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Thinking back on it, maybe he should have spent more time considering the letter and all the promises written within it – in hindsight, it all had seemed to be too promising, too easy. But Edgar had been intrigued by it, by all the possibilities and opportunities following the letter’s instructions would bring, and as he walked into the Oletus manor’s perimeters, the possibility of no return never even occurred to him.
Edgar clicks his tongue. What a fool he had been. When he gets out of this cursed manor and its gruesome game (and it’s not ‘if’ because he will get out, he refuses to be stuck here forever), he’ll be sure to not make the same kind of mistake ever again.
But despite how bothersome and aggravating this whole situation is, surprisingly, it’s not all negative. There is, of course, still the promise of obtaining your desires hanging in the air if you manage to win the game, but that’s not all. Edgar’s eyes slide over to watch the eccentric inventor on the other side of the room; Balsa is animatedly explaining something to Grantz and Kreiss, using his arms and hands to gesture wildly as he speaks, and he almost manages to smack Grantz in the face while doing this.
“--and that is very interesting, because it relates to all these other matters--” Luca explains passionately, spreading his arms wide as if to demonstrate how many other matters there are where it relates to, but the arc of his hand gets interrupted when it collides with Edgar’s face.
“Watch it, Balsa!” Edgar snaps as he slaps Luca’s hand away annoyedly. Luca’s mood, however, doesn’t dampen even with Edgar’s prickly retort. He just laughs apologetically and pulls his hand away, a safe distance from smacking Edgar again with it.
“Sorry about that,” Luca says with an amicable smile on his lips, and Edgar is mad that he has grown so horridly soft when it comes to the other man that his off-handed, casual apology suffices in calming him down. But just for the sake of not letting Luca know how deep he has managed to crawl under his skin, into his heart, he still crosses his arms and huffs, offended.
Either Luca doesn’t really care for Edgar’s show of temper or he just sees through his act, because the inventor just grins at him and continues his explanation right where he left off. Though, Edgar notes, he pays more attention to the movements of his arms a bit more than before.
Edgar watches this for a moment before he turns away with a frown on his face. It’s ridiculous, to be hanging on to the ghosts of the past, but here he is – secretly hoping to be remembered, to be acknowledged as more than just ‘the new survivor’ or ‘the Painter’– And he takes great offence in this; he is so much more than just a new survivor, a nameless player in this atrocious game they all have to partake in. He is Edgar Valden, and he makes sure the people in the manor know it, even if they don’t necessarily recognize the name.
The problem is that Luca Balsa should recognize it, yet doesn’t.
Edgar remembers his first day on Oletus, stepping through the manor’s entrance and meeting all the people in there. He expected there to be others as well – there was no way he would be the only one to have received an offer like that, the only one playing in this ‘game’ they talked about – but he hadn’t expected to see any familiar faces.
At first he didn’t recognize Luca; he was wearing a tattered prisoner’s outfit, and around his neck was a heavy metal chain that did nothing to hide the bandages wrapped around his throat. His face was beaten and bruised as well, his left eye an angry shade of purple and swollen half-way shut. It was all so different from the image Edgar had in his memories, he had to do a double take before truly internalizing that the battered man before him was Luca Balsa, the appraised innovator that had disappeared from his life.
Shocked, he had cried out his name and ran towards him, only to receive a confused stare and smile in return.
“Sorry,” Luca had said with a tilt of his head, “do I know you?”
Edgar had bristled, shouted at him for daring to mess with him like this, this was a serious situation and he owed some explanations to him, but the more he spoke, the more confused and shut-off Luca’s expression became.
It made him pause.
The two men had stared at each other, Luca clearly uneasy, Edgar confused and angry. He had stormed off, not caring that he hadn’t even introduced himself to the other residents there, that he didn’t know a single thing about the manor and its layout.
Their next meeting didn’t go any better, and neither did the one after that. Secretly, Edgar had hoped that Luca was only teasing him, getting on his nerves to get a good laugh out of it later, but as time passed, it was clear the man had actually no idea who he was.
It had stung in a way Edgar still refuses to acknowledge.
