Work Text:
“God damn it.”
It was a rainy day, the droplets staining the pavement along the streets at a rapid pace. Originally, Sandy wasn’t going to sleep over. But thanks to the threats of a major storm coming along, Tara advised that he’d stay at Edgar’s house for the night. Sandy didn’t mind, after all, it was just going to be him and his boyfriend at his house.
Alone, since Edgar’s mom was working a night shift at the hospital. Meaning she wouldn’t be home until morning.
Edgar tore out a sheet of paper from his sketchbook, crumbling it up into a ball and tossing it into the basket filled with other crumbled-up sketches. “This is…what…the seventh mess up?” He groaned in frustration as he ran his hand through his black hair.
Sandy was sitting up on his mattress, his eyes half-lidded. He wore some clothes Edgar let him borrow since he didn’t bring any spares: an oversized slipknot t-shirt, covering half of his arms, and some baggy sweatpants. It wasn’t exactly his style, but at least he was comfortable. Edgar wore a long-sleeved shirt themed after Bad Randoms (his most favorite band ever he said), and some skull-themed pajama pants that seemed baggier the more Sandy looked.
Edgar had spent the last half hour trying to sketch Sandy, only to mumble curses and tear out the page before restarting. Edgar wanted the drawing to be perfect, an absolute copy of the boy sitting on his mattress. It was his first genuine time sketching Sandy, with his full knowledge. The other times he sketched the sleepy boy was at work, when he’d slack off drawing in his sketchbook instead of restocking the merchandise at the gift shop. Colette has stolen his sketchbook a couple of times, teasing him over the many drawings of Sandy he had scattered across the white page.
He never drew Sandy whenever it was just the two of them alone. Half the time Edgar doesn’t even realize what he’s drawing before a detailed sketch of the purple-haired boy stares back at him. Each sketch of Sandy was perfect, but the moment Sandy asked to be drawn himself, it was like all of Edgar’s creativity suddenly packed a suitcase and hauled its way out of his skills.
It wasn’t perfect enough.
Eventually, Edgar completely gave up, tossing his still-open sketchbook onto his cluttered desk before standing up and tossing himself onto his mattress. The landing caused Sandy to bounce a bit, waking him up a little more as his eyes roamed down to view Edgar. “...Weren’t you drawing me?”
“I give up,” Edgar said, his voice muffled as his face was stuffed into the thick black blanket scattered across his mattress.
Sandy tilted his head to the side, his expression tired but confused. He knew Edgar could get demotivated, but he’d seen his drawings before (at least without him entirely knowing). Sandy has seen a good amount of Edgar’s sketches, each of his features drawn out like Edgar memorized them with ease. Sandy didn’t understand what was so different about now, Edgar struggling to draw him as if it was his first time even picking up a pencil.
Edgar rolled onto his back, his hand stretching out to reach for the remote to his TV. He turned it on, scrolling through the many channels before settling on a random live concert that played faintly in the background. Edgar sat up on his bed, his back settling against the black headboard. Sandy shuffled over so he’d lay next to Edgar, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him.
“Sorry that you’re stuck with me tonight,” Edgar spoke up after a bit of awkward silence, not turning to face Sandy, “There’s nothing much to do here at my place. Would’ve liked to take you out, but I know your sister would flame my ass if I took us somewhere while ‘risking our lives’ like she said.”
“No– It’s…fine, don’t worry,” Sandy replied, his lips curling into a slight smile as he looked at Edgar. He didn’t mind sitting around and doing nothing; in fact, he preferred this more than going out and having to force himself to stay awake the entire time. Edgar awkwardly laughed, his eyes glued to the TV, silence filling the space between the two boys again.
It stayed like that for a few minutes, but in Edgar’s point of view, it felt like hours. He was too focused on the concert playing on the TV before it suddenly hit him. “Shit–” He muttered, climbing out of his bed.
Sandy’s eyes were half-lidded again, already on the verge of dozing off like usual before Edgar suddenly got up. He turned to face his attention to the dark-haired boy, tilting his head. “What’s wrong?”
“I…Uh, forgot to apply my gel. Hold on, I’ll be quick–” Edgar said with a clear awkward tone in his voice, scrambling his way out of his bedroom, leaving Sandy lying in his bed alone.
Sandy shrugged his shoulders, sitting up a bit to stretch his body a little. It was normal for Edgar to forget simple things, he couldn’t blame him too much.
Sandy knew Edgar was going to take a bit, knowing that he was gonna talk to himself in the mirror or something while rubbing his testosterone gel across himself. He stood up, stretching out his legs a bit before they settled on the dark wood floor.
Edgar didn’t mind if Sandy snooped around, he didn’t exactly hide anything from Sandy. It was common for Edgar to walk in on Sandy skimming through the piles of sketchbooks on his desk, gently complimenting each sketch of him that he found. Edgar was always embarrassed about it, telling Sandy to shut up light-heartedly, his face heating up while Sandy smiled about it.
