Work Text:
The moonlight sneaked through the curtains of the room, being the only sustain of light for the painter's eye, who soon found himself searching for a candle. His unfinished piece was standing in front of him, waiting for the brush to stroke the canvas once again. But Edgar wasn't sure of how to continue. The canvas showed a lonely woman in a humble dress sitting on the riverbank, washing her hair while she looked at the stars. But... something was missing. It was perfect, yes, but it needed something else. Once he found a candle and light it, the painter looked at it more closely. The woman's melancholy were depictured carefully, while her delicate features complemented her simple clothing, which was quite pleasing to the eye. Still... it wasn't perfect enough.
— Maybe it's the water. — Edgar murmured for himself, soon finding that he was wrong. The river was in fact really detailed; you could see how he tried to make it look like the water moved, and this time he was succesfull.
"The sky. That's it." His eyes lit up, finding the answer that he was desperately looking for. He got up from the stool where he was sitting on, walking a few steps to reach the curtains and opening them, looking at the bright, full moon. The sky was pretty clear, just like the one he wanted to portray on his new painting. He was able to see the stars perfectly, and... a face that he knew too well. When he looked down the window, he found something interesting at the manor's garden. Certain man was sitting on the grass, holding his shovel while he looked at the clear night sky. "Kreiss... what is he doing this late?"
The painter looked at the tiny clock he had on his desk. It was the two of the morning; it wasn't a big problem for him, since he had the bad habit of staying up too late, painting and painting until he felt his eyes burning. He didn't had insomnia, but... he was too coward to close his eyes and face the nightmares that awaited him on his sleep. So, Edgar prefered to avoid sleeping early most of the time. Even tho, he didn't know that the gravekeeper had that habit too... or maybe he just wants some quiet. Bad for him, because certain painter was about to ruin it.
Edgar went down the stairs of the second floor of the manor, where his room located. He was able to see candle light sneaking under some survivor's doors. Guess he wasn't the only one with sleeping troubles; but between all of them, he was the only one who wanted some inspiration... and distract himself.
Most of the time, the painter avoided the company from almost all of the survivors. He just opened his heart to a few people he trusted; Plinius, Balsa, Grantz and Nair. He wasn't sure if it was safe enought to consider them his friends, but they showed him some kind of compassion and companion. He was able to have deep talks with the entomologist or/and the postman (in his case, letters or a few words from him), and share some laughs (and gossips) with Balsa and Nair. Even tho, he found on them people who understands him on some sort of way.
... What about Kreiss? They shared a few words before on the waiting table and on matches; he heard a lot of him from Balsa, and he had some interest on him. It wasn't the kind of person he usually found himself talking to, but... something about what he heard of him, his nervous and desperate look and his anxious aura gave him some kind of curiosity. Why was he so quiet always? I mean, Edgar wasn't the most social anyways, but even Grantz found his way to be more comunicattive, at least with his letters. So... what kind of man was he, then? Before he even noticed, Edgar analyzed him a lot since he arrived at the manor. That was something he did with most of the survivors, but there was something about the gravekeeper that kept him interested.
Soon the painter was walking through the garden, looking at the albino from his position. He looked at the sky as well, since it was the main reason behind his little adventure out of his room.
And Kreiss was there, hugging his shovel while Edgar looked at him, 'till the man finally noticed that he was not alone.
— Who's there...?!
He said, turning his head and founding the painter a few meters away. It was the first time Andrew saw him out this late. Usually, Edgar spent his time on his room. If not, he was on the gardens sharing a talk with his "friends" mentioned before.
— It's just me. — The painter replied, approaching and sitting next to him, but keeping certain distance. — What are you doing here this late? I can tell that you have troubles to sleep, your haggard face proves it. Even tho, I tend to look through the window, and I have never see you here before. It's cold outside.
His words were clear and sharp. Edgar called himself an introvert who didn't liked to talk to people, but he didn't had any trouble to say what he thinked, at least in private. He didn't had a filter and Andrew soon noticed that.
— ... I have the same question for you. I tend to walk outside at night... in the backyard for a simply reason.
— What reason?
— People like you, looking down the window. At the backyard, no one sees me. — It seemed like Edgar wasn't the only one capable of being sharp when he spoked. Andrew's words were different, since it was more... sincere. — Valden, you don't go out at night so often, I haven't see you around this late. What are you doing here?
— You're not that shy, aren't you? I thought it would be harder to talk to you. I'm just here because I need some inspiration for my next painting; I can't see the sky clearly from my window. — While looking at the moon, the painter stretched his legs on the ground, supporting the weight of his body with his arms. He didn't looked at Kreiss; he, in contrary, had found himself incapable of looking at anything else. — You like the night breeze, don't you?
The gravekeeper lowered his gaze, looking at the grass and then looking at the painter again.
— Well, it's relaxing... a-and i'm used to it. — He stuttered. Edgar noticed that and gazed at him, noticing that Kreiss was still hugging his shovel... ad his knees as well.
— Why are you carrying your shovel everywhere? Balsa says that i'm obsessed with art, but I do not find myself carrying my whole canvas or my brushes.
— Eh...? — Once again, he was cornered with the painter questions.
Usually, the man in red was really quiet; the painter only talked to him at matches and sometimes when his gazes met at the dinning table, so he assumed that Edgar wasn't a fan of chatting. It was a relief... 'till now. — I... I don't know. I just like to carry it around. Is it weird, Valden?
— Hah. It's alright. I'm just curious about your ways, Kreiss... What was your name? — Edgar knew his name, he heard it from Balsa a million times already. He was just teasing him, keeping a straight face somehow.
— ... Andrew, Andrew Kreiss. You are Edgar, right? — Andrew spoked morre confidently.
— Right.
— Right... — The gravekeeper kept hugging himself, lowering his eyes before he looked at the moon once more.
— It's late. You should go to sleep soon. Perhaps I found the inspiration I needed... — Edgar stood up, but didn't move; he was waiting for the other man to say something.
The albino listened to him, but he was lost in his thoughts. "That painter... what's up with him now? He is completely different in... private. Maybe that's why Luca talks about him so often..."
— Kreiss?
— Ah, yes! I-I'll stay here for a... little while. The sky is pretty tonight and... I have a lot to think about.
— Fine. Don't stay up to late..., Andrew. — He doubted himself a little bit before saying his name, but he did and that certainly surprised him.
Edgar didn't liked to call people by their names unless they were very close, but he made an effort to say Andrew's. Maybe he needed to hear that.
— ... Alright. Have a... have a good night.
Before walking back to the manor, the painter bent and stroke his shoulder with his left hand while looking at the albino once more; it was a strange move. Kinda cold, but gentle at the same time. Andrew looked at him confused, but he welcomed the gesture.
— It's fine. Just breath. Don't stay up too late.
After saying that, Edgar left without saying anything else. He didn't really know why he acted that way, but he did. His curiosity about the gravekeeper was not satisfied yet; it was more intense now. "People like you, looking down the window. At the backyard no one sees me." That phrase stuck around with him, making Edgar think that maybe Andrew wasn't really different from him. Anyways, he knew that he could talk to him later on the morning. There was a lot of things he could discover after finishing his new work.
Now, a beatiful night sky was complementing the picture. At the horizon, a shovel stood on it's own, burying it's metal tip on the ground. The painting was complete.