But if Luca didn’t care to remember him, then Edgar wouldn’t bother either – he had his pride, and running after a man who clearly walked away from him, leaving him behind without even a proper goodbye, wasn’t something a man of his status and skill would do. He refuses to just be left standing and watching as Luca’s figure slowly moves further and further away from him, so he turns on his heels, and continues moving onward on his own terms.
Even if Balsa tries to reach out to him, Edgar, figuratively and literally, shrugs his attempts off. If Balsa can just suddenly disappear from Edgar’s life and forget about him, Edgar can keep the distance between them as long as the manor’s perimeters allow.
If Edgar, on nights after particularly hard and brutal matches, turns to face the wall that separates his and Balsa’s rooms and lies there on his bed as close to it as possible, then no one would have to know.
Because he has already decided to move on.
---
Edgar walks into the kitchen, intending to make himself a cup of tea (and how preposterous, the fact that he has to make his tea himself) but he stops as he sees Balsa and Reznik engrossed in an eager conversation.
“You are aware that your prattling makes absolutely no sense to me, correct?” Edgar interrupts Luca in the middle of his commentary about his latest project. Luca stops and blinks at Edgar.
“Yet you’re always listening to me,” he then says with a small grin, a knowing glint in his eyes. Edgar hates it, hates being read so easily, so he scoffs and looks away.
“You just won’t ever stop talking about your projects, it’s not like I have any other choice.”
Luca looks at him and hums softly. “You could just walk away – don’t try to tell me that you would never do that, I’ve seen you turn your back to plenty of people trying to compliment you on your art.”
“That’s different! Those ignorant fools couldn’t even begin to understand the depth that goes into my paintings! Trying to tell me how the colors and strokes are magnificent, how they ‘awaken so many emotions’ in them – as if! None of them knows art like I do, they know nothing,” Edgar bristles.
“I know nothing of art either, yet you don’t dismiss my comments.”
Edgar can feel how his cheeks begin to flush a bit, and he hopes Luca mistakes it for anger and indignation. “That’s also different – you don’t try to pretend as if you do. Your remarks may not be very intellectual nor have any real value to them, but they are not unwelcome either.”
“You certainly have a way with words,” Luca laughs, and the sound travels through Edgar’s body, leaving a gentle warmth behind. It’s annoying, the effect Luca has on him.
Edgar rolls his eyes and sneers. “If you did too, then perhaps I would understand your incomprehensible jargon better.”
After the conversation, Edgar notices how Luca tries to explain things in a simpler manner, but most of the formulas and physics Luca talks about still go over his head. Despite that, he finds himself smiling a bit more whenever he’s listening to him and paying less attention to schooling his expressions indifferent.
As Edgar watches the two of them interacting, he’s surprised to notice that instead of just listening and nodding along, Reznik comments on Balsa’s remarks, and even asks questions back.
She actually understands and follows Balsa’s explanations.
Edgar feels a tight squeeze in his chest as he realizes this. He scowls, clicks his tongue as he turns around and walks away from the kitchen, no longer in the mood for tea.
Now that Balsa has people around him that share his interests, that he can actually have intellectual and fulfilling conversations on the topics, it’s no wonder his mind deems Edgar as something unnecessary to remember.
Everything Edgar paints that night is all dark and cold in color, different hues of murky green coating the canvas before him.
---
Edgar is in the middle of painting, tongue peeking out the tiniest bit from between his lips as he’s focused solely on the canvas before him. When he feels a hand coming down to clap on his shoulder, it’s as if his heart leaps out of his chest. A tiny squeak that Edgar would never admit making escapes from him as he jumps in his seat, twisting around to see who is behind him.
Luca backs off with a laugh and hands raised up in the air. “Whoa! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
Seeing that the person sneaking up on him isn’t a threat, Edgar relaxes, the tension leaving him with an exhale. But then almost immediately after an angry frown takes over his expression and he stands up to get in Luca’s face to shout at him.
“You senseless idiot! What if you had ruined my work – I’ve poured hours into painting this, and they could all go to waste with a single unplanned stroke!”
Luca raises his eyebrows at his outburst. “I know you could fix that easily even if that did happen.”
Edgar rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Of course I could, who do you think I am? But that is not the point here! Even if I can fix it, it would take me time that I could spend elsewhere,” Edgar scowls at the inventor.
“Yeah, that’s true. I’m sorry – I’ll warn you next time,” Luca says, an apologetic look on his face. Edgar clicks his tongue.