The only issue was Edgar did hide something from Sandy.
Edgar walked down the hallway, stepped into the bathroom, and shut the door behind. He didn’t think too much about Sandy being alone in his room, all he wanted to do was get the gel on quickly and get back inside before he grabbed ahold of another sketchbook like last time.
Meanwhile, Sandy was already doing that, walking over to Edgar’s messy desk, and staring down at the sketchbooks piled up on it. He didn’t hesitate to grab one of them, his fingers brushing along the hardcover of it. It was covered with stickers, some Draco and Bad Randoms themed, and other stickers that were themed off of some rock and heavy metal bands he didn’t recognize.
He didn’t listen to any of the music Edgar liked, preferring to stay with his calmer and in his opinion better music.
He opened up the sketchbook, flipping through the pages. Most of the drawings were broody, edgy, angsty, and overall depressing. There wasn’t much color either, colored in and shaded with only graphite. The rare sites of color on his pages were messy little words like ‘COLETTE WAS HERE!’ scribbled in with a glittery blue gel pen.
Sandy found himself smiling a bit without realizing the more he skimmed through, seeing the usual doodles of him scribbled out roughly yet still good. He enjoyed the little sketches, Sandy just wished he did it more often around him.
And then he flipped the page again, his smile faltering for a moment.
It was a drawing of a person sprawled across the floor. Judging from the hair, Sandy easily recognized it as Edgar. For once, there was color, but not in the greatest way. Red pencil scribbled underneath the figure, and across his arms and thighs, mimicking cuts. A bloody razor was drawn next to his head, making Sandy’s chest hurt just by the sight, drawn or not. He dropped the sketchbook onto his desk almost immediately.
For once, he was fully awake. He knew damn well he was not supposed to find that drawing.
Sandy was silent, still staring down at the art. Maybe it was supposed to be symbolic in a way, or something he did out of boredom. But curiosity was starting to gnaw at him, no way he could do that… right? Sandy thought to himself as his hands found Edgar’s desk again, pushing away some of the sketchbooks to clear space.
Sandy didn’t like invading Edgar’s privacy, but he couldn’t stop himself for some reason. He was worried, just by the sight of that gruesome drawing he found. The rain continued to pour, the droplets hitting the window repetitively, but the sound of it didn’t snap Sandy back into reality.
There was nothing he found on his desk, only sketchbooks, some pencils and markers lying around, some food wrappers, and a half-filled bottle of water that had yet to be discarded.
So Sandy pulled open the drawer of his desk.
He rummaged through it, ignoring the guilt in his chest building up for invading his privacy like this. But he had to make sure he was wrong about this. There were some plain white sheets of paper stacked up, but Sandy pushed them aside.
And there he saw it.
A razor.
Sandy hesitantly picked it up, careful not to cut his fingers. Edgar never told him about this, he never spoke a single word about it. Sandy thought he told him everything. The thunder outside didn’t help his mood the more he tried to process it.
He was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t realize the door opened.
“Going through my sketchbooks again?” Edgar’s voice cut in, unaware of Sandy’s now concerned state. Edgar tilted his head out of confusion, shutting the door behind him as he stared at the back of Sandy’s head. “Uh… Are you okay?”
Sandy couldn’t figure out what to say, a lump forming in his throat as he hesitantly turned, razor in hand. Edgar’s breath instantly hitched as his eyes lowered down to Sandy’s hand.
Shit, he thought.
His eyes darted over to one of the open sketchbooks on the desk, the dark page visible to him, almost like a taunt. He drew that in the middle of a depressive episode, relapsing the same day. Sure, he knew Sandy was going to go through his sketchbook; he always did. But Edgar had completely forgotten about that specific drawing, casually leaving the sketchbook on his desk along with the rest of them.
“...Sandy–”
“What is this?” Sandy spoke up the second Edgar popped open his mouth, the tiredness long gone in his voice, which was instead filled with concern and worry.
“Give it.” Edgar held his arm out, his hand open.
“Not until you tell me why the hell you have a razor stuffed into your fucking drawer.”
Edgar winced at the curse. Things weren’t going to be good if Sandy started to curse out loud. Sandy wasn’t the kind of person who’d casually say “fuck” or “shit”, unless in situations like this. Edgar shook his head, trying to take the razor out of his hand but Sandy only pulled his hand away.
“You don’t have to worry about it,” Edgar said simply, still trying to reach for the blade that was pressed between Sandy’s fingers.
“You’re already worrying me enough! I thought… you told me everything. How long has this been going on?” Sandy immediately asked, trying to pull some answers out of his boyfriend.
