A Fine Romance

"A fine romance with no kisses, a fine romance my friend this is"

"He's here again," Nailbunny says suddenly as Nny's in the middle of painting. "He knocked." Of course he did. Edgar always knocks now, ever since he learned what the doorbell's hooked to. And then, since Johnny is downstairs more often than not and can't hear him knocking, he comes in anyway. He still knocks, though. Johnny doesn't feel like analyzing it.

It takes him twenty minutes to finish with the fresh coat. He takes his time. It needs to be done right. He grabs a rag to wipe his hands on his way up the stairs. There's no sense in freaking Edgar out more than necessary; the face that Edgar makes when he's nervous annoys (angers bothers disgusts) Johnny more than the bother of wiping his hands, and he hates being covered in any kind of fluids, his own or otherwise. It's nothing to do with courtesy, simply convenience. He doesn't like being covered in blood, Edgar doesn't like seeing him covered in blood, it just happens to work out for them both. He'd be wiping his hands anyway. Eventually.

In the back of his mind, Mr Eff laughs.

Edgar's watching TV when he gets upstairs. "Hey," he says. The commercial with the talking fish is on. Not a great one. "You didn't miss anything good." Nny sits and Edgar looks over at him with a smile. The smile dips briefly, and his hand reaches out, aiming for the top of Nny's head. Nny ducks back reflexively, staring at Edgar's hand, which freezes mid-reach. Edgar's expression flickers- was that fear? amusement? Johnny can't tell- before settling into something rueful and self-deprecating as he draws his hand back. "Sorry. You've got…" Edgar gestures at his own forehead, and Nny mimics him, something wet and still slightly warm slicking over his forearm.

Would Edgar have wiped it off himself, if Nny hadn't flinched? Nny is disgusted (with the very idea with himself with the blood on him with wanting Edgar to touch him with the thought of being touched with Edgar with the situation with the closeness with the distance with Edgar's refusal to see with his own need to have Edgar see with the blood with Edgar with himself Edgar fear hope hatred the wall himself everything) but distantly, the rest of him focused elsewhere. Edgar had reached for him- Edgar had- what did it mean? Can he see? Does he know? Johnny stares closer at him, trying to find it. Was it in that look, the face Edgar had made before pulling away? Does he understand?

"He never will, you know," Mr Eff sneers at him. "He will never see. And if he ever does, he'll only run. If you think a bit of blood on your hands disgusts him, oh, just give him a hint at what other depravities you'd stoop to. You may as well kill him now, before you lose what little perfection there is to be found in this."

"He'll only disappoint you in the end," D-Boy adds, mournful and mocking. "They always do. He'll be no different. Why linger, why prolong the inevitable? Forget him, Johnny. Forget them all. Nothing in this world is worth your time. Leave it behind."

"They don't like him," Nailbunny says, comparatively quiet, almost whispering. "He makes them worried. He wouldn't run. He came back, didn't he?" He did come back, it's true. It's also true that he didn't exactly have a lot of other available options, but still, he came back, and keeps coming back. That probably means something, though what, Johnny's not sure, and Nailbunny's gone quiet again.

He focuses back on Edgar. He's not sure how long he's been staring, but Edgar's still looking back at him, apparently fine with being stared at. It makes Johnny angry. "Why do you do that? How can you just- why do you just SIT there?" he snaps, detached to hostile in .5 seconds.

Edgar's eyebrows raise. "It's a nice couch." It isn't; it wasn't even when it was new. "I don't mind," he adds, answering what Nny was actually asking. "You looked like you were thinking. It doesn't bother me." At this, he turns away at last, looking at the TV while Nny looks at him in disbelief. Being stared at for an indeterminate amount of time by his best friend the homicidal maniac doesn't bother him. Sometimes Nny really and truly does not understand even the smallest thing about Edgar Vargas. For a moment Nny wants nothing more than to kill him, and even he isn't sure if it would be out of annoyance or contentment. Edgar doesn't mind Nny staring at him. This is stupid. But appealing.

As he's trying to work out whether or not he wants to go for the knife in his boot (or the one under the cushions), Edgar interrupts his thoughts with an "Oh, hey, Nny!" and an abortive move of his arm that might've been an elbow nudge if Edgar had been with anyone else. Johnny looks at the TV, shifting around on the sofa to watch better once he realizes what's on. It's the commercial with the kid foaming at the mouth. Definitely a good one.

Johnny is starting to suspect that Edgar has learned to recognize his "someone is about to die messily" face and begun distracting him accordingly when necessary. He's too busy laughing to care right now, though. He'll deal with it later, if he remembers.


