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"Help."
Edgar turned his back to his partner as he dropped his shirt on a nearby chair, waiting ever-so-patiently as the Prisoner behind him grunted out a "hold on" ; once upon a time he would have feigned impatience, but now no longer had the energy to maintain such a charade. He listened to the rustle of fabric behind him, sure that Luca was fully changed himself, before finally feeling hands gather his loose, curly locks into a bunch and brush them over his left shoulder. The same hands brushed his shoulders lightly, travelling down his back to help undo the Painter's binder with care before pulling away again. He knew his partner's gaze was, respectfully and dutifully, averted, and set about changing into his top in total comfort, glancing towards the other as he did so.
"Did you need help with yours?"
"Nah. I got it, this time."
"Promise? No sleeping in it again?"
"Would seeing the truth comfort you?"
Sliding his hands down his nightshirt, Edgar glanced towards the inventor, a brow raised.
"Would you be comfortable with that?"
"You wouldn't."
"... Good answer."
This was their routine, and had been for…
… Awhile.
Time was hardly real in the manor. It all blurred together. It was autumn now, and it was, what… Winter when they finally made it official? So some time had definitely passed like this. At least a year, which was a pretty long time.
Despite all the adrenaline and stress that came with the Game, Edgar could confidently say that if it had been a year, it was the best year of his life.
He slid into bed first, shifting over towards the wall - for their bed was in a corner of the room, with the rest of the space sorely needed for the vanity directly to the right, and their shared workshop/studio… Everywhere else - to avoid another kicking incident on behalf of Balsa. (He'd claimed that bashing his shins against the wooden walls helped them regain feeling sometimes; Edgar had not been convinced.) Said man crawled under the covers after him, getting comfortable. The Painter waited until he heard the hum of affirmation to come closer, pressing his head to Luca's chest and wrapping his arms around the larger man in a cuddle; Luca reciprocated, relaxing into their feather-stuffed surroundings.
All was quiet.
Edgar felt like he could stay here forever, slowly lulled by the heartbeat… Until Balsa spoke again.
"Can I ask you something?"
At least his voice was soft, almost aiding in the calming quiet. But, it wasn't his volume that drew attention; it was his tone. Contemplative.
The artist shifted a little.
"Shoot, but make it quick."
"Have you… Thought about… If someone ever wins? One of us? Or - if we're ever allowed to leave? What'll happen?"
For a moment, Edgar was silent.
His first match, he'd thought that by being the sole survivor, he would have won. He was proved wrong when the path leading away from the map weaved its way through a forest and brought him back to the manor; it was a cold demonstration of how truly stuck he and the other residents were.
He learned after that how many of them had been doing this for so long. How many of them started to believe there were no winners anymore, just victims of a terrifying kidnapping, or extortion. That they were damned here.
Of course, Edgar himself didn't share such views. After settling into the lifestyle of Oletus manor, he viewed his acceptance as the greatest blessing he could've asked for. Lodgings were free, their needs were catered to, and he'd found likeminded people he could get along with - including two from his previous life outside. The Game actually gave him some inspiration, watching the hunters - hell, one of them had cats , by some miracle, which he'd fawned over the first time he faced her.
There was no pressure for money or fame. No true struggles, no true threat to their lives, constantly sent back to the manor after being seated in a chair enough times. It was perfect.
"... Not really. I've come to terms with the permanence. Why?"
"I'm just… I've been thinkin'."
"About leaving?"
He pulled away a little, staring at Luca's face; in the dim light, he could still make out his details, tracing over them with his eyes before speaking again.
"Why?"
"Why?" The inventor let out a soft laugh, shifting a little; "I don't know - isn't there anything outside you miss?"
Well.
He did miss his family, sometimes, but… Even then, he'd just been their golden breadwinner with his skill. An asset, to be bought and sold. He didn't doubt that there was some affection there, but more than once he had wondered if that affection was superficial.
His parents were good people, of course. But even good people could be ruined by greed. He wasn't sure he wanted to go back to that.