“Whatever. Now, what did you need, for you to come and interrupt my focus on painting?”
As Luca starts explaining what he came in here for, Edgar faintly registers in the back of his mind that this was the first time Luca touched him. After the other man leaves, Edgar brings his hand up to faintly rest on his shoulder, on the spot Luca had placed his hand on. Edgar knows it can’t be true, but it feels as if it’s slightly warmer to the touch than usual.
Edgar watches as Balsa gives friendly pats on Grantz and Kreiss’ shoulders, on their backs, and a couple of times even on their asses in jest. It seems easy and casual, amibiality mixed with familiarity, and it doesn’t sit right with Edgar.
Why should they, when they have only known Balsa for a few months at best, receive Balsa’s physical affection easily like that, when it had taken so much longer for him to do so?
Balsa throws his arm around Grantz’s shoulders after a favorable match they all participated in and won without trouble. The postman smiles and returns the gesture, albeit a tad more shyly; he rests his hand softly on Luca’s waist, and while the points of contact are less, only his palm really touching Balsa, it looks considerably more intimate that way.
Edgar grits his teeth and walks away – he doesn’t want to see Balsa acting all chummy with others. What he doesn’t see either is how Balsa’s eyes follow his exit, hesitation and worry engraved in his gaze. But the inventor doesn’t call out after him, and Edgar doesn’t turn back.
----
They’re in a match together, set in the Lakeside Village, and Balsa gets hurt while trying to run away from the hunter. It’s no surprise really; if the hunters manage to spot Balsa, they usually give him the immediate chase, knowing that he is a big threat with how fast he’s able to decode the ciphers and link them together. But what is a surprise is when Balsa sends a quick message telling the rest of them that the hunter has changed target. It’s rare for the hunters to stop chasing someone already injured.
Either someone ran over and had successfully diverted the hunter’s attention to themselves while letting Balsa escape (the most likely one to do that would be Subedar – the ex-soldier had an utterly ridiculous wont for self-sacrifice if it helped others, Edgar has noted) or Balsa himself managed to trick and fool the hunter, making them lose track of him. Edgar has no idea which is the case, but honestly, he doesn’t really care for much. All he wants is to win this game, no matter what.
(He wonders when will he really win this game – there have already been numerous victories on his part, on their part, yet there is still not a sign of the price they’ve all been promised. Edgar refuses to acknowledge the possibility that all the grandiose promises written on the letters they received were all lies, ways to trick them into this maddening manor and its cruel cycle of death tag games.)
Edgar is focusing on decoding the cipher next to the big ship when he sees Balsa running towards him, a limp in his step. Even though he has told himself that he doesn’t care about others in this game, that he doesn’t care about Balsa, not when there is nothing between them anymore, Edgar still feels involuntary worry grip him tightly as he takes in the inventor’s condition.
The painter stops what he’s doing and runs towards Balsa, closing the last few steps worth of distance between them and immediately starts checking on him, seeing where he is hurt. The air between them is quiet, safe for Balsa’s laboured breathing and a few sharp intakes and groans when Edgar goes over the places he’s been hurt, trying his best to patch him up. He’s not sure if he’s glad about the silence or not.
“Sorry,” Balsa breathes out then, and the simple word brings forth a wave of annoyance in Edgar.
“Stop apologizing – it’s basically useless at this point,” he snaps, irritated, and tightens a bandage he’s been wrapping around Balsa’s arm a bit too much.
“Sorry,” Luca apologizes, but it’s carefree and lilted with the laughter embedded in his voice. Edgar doesn’t share the sentiment in this situation.
“Don’t laugh! You absolute imbecile – you could have gotten hurt much worse; it’s practically a miracle nothing more serious happened!” he yells at the inventor while doing his best to stem the bleeding from one of the bigger cuts Luca had managed to get on his arm while he fumbles with the bandage. “And your apology means nothing if you’re just going to continue these reckless experiments of yours nevertheless.”
Usually Luca just laughs off Edgar’s comments, making the painter snarl and snap back at him even harder before eventually calming down. But now Luca just looks at him silently, his gaze serious and searching. Edgar doesn’t meet the man’s eyes, focusing on cleaning and patching up the cuts and slashes that cover Luca’s skin – for crying out loud, you would have assumed that a man as smart as him would know how to avoid a goddamned explosion of all the things in his lab.
