolder man then Kevin, and so he says, “I already did not think I would outlive my father. I don’t know if I could handle outliving you as well.”

“And ‘yer gonna make me live without you!?” Kevin barks, morbid laughter escaping him. Edgars eyes widen, and he looks at Kevin like Kevin has struck him. And as his immediate laughter wears off, Kevin looks back, “Did you really never consider that…?”

Edgar shakes his head. Then he hesitates, and nods, and stills.

"How you're feeling right now," Kevin says, and he holds onto Edgars shoulders, "That's how I'd feel if somethin’ happened to you.”

Edgar sucks in a breath. "I-" he stumbles, "I know that," he says, so simply, "I mean I know that. You don't have to say foolish things to me.”

“See, you’re sayin’ all that but I don’t believe you,” Kevin says, and props his chin on his hand, “Figure you’re sitting here thinkin’ all about yourself.”

“No. I know how you feel . You’re so obvious with your emotion, it’s hard not to know that much,” Edgar’s fingers curl against the blanket, “I just figured you’d be fine. I wouldn’t leave you with nothing. And you’re - I mean you’re good with people, Kevin. You’d find someone else.” Kevin, again, laughs. Edgar’s face flushes in embarrassment, “ What ?” He asks, hissing through his teeth.

“I’m really not,” Kevin says, “I don’t think I am. All that good with people or nothin’. I just figure they ain’t all that bad. And I don’t think you’re as bad with them as you think,” Kevin nudges Edgar, “I think you aren’t tryin’ hard enough.”

That gets Edgar all huffy. 

“That's such an obnoxious thing to say,” Edgar says, and glares at the ground. But he shifts himself closer to Kevin, letting Kevin share more directly with his space. Kevin reaches over to shake a hand through his hair, and after getting the annoyed sound he was aiming for, rest his hand instead against his side. 

“‘Sides. Neither of us really get to choose when we go. So there’s no point in thinkin’ too hard on it.”

Edgar stills against his arm. He glances at Kevin. Then looks back to the ground.

“Well,” Edgar says, slowly, “That's not entirely true, now is it?”

Kevin stays silent. He lets his fingers weave into Edgar’s beltloops, feeling that shock of a protective urge that comes over him in times like these. It was hard, with Edgar. Even once he worked past the fact he was a man, Kevin didn’t know how to protect people from themselves.

“I told you. I didn’t think I would outlive my father. I’m not so dull as to think that would come from anyone's hands but my own,” Edgar looks down to where Kevin’s grip had tightened. Despite the fact he speaks so calmly, he seems to take pity on Kevin’s nerves, because his own hand comes to rest on top of Kevin’s own, “... Have you never considered it?” Kevin shakes his head, faster than perhaps Edgar is prepared for. Edgar snorts, “I suppose you’ve always been hopeful at heart. I still don’t entirely know what the point of this all is.”

Kevin leans in to press a kiss to Edgar’s cheek, and then, after he hears Edgar huff at the affection, his lips. Edgar grunts against his lips, startled, but when it registers what Kevin is doing he leans up and into it. It’s chaste, all things considered, but their lips linger together, and Kevin chases after him the first time he tries to pull for air. Edgar sighs against his lips, and lets his free hand come to cup Kevin’s face.

“Ayuso,” He says, eventually, “We can’t stay like this forever.”

“I don’t know how to help you,” Kevin says, honest to how his heart hurts, “I don’t know what else to do for you.”

Edgar frowns. Kevin feels it against his skin. He gives Kevin a faster, softer kiss, and pulls Kevin down to rest against his chest. The position is awkward and uncomfortable, but Kevin takes the chance to wrap himself up tight against Edgar.

“You don’t have to do anything more than you already have,” Edgar answers him, eventually. But Kevin doesn’t think he can take that as an answer. Not worked up as he is now.

"Ain't that purpose enough? Getting to live life with me? Wouldn’t your sis want that for you? Wouldn’t you have wanted that for her, if she lived? Someone real nice to take care of her?” Kevin, realizing that he’s been struck with the kind of courage that normally escapes him does what he does best. He straightens up, and speaks from the heart, “I know I’m not the best sort of man. I ain’t that smart and I ain’t too clever, and I can be stubborn as a bull when I wanna be. Hell - I ah. I know my heart gets in the way of my head. Never been too good at that.”

Kevin lifts himself up enough that he can meet Edgar’s gaze, but he does not dare to leave his space. At first, it is the kind of neutral he takes when he’s trying to keep his composure. But in truth, Edgar wears his heart on his sleeve more then Kevin does, and so inevitably Edgar’s expression breaks. It goes from that perplexed, hollow look to - Well. Downright amused . He hides his smile behind his hand and turns his head away from him, but Kevin catches the fact that he continues to watch him out of the corner of his eye. Taking that as good of a sign as any, he smiles in return, but he feels how strained and heavy it is on his face. 

“I don’t think I’ll always be able to keep you safe. But I - I’ll try. I’ll always try. Ain’t that enough?”

… Wouldn’t Linny have wanted that for him..?

In a perfect world, Edgar would have his sister, and he would have his friend. And maybe they’d’ve been something more, or maybe he’d always be just that. Maybe Kevin never would have met the man, and maybe if he had he'd have never known his importance to him. But they’d’ve been happier, Kevin thinks. 

But the world is rarely perfect. Even Kevin, naive and hopeful as he is, knows that. And so, he rarely finds himself humoring the thought of having her. He knows in his heart that the world would never be so kind, and never be so keen on happy endings. And so he humors sacrifice. In a world so cruel and unkind, he knows it’s more realistic then a happy ending.

He thinks if he could have died for her, if he could have taken her place, he would have wanted her to live a real happy life. One with her family. And times would be difficult, but they’d have at least have had eachother. She’d get to find a lover, and she’d get to have a home. Kevin would have been happy with that. He would have died, if it meant she got to keep that.

But he didn’t. And she did. 

And so, Edgar didn’t have his family, and Kevin didn’t have his home. Kevin would never have the home he yearned for, really. But he could have - Could give himself this, couldn’t he. He could protect this. And he wasn’t so dull that he thinks he could replace Edgar’s family, and he isn’t so shallow that he’d forget the home he’d refused himself. But he thinks he could be happy here. He could make them both real happy, if he wanted to. If he tried to.

Kevin realizes his throat has gone dry, and his eyes are wet, and that he has not told Edgar any of the thoughts that crossed his head. Maybe those ones weren’t for him to know. Maybe it was for the better to keep them close to the heart. But Edgar watches him, the hand closest to him reaching to rest against his hip, until he notices the fact that Kevin is —

“Why are you crying?” Edgar asks him, his face contorting. At first he smiles, like he’s taken some amount of confused delight in Kevin’s expression. Then, when Kevin doesn’t immediately assure him or explain himself, his expression drops and with a stiffer, more hurried tone he asks, “Aysuo, why are you crying?”

Stubborn man he is, and somewhat embarrassed he cracked under his own emotions, Kevin turns his head away from him. But Edgar leans in closer, snorting at him, “You can’t just hide from me, asshole. I already saw that you were crying,” When Kevin once again doesn’t reply, Edgar reaches over to grab hold of his face. Kevin expects him to just turn his head, but instead Edgar makes an irritated sound and pinches his cheek. Kevin, thrown off, laughs, and shoves Edgar away with his shoulder. He hides his face behind his hand. Edgar continues to try for him another few seconds, before eventually he realizes how ridiculous the whole thing is and gives up.

And so they sit in silence, looking out over their yard.