Archive of Our Own ^beta

A nightmare, by definition, was an uncontrollable, unpleasant and disturbing dream, which usually pulled fears from ones subconscious in order to warn or give a message.
The manor was known for inducing such dreams, as the games and those who participated in them were gruesome and heartless in nature.

The night found Freddy Riley where he usually resided; his room acting as a makeshift office, giving him the slightest feeling of normalcy, of his old ways, in spite of there being no need for such things in a place like this. Miss Dyer constantly nagged him for his lack of sleep, finding him sleeping at his desk an abundant amount of times, constantly reading - keeping the mind sharp, but the body exhausted.

His bed was made out of an old wood, shaped over time, the frame rough and uncomfortable. Regardless, the Lawyer found himself in a peaceful slumber, his mind comfortably blank and his dreams incredibly boring. Nothing he would remember once awake. That was until a knocking began, consistent two knocks at a time, taking him out of the arms of sleep.

"Frederick, open your door," A voice rang out, as loud as a stage whisper, consistent with the knocks. "Frederick!"

"If you are after the Composer, he unfortunately resides next door," the Lawyer mumbled, loud enough to be heard despite the daze of slumber still being present in his voice.

The knocking came to a halt, the voice saying, louder this time, "I am talking to you, Mister Riley."

Freddy slipped into his bunny slippers and began to unlock the door. With it opened, a shadowy figure found itself standing right in the threshold. With no glasses, it was hard to figure out which of the manor's guests was visiting him.
At this hour, there were only two options: one of them was currently occupied within her makeshift pharmacy, sewing up the Clowned fool - another stitch ripped, same old story he heard her complain about it a dozen times by now. At first the figure reminded him of his wife, however that was impossible, as she was now gone. That left one possible visitor.

"Edgar? What predicament have you gotten yourself into at such an ungodly hour?" A head tilt followed the question, with Freddy stepping out of the doorframe to ensure his intentions were clear. Edgar's strange manners reminding him of those of a vampire - needing explicit permission to let himself in.

The Painter followed his lead, immediately sitting on top of the desk in the far corner. His pyjamas, a pink silk, and the mountain of paperwork providing some sort of barrier between himself and the uncomfortable wood.

"After today's unfortunate game, it seems as if sleep is a mere ideology not many of us subscribe to. I didn't grasp that going against The Ripper whilst he's not in a great mood would be so- it was so- Anyhow. The game was unfortunate, I was not expecting such an outcome. The importance of my visit is…seeking out touch," devastation and embarrassment written on his face, hidden so hard by a mask of terminal contempt, only noticed by the man in front of him, due to their familiarity.

"From me?" He leaned over to light the candle, the action giving a sort of nonchalance to his demeanour, despite the confusion.

"You suggested it yourself. As you said - and I am not paraphrasing - if you need anything, dear, I will be in my room, just in the probable case of this affecting you! Here I am. To be held," the desk the Painter was residing on still bore the characteristic hues of American walnut, dull, but in a way the contrasting colour of said man’s clothes made the colour much more beautiful.

"By me? Why by me?" He was met with a scoff.

"You're a lawyer, Frederick, you know how important a verbal contract is," a clear dismission of the confusion, followed by Edgar examining the photo that decorated the desk - an image of Freddy and Martha, from a distant memory.

"Last time I checked, which mind you has been in the recent weeks - or as recent as these law books are - there must be a consensus in idem, an agreement between both parties to the essential features of the transaction, and you, my dearest Edgar, did not agree nor disagree, making this invisible contract voidable. Not to mention neither party, that’s me and you dear, intended for it to be a contract in the first place."

"You made a distinct and definite offer. This is me unconditionally accepting that offer. If it's still on the table, then the contract is accepted and binding," with that, Edgar moved into a more comfortable position, crossing his ankles and letting his legs sway off of the desk he was occupying, moving the picture frame towards Freddy, "Is this a relative of yours?"

"It might be. It might not be. Please put it back." Seeing Martha so close to the Painter made a thought cross Freddy's mind - realising just how eerily similar the two looked - before he brushed it off and continued, not letting the thought take root in his mind.

"As for the contract, I'll agree, under one condition. You call me Freddy, or even Riley. All I can think of when hearing 'Frederick' is the damned composer and his maddening piano," the man began to raise his voice, in the hopes that The Composer next door would be able to hear his complaints and perhaps change his afternoon routine of engraving himself into the Lawyer's daily plans.

"Is it truly that galling?" A laugh escaped Edgar, with him quickly concealing it with a cough. Not that he wasn’t used to laughing or expressing some sort of joy around the Lawyer, however the timing was unfortunate and he feared that it would be seen the wrong way.

"Exceptionally so! It's pestiferous, especially when you live right next door. I'm of the opinion that the Baron planned this as some sort of eternal damnation for me." Freddy was now pacing the room, the conversation quickly turning sour, causing his ears to turn red.

"Don't be so melodramatic, Freddy. You sound ostentatious."

"I am ostentatious." The Painter gave him an imperative eye roll, followed by a hand gesture hard to decipher in the dark, despite the Lawyer's talent for pretentious displays used to trigger and attract attention from those around him.

"Your repertoire of gestures never ceases to amaze me. Alas, you agreed to my conditions. What sort of service may I provide you with?" Freddy’s eyes narrowed, moving towards the desk to let another candle burn, making sure their time doesn’t run out earlier than either would like. Chasing away the creeping darkness.

"I do not know." A pout painted his face, eyes brimming, clearly holding back.