“Thank you for worrying about me,” Luca says, and it makes Edgar look up to see a soft smile on his lips as their eyes meet. Heat starts to take over Edgar’s cheeks and he frowns and looks away.
“I– I am not worried! God, you’re such an idiot – which truly is an achievement in itself for a man of your caliber – I’m just trying to make sure you stop wasting both valuable equipment and both of our time with all these hazardous experiments of yours!”
Luca’s smile stays on during Edgar’s whole tirade, and Edgar has always hated those disgustingly fanciful descriptions of how butterflies dance in one’s stomach, about how it feels like one’s heart is leaping out of their chest, but as he looks at Luca, he can kind of understand them now.
“Sorry,” he says again, and while the laughter is gone from his voice this time, it’s replaced by this transparent tenderness. It’s not fair, because Edgar can’t bring himself to stay mad at that.
“Stop apologizing already – it’s annoying and useless at this point,” he snaps, but it’s half-hearted and without any real bite, and they both know it.
When Edgar is done patching Balsa up as much as they possibly can in the middle of a match, they both stand still for a second, just looking at each other. Balsa is the one to break the silence.
“Thank you,” he says and sends him a little smile. It’s ridiculous how that tiny quirk of his lips manages to raise so many memories, so many feelings in Edgar. So many moments that now live only in his head, Balsa having forgotten all about him. It’s bittersweet, to receive that smile after all the things that have happened between them, and despite all, Edgar has to bite the inside of his cheek to not to give a small smile in return.
“Don’t thank me yet – we still have to win the game,” the painter huffs and turns back to work on the cipher he was in the middle of decoding. He glances at Balsa, who’s now crouching on the ground, presumably setting up a new connection– and there it is. Balsa stands up and gestures towards one of the ciphers he just connected.
“I’m going to run over there,” he says, and he’s already starting to run away before Edgar shouts after him.
“Do be careful out there – it’s truly a bother if I have to heal you every time we cross paths.”
Balsa’s eyes widen a bit at his remark but then an amused sort of smirk takes over his lips. “Thank you for worrying about me!” he yells back and Edgar bristles.
“I am not worrying–!” he starts to shout after the “prisoner” but the man is already too far away from him to hear. Edgar grumbles and turns his focus back on the cipher before him. There are no other survivors near him, and the hunter seems to be chasing after Subedar, so Edgar is grateful for the small mercy that there are none who witness the small blush tinting the painter’s cheeks.
---
After the match at the Lakeside Village, Balsa seeks out his company more often. Edgar still tries to keep at least the emotional distance between them, snapping at him and not filtering his words, but he should have known that it wouldn’t work – it didn’t work in the past either, so really, why would it work this time? Even if Balsa didn’t remember his past, it doesn’t mean that he’s essentially not the same person.
So they meet more often. They talk longer. They grow closer.
It’s all painfully familiar, yet at the same time new.
They’re in the manor’s indoor garden, sitting together on a bench, Edgar with a sketchbook in his hands, Balsa with time in his. Balsa is explaining something about physics to him – Edgar stopped listening the moment the man started speaking about particles – but the inventor isn’t offended by his lack of long, proper responses.
Secretly, Edgar wonders about that. He knows that Balsa now has people around him who could hold up an intellectual conversation about the topics he talks about, yet he seems happy to just share his thoughts with Edgar. Maybe it’s just the one thing that didn’t change about him. ...Ugh, what a sappy thought.
He mostly tunes Balsa out as he focuses on his sketches, drawing all the different flowers and plants he sees in the garden. Edgar doesn’t know how long it’s been quiet between them before he realizes that Balsa has stopped talking. He turns to look at the inventor, and is a bit surprised to see him looking straight back at him.
“What?” he snaps, mostly out of reflex. Balsa just keeps watching him with a smile on his face, having no sort of hurry to answer it seems. Edgar’s heart begins to beat a tad faster, blush threatening to rise on his face, and just as he’s about to demand for an answer, Balsa provides one.
“Your eyes are really pretty, you know?”