And there wasn't much else outside, either - a lot of adoring fans and would-be clients that he'd rather die than go back to. Scenery, sure, but most of it had felt so dull before he left that he couldn't bring himself to remember it fondly.
"... Not really."
"Oh…"
There was silence for a beat, and Edgar's brow furrowed.
"You know there's nothing waiting for you out there, right?"
Luca shrugged a little. Edgar pressed on.
"Luca, you were a victim - you lost everything. There's nothing there - no house, no assets, no family -"
"No memories."
His tone suddenly had more bite to it. Edgar shut his mouth as the inventor continued.
"No notes, no concepts. No identity."
There was a heavy pause, and he let out a bitter laugh.
"No, that's not right. I'm a murderer, right?"
All at once, Edgar regretted telling him anything about his past all those months ago.
"It was a freak accident that they pinned on you because you were the only survivor, and the people wanted someone to blame."
Luca went quiet. Edgar hesitated, lifting a hand up to his face and running a thumb across his cheek before continuing on.
"But you would be persecuted out there. They would hate you and distrust you. You're safer in here."
"... If I didn't know any better, Mr. Valden, I'd start to think you were worried about me."
Removing his hand from the inventor's cheek, Edgar flicked his forehead, bemused, while Luca chuckled and flinched back a little.
"Moron. Look," He continued, shifting closer; "When we're here, there's nothing to be worried about. All that stress from the outside, our pasts, they stay out there. We have everything we need here. Why would we leave?"
"I don't know… I've just… I've been thinkin' about the future, you know?"
Their faces were so close that their noses brushed together; Edgar had trouble focusing on both the Prisoner's eyes, flicking his gaze between them as the other held him close and kept talking.
"It'd… It'd be nice to have a storybook life. A place to call our own. Lives outside."
For a moment, Edgar felt his breath catch in his throat. The implications weren't exactly falling flat, here, and his tone was tentative when he piped up again.
"... Marriage?"
"I've thought about it."
Jesus.
"You'd be pressed to find a priest outside willing to marry two men," Edgar pointed out. "At least Gilman is open minded - is she ordained?"
"I'm not religious."
"Neither am I, but it's about legitimacy, isn't it?"
"So you'd like to, one day?"
The artist halted, his mouth open dumbly for a moment, and he felt his face heat up as he struggled to find the words he wanted.
"I… We - you - we're going to be here forever anyway," He managed at last, "so, if… I've…"
He stopped again. Luca watched him with patience and amusement, any bite he'd had before completely absent. Edgar softened a bit, taking a breath.
"... Maybe.”
“It was just a hypothetical,” The inventor laughed softly, pressing forward to initiate a kiss between them - it was soft and comforting, making the artist’s stomach do little flips as he pressed into it in turn; just as he had initiated, Luca ended it, pulling away just enough to look Edgar in the eyes again. “Nothing to get flustered over.”
What a fucking comedian.
“Are you done? Can we sleep now? Or would you like to play with my feelings some more?”
Grinning, Luca stole one last kiss from his partner, effectively quelling his irritation and coaxing him back into the close cuddle they’d achieved before. With his head up against Balsa’s chest once more, Edgar let his eyes shut and let out a deep exhale, simmering in the thoughts his partner had stirred up.
Marriage, huh… The idea was appealing. There’d been a long while where Edgar simply considered such things beyond his reach; unsure if he’d ever find someone he clicked with enough to desire it. It seemed like such a… Formality. Strangely binding, in a way he hadn’t been sure he was a fan of. But thinking about it with Luca, after being through it all so far - the man he was before the manor, the man he was now… He couldn’t deny the slight giddiness he felt thinking about the idea of standing at the altar of the Red Church (because they would have to make do with what was available, right?) with the inventor at his side, and… God, what would his vows even be?
Taking another breath, he forced himself to put the thoughts to bed. At the end of the day, Luca was right, it was only a hypothetical.
… Hypothetically , he couldn’t wait to wear that hypothetical ring.