Archive of Our Own ^beta

The dining hall was quiet save for the sound of a certain prospector humming to himself.

Norton coolly tossed a magnet in his hand, his mind blanking as he watched the clock in front of him. This had become somewhat of a ritual, noted by the other survivors. For the most part, they left the man alone. Emma had inquired why he was so invested in the time once, but he just smiled, winked at her, and went right back to spacing out. The interaction could not have been any stranger to Emma, but she nonetheless began to leave him alone as well.

The clock face revealed that it was only thirteen past nine, the typical time that everyone in the manor got ready for bed. The loud thud of Norton’s magnet against the wooden table snapped the man out of his thoughts, making him visibly cringe. He looked left and right to make sure no one saw him fail to catch that, then tucked the magnets away. Norton got out of his chair, slipping behind the screen beside the dining room table when he heard the jingling of the old knob on the hall door. He waited with baited breath, holding his hand over his mouth. He heard the footsteps he’d become familiar with padding down the hall toward the garden, then watched the door close behind the figure. Norton counted to ten in his head; it wasn’t necessary, but he thought it was entertaining to do. Not to mention, doing so made him feel as if he was on a mission, and his reward was right behind the door to the garden.

Slowly, Norton made his way over to the garden door. Every survivor knew the creaky flooring in the manor by this point. One wrong step and half the house was alerted to Norton going to the kitchen at 3am, Tracy sneaking back to her room after staying up until the ungodly hours of the morning to tinker at her robot in the workshop, or Aesop going to “check on” some of the other survivors. Norton’s movements were well planned out, even if they were redundant with his target residing outside. Once he made it to the door, the prospector turned it carefully, silently pushing it open and closing it behind him. From there, Norton rushed to the bushes to hide. He navigated through the foliage, finding the perfect spot to watch the scene before him.

There, in the center of the garden, Andrew stood timidly. He lowered the watering can in his hand, collecting the water in the fountain. The instant the can was full, Andrew started for the irises. Norton picked up on this pattern from the previous nights. The purple flower held a spot on the grave keeper’s breast pocket with nearly every outfit the man wore. Norton didn’t investigate the meaning behind it; he figured one day he would muster up the courage to ask Andrew himself. The prospector lowered his gaze to the ground before him, absentmindedly drawing small shapes into it. What he was waiting for would take a little while, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the tranquility of the environment. To his right were the beginnings of a rose bush, drooping lamely in the cold of the night. To his left was a flower Norton didn’t quite recognize. He was far from an expert on flora, and likely wasn’t expected to be.
A soft melody echoed through the garden, making Norton’s eyes quickly snap back to the albino. He rested his back against the wall of the greenhouse, a smile growing on his face. Andrew sang quietly, watering the plants Emma hadn’t covered for that day. Norton knew Emma tended to all the plants equally, but recently she and Andrew opted to tend to the garden in shifts. He’d overheard Andrew once tell her it reminded him of his old work, but far more pleasant.

The prospector accidentally came across Andrew’s routine when he fell asleep in the garden one afternoon, waking up among the brush to the most beautiful lullaby he had ever heard when night came. Norton would have fallen asleep once again had the grave keeper not found him first. The prospector could never forget the look on his face when Andrew found out that Norton had been listening to him. Norton worried that Andrew would be upset with him or call him out on it, but the poor man simply clenched his shovel in shaking hands with a face full of red and told him he could stay and help if he liked. One part of Norton wished he had. He wished he truly had the confidence he pretended to flaunt. He would have gladly helped, taking up a watering can or spade and tending to the plants the man seemed to hold so dear to him. They could have talked about their lives, the manor, anything at all. Instead, Norton scrambled up from his seat on the dirt, ran to the door, and promptly exited the garden, slamming the door behind him in a panic.

That was then. Now, Norton was practically stalking the unique man from a dark spot in the bushes.

Once Andrew finished watering the flowers, he set the can aside and adjusted his coat. He moved to the irises, cupping one in his palm to inspect it. His humming stopped, and eventually he nodded. Norton presumed Andrew would pick that flower the next day, likely to wear on his coat. He smiled wider. The action was so small—so insignificant—but it meant the world to the man, enough so that the grave keeper regarded that flower with the utmost seriousness. Norton was almost jealous of it. Would Andrew ever regard him like that? The prospector blinked, squinting after that thought. Why did that matter to him? What would he do in that situation?

