Chapter Text
The time ticked down on the clock as Edgar sat on the rocket chair, his heart beating like thunder in his chest. The cold, chilly air made him shiver, and the snowflakes landing on his skin didn't help one bit. As much as he detested this wintery map, he tried to focus on his surroundings as he waited for the timer to run out, or for his teammates to escape the match - whichever one came first. The hunter was still lurking nearby, apparently bent on making sure he was eliminated this round and securing a draw. There was no sense in playing risky, after all - a draw was better than a loss.
He could see the robotic hunter standing off to the side, just on the edge of his peripheral vision. Bonbon, he recalled its name being. The mechanical penguin was quite the threat with its bombs, making rescuing against it rather challenging. On top of that, the telltale red glow in its eyes was enough to sway most survivors with sense.
The keyword being, most.
As Edgar closed his eyes, waiting for the chair to launch at any given moment, he heard the distinct sound of a lasso being spun through the air.
Oh, dear god.
The painter's eyes snapped open, though he already knew what was happening. He spotted a certain cowboy approaching his chair, his head held up high and proud. He would've looked heroic if his actions weren't so incredibly stupid.
"You dolt! Just what do you think you're doing?!" Edgar shouted, straining against his restraints as he leaned forward. Bonbon was right there, and the entire ground in front of the chair was littered with bombs, for crying out loud! To rescue in a state like this was practically a death wish!
The only response from Kevin came the sound of a whip crack, followed by the brief sensation of flying through the air. Before he could even scream, he was securely thrown over the cowboy's shoulder as he took off running, with Bonbon in hot pursuit.
"Are you daft?! You're going to get us both incapacitated!" Edgar shrieked, squirming in Kevin's grasp. From his vantage point, he had a great view of the hunter gaining ground on them, and could hear the sound of its metal clanking with every movement.
"Settle down, kitten," Kevin spoke in a gruff, low voice, "we'll be out of here soon enough."
"Yeah, on a chair-"
"Shh." Reluctantly, the artist quieted down. He had a lot to say, but he didn't want to distract Kevin from their escape. He also stopped wriggling around, not fancying being dropped while they were still being chased.
That was what he told himself, anyway. He wouldn't admit that the initial surprise of being swept off the rocket chair and rescued was wearing off, and the embarrassment of being carried in such a fashion was beginning to settle in. Just how strong was Kevin, anyway, to be able to carry someone so effortlessly while he ran?
No, no, he wasn't really thinking about that at a moment like this, was he?
Dazed by his own musings, his mind barely registered when Kevin finally placed him back on his feet at the edge of the exit gate. Like a fawn trying to stand on its new legs, poor Edgar nearly toppled over and into the snow. Thankfully, they were past the "point of no return" as it were called - they had safely escaped the match and could return back to the Manor now.
"Easy there, do you need a hand?"
Edgar scowled at the offer, turning away from Kevin with folded arms.
"As if." He huffed, his nose pointed in the air. "Don't think I'm going to forget this, halfwit."
"I sure hope you don't." Kevin grinned beneath the brim of his hat. "I went through an awful lot of trouble saving you."
He gave the artist a pat on his shoulder with a gloved hand, causing him to jump at the contact. Noticing his reaction, the cowboy removed his hand quickly... much to Edgar's dismay.
"Let's get going, back to the Manor." Kevin murmured in a quieter voice as he started walking back. Edgar let out a long sigh as he trailed behind him, shoving his hands under his armpits in an effort to keep himself warm.
There was no doubt this match was going to linger in his mind for days to come...
Back at the Manor, a usual small crowd had gathered by the foyer, welcoming the participants back inside. Unsurprisingly, Kevin had joined some of his fellow survivors in discussing the match results, describing all his heroic feats or... whatever it was he had been doing during the whole match. Edgar rolled his eyes as he slipped away from the others, heading straight for his room. He wasn't interested in chatting with the other survivors, they'd only bombard him with their irritating chatter. And besides that, he had his own business to attend to.
Once he had reached his bedroom, he closed the door quietly behind him. Several easels stood upright in the room, with canvases sitting on some of them. One in particular, by the window, had a landscape painting in progress propped up on it. He had planned to get some progress done on it that night, but his mind was still buzzing after the match he'd just gone through.
Normally, he could recover from the thrill of the round fairly quickly, but this time it was different. He couldn't quite focus on anything, and his brain seemed to be in a disarray. He walked over to the painting in question, staring long and hard at it... But his mind was completely blank.
In front of him was a painting of a field of wheat, contrasting a bright blue sky dotted with clouds... but it invoked nothing from him. The paint felt so colourless, the image so empty and devoid of any real emotion in comparison to how he was feeling at that moment. It was almost as if his inspiration had been snatched, replaced with something entirely different. A feeling he'd never felt before, a completely alien sensation.
The best way he could describe it was whenever a hunter was nearby and his chest was tightening up in fear and tension, but it wasn't quite like that either. His face felt like it was heating up like the sun, burning to the touch. His heart itself felt like it was aching in pain, a strong desire for something he couldn't name.
It hurt the most when his thoughts trailed to the match he was in. More specifically, the last few moments of it.
The feeling of a strong arm around him, feeling protected and safe, carried away from harm's way... When was the last time he'd felt such a sense of security? The reassurance of another person telling him that everything was okay, and that they'd take care of everything?
It had felt so... nice. He had enjoyed it.
The brunet shook his head, trying to clear away his thoughts. What was he thinking? Of course he hadn't enjoyed that one bit - it was terrifying! It was stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! It was only pure luck that the two of them had managed to escape! It was the adrenaline that hadn't worn off quite yet that was the cause of these feelings, surely. He was only overthinking it, which was understandable for someone who had just been in a near life or death situation. It was normal.
Edgar stared long and hard at the painting, as if concentrating on it would help any with clearing his thoughts. Usually it did, but this time, he was unsuccessful. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his mind off of him.
Of that warm feeling that he could feel still, deep somewhere in his chest.
Something was missing about those fields of wheat. It felt too empty, too lifeless.
It was missing a certain warmth.