Work Text:
This story has no good ending.
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When the brunette first saw him, he was taking care of the roses.
Before his blue eyes, a tall man dressed in simple, yet elegant clothes. He wore a white blouse with an opening to his chest under his tight black pants, a belt, and white gloves. Edgar could not see his face, at least not very well, but from that distance, he could come up with the vision of a peaceful, unbothered smile. He stared time to the roses, time to the man. That was until his gaze traveled up from the man’s hands to his arms, shoulders, and back of the head… then, he saw his face. His eyes hid under wavy bangs of dark grey hair, yet his smile was still up. Edgar jolted, almost dropping the box he held in his arms. Whoever that man was, he giggled at the young man’s behavior of staring and waving hello right after. Unable to wave back, Edgar smiled and nodded his head, hoping he could just go back to carrying the boxes inside of his house when the man dropped the scissors he used to trim the roses and walked closer to the fence.
“Hello.” Said him, crossings his arms, which caused his arm muscles to contract, and so did his chest muscles. “Hey.” Edgar responded, relaxing his shoulders. “Are you new to the neighborhood?” A nod. “Just moved in. Still bringing stuff inside. I’m Edgar. Edgar Valden.” The man gave a shy smile, mostly hidden by his awkward expression. “I’m Jack.” Responded the other man with a giggle. He caught on to Edgar’s awkwardness quickly, perhaps understanding his presence was intimidating. “Nice to meet you, Jack.” Edgar said, nodding.
A quick moment of silence came in as they stared at each other, Edgar more and more drawn to Jack’s expression. It was a smile, sure, but something bugged him about that smile. His thin lips were nothing special, and even Edgar could see the cracks, making him think, does he have thought lips? Perhaps he could offer some lip balm, something to help him with those awful lips. The thought crossed his mind until Jack parted his mouth and spoke again. “Where are you coming from?” Edgar jumped, throwing the box up to his arms in a way it would come into a more firm position. “Liverpool.”
“Why did you move?”
“Art school.” Edgar pointed with his head to the countless boxes on the side of the road, a few easels and wrapped canvas stationed over one. “You are an artist?” Jack asked with a hint of surprise in his tone. “I think so. I mean, I paint.” Another awkward smile came to Edgar’s face, more and more the weight of the box injured his thin fingers and soft hands. “How nice. I paint as well.” “Oh, that’s nice.”
Another moment of silence.
“I’m sorry I really need to put these inside-”
“Oh, no worries.” Jack laughed, uncrossing his arms and resting his hands on the side of his hips. “Once you are done, come over. It would be a pleasure to welcome you to the neighborhood.” Edgar smiled at the man’s kindness, nodding as well. “Of course. I plan on making dinner. If I’m lucky to put everything inside in time, by seven we’ll have something to eat. Why not come over?” Edgar, however, did not notice his rudeness. Overtaking the man’s invitation, how could he? Gladly, and maybe luckily, Jack did not seem phased by it. “Sure. I’ll make dessert, how about that?” The brunette closed his eyes, then opened them again in a vocal hum. “Sounds perfect. I’ll see you later then.”
“See you later.”
With that, the two went back to what they were doing before. Edgar walked into his new house, opened the unlocked door with his hip and went inside. The house itself was most likely the most expensive in the neighborhood, with wooden stairs that brought one to the upper level of the residence. The walls were covered by brand-new wallpaper in a beautiful brown color, the floor of dark wood, and the lights were chandeliers. The house had been bought furnished and said furnishing did not disappoint. From velvet sofas to fancy desks and little decors, Edgar felt as if he never left his expensive manor.
Took him a few trips to bring everything inside, however, he did not plan to place everything in their designated spots. It would tire him too much, so all he did was put his clothes in the closet and take off the kitchen stuff. Pans, trays, silverware. Washing them with warm water, Edgar saw himself ready to cook. He had bought condiments on the way to the house, even if they weren’t much. Only rice, potatoes, salad ingredients, and meat. He was a picky eater, so he had to choose the meat cut himself with a lot of attention, which wasted his precious time the day.
He, as well, had always been a good cook. Learning from his mother at a young age how to prepare a good meal, Edgar was proud of his skills. He could cook anything, but he only did what he liked. It was worthless to cook something you disliked, and, in the end, you would not appreciate your own food, therefore, there was no point in cooking stuff like that.