Norton’s thoughts were interrupted when he found the grave keeper staring in his general direction. He felt his heart stop, holding a hand over his mouth. The man dared not breathe at that moment, watching Andrew carefully. Had he seen him? Was he going to get caught? Norton’s mind raced, sorting through millions of excuses he could possibly have for being in the bushes. He fell asleep again? There was no way that would work. Andrew saw him at the table for dinner. He was practicing hiding for a match? He would never believe that.

Just as Norton decided to tell Andrew the truth, the man walked to the other side of the garden. Norton tipped his head, frozen in place. Maybe he hadn’t noticed him? Andrew stayed on the opposite side for a little while, merely standing there. Norton pursed his lips, raising a brow.
He’d never done that before. Maybe he was contemplating something himself. Norton had no clear way of telling whether or not Andrew actually saw him, but his senses calmed once Andrew made his way to the middle of the garden and stood before the fountain once again. Norton sat up, leaning forward to get a better view. Here was where the true performance began. Norton waited patiently long enough, and now he’d be rewarded.

Andrew’s movements started slow and clumsy, but they soon developed into a smooth dance. Norton didn’t particularly know what to call it, but it was captivating nonetheless. Andrew brought his shovel behind him, clutching it with one hand at the top and the other at the bottom. His head tilted back, and the sight before Norton had his mouth agape. The man stayed in that pose for a pregnant pause, eyes closed and lips parted just slightly. Norton’s face dusted red at the sight, and soon realized he was kneeling up in the dirt. Andrew loosely moved his arm, pulling the shovel back out in front of him. He started to sing again—a wordless tune. The gravekeeper twirled the shovel as if it were a baton, catching it promptly and spinning it over his head. He then spun, bringing the shovel to his chest as he did so. He started to dance with it as if it were a partner, stepping and turning almost intimately with the metal object grasped in his hands.

As Norton listened to the song and watched Andrew’s movement, he began to picture himself in lieu of the shovel. He swayed to the tune, closing his eyes for a brief second. Norton wouldn’t call himself elegant in the slightest, but he was willing to try. As Andrew held the shovel close, Norton caught a glimpse of the gravekeeper’s faint smile. Norton’s face heated up once again, ducking lower in the bushes. That was new to his routine as well; Andrew wasn’t usually smiling that much.

Norton didn’t have to know the song Andrew sang to enjoy it. In fact, he didn’t care for the original song. Norton’s heart swelled as if he were listening to an angel sing to him. Andrew’s voice wavered just slightly, but it resounded through the garden with grace. Andrew could sound truly haunting at times, but he was so comforting—so enticing. Norton found his eyelids drooping as the song came to a soft close, leaving him to sit in silence. He did little more than breathe, now calmer than ever. This was why he snuck out into the garden to hear Andrew. This was why he waited patiently every night for the man to finish watering the plants. The risk of being caught was worth it. Watching him dance, hearing his voice…

The prospector shifted to a corner of the garden, peeking at the grave keeper for the last time. Ruby irises flashed to the bushes, and the man pressed his lips to the handle of the shovel. Norton stared blankly, his face dusted pink. Andrew circled the fountain once, then promptly exited the garden. Norton continued to sit in silence, taking in the performance he just watched. He inhaled, pausing and swaying. He was entranced. Somewhere, somehow, Andrew cast a spell on the man. How else could he explain it? Andrew’s eyes made him paralyzed. His voice made him transfixed. Heaven only knew what his laugh did, if he ever were to laugh. Norton wondered what that sounded like. If only he could get Andrew to.

After what seemed like ages, Norton finally stood again. He brushed the dirt off of his pants, pushing his hair back. He crept toward the door, pulling it open. By this time, Andrew was likely long gone. Norton was still cautious, however, stepping in specific spots to make the least amount of noise as possible. He collected himself, sneaking up the stairs to his room. Surprisingly, the prospector found the halls completely empty. He expected to see at least one person wandering about at night. Norton traced his hand along the curved railing, passing obscure paintings and decorations as he made his way to the guest bedrooms.

Once Norton reached his room, he threw his helmet on the floor and collapsed on the bed. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He would change later, but for now his mind raced to his experience tonight. He smiled, reaching for his pillow. He held it close to his chest, closing his eyes. The thought crossed his mind of telling Andrew about the night’s escapades. How would Andrew react if he told him he’d been watching him this entire time? It couldn’t be anything good. Norton’s smile faded. Would he freak out? Would he hate him for it? He couldn’t imagine Andrew hating anyone. He stared back up at the ceiling, his lips pursed. Tomorrow he would tell him…

Maybe…