“Stop asking so many questions and give it to me–!” Edgar’s voice cracked a bit, catching Sandy off guard for a moment, giving Edgar the chance to grab the blade out of his boyfriend’s hands. He accidentally knocked it out of his hands, the razor falling and hitting the wood floor with a clink.
Edgar was about to reach down and grab it before Sandy moved first, grabbing ahold of his arms and pulling Edgar close. “Let go of me!” He instantly yelled out, fighting against Sandy’s grasp. He knew he wasn’t weak, but Edgar never expected him to use his strength on him. The major downfall was he was built like a stickman compared to his boyfriend.
“Not until you tell me why there was a blade hidden in your drawer.”
“That’s none of your business, Sandy!”
“It is my business, I thought we told each other everything–”
“I just didn’t want to worry you!” Edgar let out, lowering his head, and avoiding eye contact with Sandy. He hated when situations like these happened, it was something he hated thinking about. No one knew about this habit, not even his mom, so Sandy being the first person to figure it out was killing him inside, badly.
Sandy’s eyes softened, drifting down to Edgar’s covered arms. It was starting to make a bit more sense. The long clothing, him flinching whenever he slightly brushed his hand along his arm or leg by mistake, being so closed about himself.
“...You should’ve told me,” Sandy muttered, rolling up one of Edgar’s sleeves slowly. By this point, he didn’t care, letting the fabric move up, wincing slightly at the occasional sharp pain spreading across his wrist.
His arm was the definition of fucked: Scars lingering across his pale skin, small and large. Some were old, but others were fresh, which broke Sandy’s heart just by the sight. He should’ve seen the signs, he should’ve said something sooner.
Edgar let out a shaky sigh, lowering his head again, unable to face his boyfriend. “Y-You probably think I’m stupid for this, don’t you…” He muttered, his voice filled with genuine disappointment and sadness. Sandy’s eyes flickered back up to Edgar, right when he finished his sentence.
Without another word, Sandy moved forward, wrapping his arms around Edgar and hugging him tightly. Edgar’s breath hitched for a moment, staring down at Sandy with confusion. “What are you–”
“You’re far some stupid…” Sandy muttered, before letting out a shaky sigh, “I just wish you told me, Edgar… We tell each other everything, don’t we? So why didn’t you–”
“I didn’t want to make you worry, it’s none of your business anyway. It’s something between me and myself, nobody else.”
“I’m worried about you anyways,” Sandy muttered, pulling back enough to look at Edgar. He didn’t respond, nor was he returning the hug, his eyes continued to linger around the floor. Sandy sighed, his eyes lowering back down to his uncovered arm.
Seeing each scar hurt Sandy, badly. He didn’t even know how long Edgar had been struggling with this habit, and he hated himself for not being able to help him. Sandy didn’t even know what to do in this situation.
With a small breath, he pulled him back in, hugging him again.
“Even with scars, I love you regardless,” Sandy muttered.
Edgar’s head raised slightly, staring at Sandy for a moment. He was caught a bit off guard, not expecting that out of him.
But it was enough for him to start crying.
Edgar barely cried, especially in front of others. He hated the idea of showing vulnerability in front of people, it made him feel weak and stupid. But with Sandy holding onto him like this, saying something so simple, he broke just like that.
“I-I’m sorry–” Edgar tried to speak through his tears, which ran down his face quickly. But Sandy cut him off, “Don’t– Don’t apologize, please…It’s okay, I’m here…”
Edgar squeezed his eyes shut, hugging his boyfriend tightly. He felt like if he let go of Sandy, he’d go away, something he didn’t want to happen. He held on as much as he could, trying to control his tears at the same time despite it being difficult. Sandy didn’t cry, he just held onto Edgar as much as he could, comforting him gently as he sobbed.
The rain continued to pour outside, the occasional thunder crackling in the distance. But even despite the loud noises, neither of them could focus on it.
The razor was discarded into the trash can, Sandy asked Edgar to try and stay clean. Edgar knew it was going to be difficult, it was a habit of his that was extremely difficult to overcome. But he promised nonetheless.
For once, Sandy wasn’t the first one to fall asleep. Edgar was curled up next to him, already asleep thanks to the exhaustion of what happened. Sandy had his arm around him, keeping him close, watching him with gentle eyes. The only noise that played was the repetitive tapping of the rain and the hum of a random channel playing on the TV (Sandy changed it after Edgar fell asleep).
All Sandy could do was think to himself while his boyfriend lay asleep next to him. He still felt bad, both for going through his desk as well as being unable to help him when he was struggling. Maybe if he noticed earlier, he could’ve probably stopped him from hurting himself any further.
The guilt kept him awake, even he was surprised that he was still awake for this long.
Sandy took a glance down at Edgar, who was silent. He looked peaceful for once, and it brought Sandy a sense of relief, knowing he was fine for now.
He didn’t bother turning off the lights, shutting his own eyes and hoping to drift off to sleep.