Time passed and Edgar saw himself done with the food in what felt like only an hour, but was likely more. He placed the cooked meat on the center of the dining table, and the salad, rice, and baked potatoes to the side. Now, he had to wait until he noticed he missed something: a drink.
Rushing to his boxes, Edgar seemed distressed about not having a cold drink with him. This feeling worsened when he heard a knock on the door, most likely Jack. “I’m coming!” He yelled from the other side of the room. Rushing to get to the door, Edgar almost tripped on his carpet the moment he was reaching his objective, making him bump into the dark wooden door and alarm whoever was on the outside. He gave Jack a smile when he saw him. “Jack! You.. actually came.” His nervousness caught Jack’s attention, who giggled in a friendly way, not mocking the young man’s composure. “I did. Do you usually not receive guests?”
“I really don’t.” Edgar brushed his bangs, opening the door more so the visitor could come in with no worries. “I don’t think I ever received guests myself. It was usually my father.” He closed the door, wondering if he should lock it for a moment, staring down at the keys and the keyframe. In the end, after much hesitation, he placed the keys in his pocket and sighs.
Turning around, he could finally take note of how Jack dressed. Fancy, but not expensive. A poet blouse perfectly ironed and taken care of, with long sleeves that felt and covered half of his hand. It fit perfectly to his slim, tall body, falling like a feather to his long shoulders and waist. His pants weren’t very notable, after all, Edgar never judged one’s pants. He wore no gloves, which allowed Edgar to catch up on scars and burns on his white, even grey-ish skin. Could he mention it? He could, but not now. As well, something the painter noticed on the other was how his hair was again covering his eyes. A curious detail he paid much attention to. Your eyes are the doors of your soul, so why did Jack hide them?
“What a great smell.” Jack said, placing the tray of dessert to the side. “Beef.” Edgar said, walking to the table and taking notice of a wine bottle on the table. Did Jack bring it? “Oh, you didn’t have to bring wine.” He said with an embarrassed tone. His lack of etiquette was showing. “Oh, what type of guest would I be if not?” Jack smiled, proudly crossing his arms when Edgar gestured for him to sit. “I would play some music, but I haven’t taken the gramophone out of the boxes yet.”
“You have a gramophone?” Jack asked, popping open the bottle of wine. “I do, yes. It was my father’s gift.”
“Is he dead?” Edgar laughed. “Sadly not.” Jack widened his eyes, shocked by how normally and unbothered Edgar made that sound. “You don’t like your father, I see.” He then laughed as well, the surprise flying away like a blow of a candle. “Go on, you can take the food, no need to be shy.” Edgar tried, but whined as he heard the response. “I’ll take my time.” And Jack noticed he had been more than Edgar could take, which was funny, but he did not express this… curious feeling.
“Tell me, Edgar, what art school are you attending?” Jack asked as Edgar picked up the glass of wine in his hand. Before he could answer, he took a sip. “Goldsmiths.” The taller man nodded, taking note of how Edgar drank the wine. His red lips punting was the first thing he noticed, and, behind the bangs on his face, he squinted his eyes, as if he liked what he saw.
“You said you paint as well. Have you-” Jack interrupted him. “I have not. I’m more of a free spirit when it comes to art.” Edgar nodded, quite satisfied with the answer he was given despite not finishing the question. “Makes sense.”
So, they dined.
Questions popped in here and there, the two know each other a bit better now. However, he was questioned more was Edgar, the number of questions being enough to categorize that conversation more as an interrogation than a simple talk between neighbors. From how Edgar’s childhood was to his relationships.
“You don’t have anyone here then?” Jack asked, his plate empty. Edgar denied it with his head. “My whole family is still in Liverpool, and I came here alone.” He cleaned his sauce-stained lips with a napkin, closing his eyes as he did so. “Why London? Aren’t their universities in Liverpool?”
“You see, I don’t particularly like Liverpool. I grew up there, but I grew up alone and isolated. my sister dies at a young age, as well.” He shrugged, looking at his empty plate. Both he and Jack had finished at the same time, no beef, no salad, no nothing remaining. They ate it all as they were lost in questions and answers.
Silence came in.
“Do you want to see my future workshop?” Edgar said.