"So you come - barge - into my room and suddenly you 'do not know' what you want?" The man would never intend to raise his voice and would reject any implication of doing so, however he definitely did so at that moment. His ears burning hotter than they have before, hating others disturbing him without clear reason.

"I was expecting a rejection."

"That's a fair bit of a conclusion you came to, dearest."

The room fell silent. The Lawyer began to make space on his bed. A sort of peace act. Trying to make the Painter more comfortable by leaning back, his back touching the wall, waiting for any kind of response.

"You can be cruel. Sometimes."

The Painter did not move from his position, merely unbuttoned the top of his blouse, clear discomfort written all over his face. A stiffness gripping him, turning into slight shivers he tried to conceal.

"You are cruel," Freddy patted the space next to him, a clear invitation.

"That's not nice"

"No. No it isn't."

Edgar began to stand up, only to stop at the edge of the bed, looking straight into Freddy’s eyes.

"What has gotten into you?" The Lawyer tried to keep his voice calm, patient, however the tiredness was making him falter faster than usual.

"Why must we discuss such matters? I don't believe that being in our agreement."

"Ah yes, the contract you decided was a contract. How about you come over here, lay near? With our heights, it makes it easier to hold you if we are both on the bed. More comfortable too."

There’s a shift on the bed when Edgar begins to occupy the little space that is spared for him. The bed in itself is big enough for one body, feeling a little cramped with the two of them filling it. He is slowly moved into an embrace, with Freddy moving Edgar’s head on top of his chest, the man huffing little breaths into his skin before looking up.

"You don't have your glasses on."

"I do not sleep with my glasses on, dear." He says, carding through Edgar’s hair, their breath becoming one, two men, slowly drowning in their own thoughts.

Silence falls.

The Painter moves, at first to be more comfortable, into the crook of the Lawyer’s neck, only to then bury his face into his shoulder, his eye socket pressing right into it, concealing any mumbles coming out of him, clearly distressed. He begins to breathe in short gasps of air in between his words, the Lawyer moving him slightly, his words comprehensible - the subject matter now clear, with the man rushing through his words as he went on.

"And yet his face can apply itself to any figure, especially that one. He's not here, and yet a mere shadow reminiscent of his can extract a reaction of such pure cowardice. Always a tyrant. Imprints left by him, present, even now. And I'm here, dealing with it in such a womanly way.”

Freddy waits it out, running his hands on Edgar’s back, trying to sooth the man, not shifting his body or breaking the movement, so as to not disturb the younger man in his embrace. He expects the other to begin to come back to himself, to reluctantly come back to him, remove himself from the walls of whatever was going on in his mind. This, however, was found to be the worst of the options, as he instead began to crumble and shudder even more, the torment clearly written on his body, heaving. He began to grasp the Lawyer's arm, with the fingernails scratching his skin - if they were not bitten, a mark would be left.

“Red. Blood? Spreading, running down. It kept moving. The lines making spider-webs. Spider’s silk, tendrils, even, painted red. Nothing would take it out. Scrubbing did nothing, just got greeted with more red. It began to become a part of this body, unnoticed nowadays. More spider-webs at the back of the hand, more of them painting this body. It’s everywhere, even now. Shameful. I don’t want it gone. It’s all around. The paintings cannot take it away, amplifying what it’s saying - constantly speaking. Constantly saying how the red is gentle, hissing for me, how this is what happens to those that deserve it.Tiny veins, everywhere. The paintings are making my hands needles - brushes full of holes, teacups with lines, utensils with scratches. Hands are such horrible placement for such things, so hard to hide. Hence why I always preferred the arm. Needles never work. Not working on the body, never working. No matter how many times I run them over my arms, my face or my eyes, it just never leaves a mark, unlike other things. Sometimes, when I lay there, and they talk, no, not talk, release screams. I want to rip myself apart, get to the black mold surrounding the heart, sharp lines cutting it all out of me, coal setting it all on fire, always burning. It’s shit, even now. Making myself talk, even though my mouth got bloody, it always is, filled with blood, that is.”

Edgar expects no response, winded, emotion pouring out of him.

Freddy extends his hand, patiently waiting on Edgar to reciprocate the gesture. As the Painter does so, he’s met with the Lawyer gently turning his hand palm-side up and planting a kiss. His eyes closed, his lips warm, welcoming. The hand he was cradling was soft, the tips calloused, no needles in sight. Holding it like a fragile sculpture. Edgar froze, abruptly stealing his hand back, sheltering it away from Freddy, holding it close to his chest.

After a moment of neither party moving, Edgar proceeded to tilt his head, leaning in.

The kiss does not land.

Staring at him as if he were a stranger, the Lawyer just waits for the Painter to move away, no need to push away or struggle, his opposition clear.

“No. Not whilst you’re vulnerable like this.”

"Nous sommes nos choix." He looked sad, pitying himself, like a man petrified of what was to come, someone who never belonged anywhere.

“This is not a choice I’m willing to make.”

“Can I still stay?” The man’s voice was still rough, almost choked up.

“I am not going to eject you from my room, especially my bed, because of a minor confusion,” To Freddy’s dismay, the man got up to leave, only to be met with a halt to his movement, the older man grabbing whatever he could - his elbow, in this case - with a reassuring smile.

“Now come here, you’re letting the cold in under the duvet.” He laid Edgar back onto his chest, placing a kiss on his forehead, gentle touches following murmurs of appraisal, easing the other into slumber.

A distant melody of a piano echoes through the walls.