Edgar falls asleep on the sofa at some point. He's never done that before, probably out of whatever lingering self-preservation instincts he has. It's too familiar, too settled, and it makes Johnny itch, and he probably starts getting that face again.

Edgar must've been really exhausted, to fall asleep there like that.

He should check on the wall.

Johnny goes back downstairs, and leaves Edgar sleeping.

The wall does need fixing- how long was he upstairs?- and when he's through, Nny realizes he's hungry. He seems to vaguely recall snacking while watching TV, but that's hardly conclusive. Nailbunny joins him as he's climbing the stairs, floating beside him but not speaking. For once, Johnny feels… almost peaceful, or at least as near to it as he can get. Things are quiet, the wall is painted, there was a string of especially good infomercials on earlier. And he's pretty sure he has Crunchy Parts with Marshmallows, and milk that hasn't gone bad yet. It's a good night.

He can only stand and stare for a moment when he opens the door to the fridge.

There's food… in his refrigerator. More than just a half bag of chips or an unlabeled bottle. He finds himself with a knife in his hand, without any memory of grabbing it from somewhere. Why the fuck is there food in his fridge?

"Glasses boy brought it," Eff answers, though Nny's relatively certain he didn't ask out loud. Not that he needs to. And not that it matters at the moment, because WHAT?

"He WHAT? Edgar brought- this-" It's so unbelievably psychotic, he's almost finding it hard to be angry at all. There's too much utter disbelief in the way. Edgar brought food. For Nny's fridge. What? His grip tightens on the knife. This- Nny isn't sure what this is yet, exactly, but he's certain at least that whatever it is, it's too much.

"Hey," Nailbunny says, and it stops Nny for a moment because he doesn't elaborate. Hey what? Nailbunny isn't answering.

Nny looks at the fridge again for himself, trying to see what Nailbunny saw. Bread, cheese, chips, milk, butter, unlabeled bottle- wait.

Two-liter bottle. Two-liter bottle of Fiz-Wiz. Cherry Fiz-Wiz. Nny hadn't even known they MADE two-liter bottles of Cherry Fiz-Wiz. The knife is gone from his hand as quickly as it appeared; his hands are busy clutching the bottle. On the one hand, clearly that's it for Edgar, but on the other hand, Nny should at least wake him first to find out where the fuck this wonder of carbonated delight came from. Right after he drinks some.


He wanders back to the living room, leaving the empty bottle on the kitchen counter. Edgar is still asleep on the sofa, and Johnny pauses mid-step, tilting his head to look at his potentially comatose bestest best friend. He can't tell if Edgar's breathing or not. It would really ruin things if, after all this, Edgar dies quietly in his sleep without ever even knowing. Nny edges closer, crouching to better peer at Edgar's face. He looks like he's breathing. Maybe Nny should check for a pulse.

His fingers itch to touch nearly as much as his flesh crawls at the very idea. He brings his hand up anyway, just hovering, tracing the air over Edgar's throat. This close, he can hear him breathing, so that answers that.

And this close, Nny finds, he can't resist, baser urges temporarily overriding the disgust of physical contact as he brushes one finger over Edgar's cheek. He jumps back immediately, the skin of his fingertip burning. Edgar shifts and murmurs in his sleep, stretches and opens his eyes. He freezes when he sees Nny- nearly on the other side of the room, now- surprise (and fear? wariness? confusion? something) crossing his face before he realizes and sits up. "Fuck, sorry. It's been a few days. Makes for shitty company- I was going to make grilled cheese and everything. Next time, I guess." He moves as he's talking, pushing himself off the couch and grabbing his bag from beside the TV. He shoots Nny a grin, looking pleased with himself. "You should check the fridge."

Nny doesn't answer- still hasn't moved- but Edgar doesn't seem to mind. "I'll see you later," he says, and leaves. It takes a while after hearing the door close before Nny finally moves, back to the kitchen to get chips and back again to the sofa. He hesitates a moment, then sits. The cushions are still a bit warm; it's less repulsive than he'd expected. He switches on the TV and settles in.

His fingertip still burns.


---
I came thisclose to having Edgar say "Nny" in his sleep there, but I'm pretty sure Johnny really wouldn't have been able to resist killing him at that point. probably with good reason. sorry for the occasional capslock abuse, they'd be italicized if I was posting this anywhere else.

(CAPS LOCK left intact by one LYX, who is either too much of a preservationist to change it, or too lazy. It's a hard call to make.)