They’re in Edgar’s study, for what reason Luca originally came to visit him for, Edgar doesn’t know, but unlike before, he finds that he doesn’t mind that anymore; not knowing the exact reason for the inventor’s presence. He would never say it out loud, but he really enjoys Luca’s company, and oftentimes finds himself missing it when they’re not together.
Edgar uses Luca’s sudden visit as a convenient opportunity. “Come, be my model for today,” he says with a tone that leaves no room for argument. He hears Luca’s amused puff of breath before he answers.
“Yeah, alright.”
Moving and guiding Luca to pose in a way he deems acceptable, Edgar walks behind his easel and after a moment of observation, begins painting. He lets his eyes scan over Luca, taking in all the angles and curves of his body, all the big characteristics and the small details that make up the man before him. The light hits Luca from behind, illuminating his hair with a golden tint, in a way that makes him look almost ethereal.
He is beautiful, Edgar truly realizes for the first time.
The painter clears his throat softly and shakes his head. He’s not here to admire Luca’s looks, he’s here to get some important practice done. So he picks his brush back up and gets into the flow of painting – and it’s easy, almost natural for him, to be able to tune out the rest of the world as he just focuses on the strokes of his brush, capturing the image standing before his eyes on this empty canvas under his hands.
Edgar gets the basic shapes down first, his hand and eyes coordinating perfectly in harmony, and even in its minimalistic state the artwork is already beautiful; and he knows it will only get more so, when he’ll start adding in all the details to the painting. Luca is wearing his brown attire he is clearly fond of, and Edgar can already see in his mind’s eye how its golden accents would seem to almost really glimmer when Edgar will capture them in his painting.
He plans to focus more on Luca’s face next, but when he intends to move on to painting it, he notices that Luca has changed the angle where he originally held his head. Edgar scowls at Luca who lifts his eyebrows in question. Before he can voice the question out loud though, Edgar is already standing up and walking towards him with a determined expression.
“You moved your head,” the painter huffs and takes Luca’s face between his fingers, cupping his jaw as he guides his face back into the correct position. Luca’s eyes follow him the whole time, watching Edgar’s own face, and that’s when Edgar realizes how close they are. Instinctively, his gaze drops to briefly glance at Luca’s lips, and the inventor wets them with his tongue. It’s frustratingly distracting. He brings his eyes back up and he meets Luca’s brown ones staring straight at him. Edgar can’t break eye contact, can’t break away; he’s mesmerized, he’s trapped in the gentle and clever depths of the other man’s gaze, holding him captive. His heart thunders in his chest.
“What?” he snaps – or tries to at least. The sound escaping from his lips is more breathless than annoyed. He’s sure that from this distance, his blush is obvious enough, not able to pass it off as a trick of the light.
Luca smiles at him, and there’s no mistaking the rosy tint on his cheeks either. Edgar wants to run back to his canvas, to capture the captivating sight into his painting, but more than that he wants to stay there, drink in the expression Luca is giving to him (and only him).
“Your eyes are really pretty, you know?” Luca whispers, and lifts his hand to softly cup Edgar’s cheek. His thumb swipes gently under Edgar’s eye, stealing the breath from the painter’s lungs.
“Luca…”
They stare at each other for a moment before both start to lean forward, slow and careful, eyes searching for any signs of stopping, but they find none. Edgar moves his hand so that it’s now resting on Luca’s neck, and starts to let his eyelids slide shut the closer they get to each other, their breaths already mingling between them. He can feel the inventor’s pulse beating a mile a minute under his palm, and the knowledge that Luca too is nervous brings him relief.
There’s a polite knock on the door and the two men instantly jump apart.
“Master, I’ve brought some refreshments for you and your guest,” comes a voice through the wooden door and Edgar has never before wanted to curse someone as bad as now.
“Fine, bring them in, and then leave. I don’t wish to be interrupted while I’m working,” he snaps, and from the corner of his eye he sees Luca wincing a bit at his words. Whatever, he’s irritated.
The maidservant hesitantly opens the door, brings in the tray containing some tea and various small snacks and leaves quickly with a bow. They’re now back alone, but the moment is ruined. Edgar sighs and grabs his cup of tea.
He’s done with the painting for that day after a while, but it doesn’t bring the amount of fulfillment he had hoped for. Neither of them bring up what happened before they were interrupted, and they part their ways in the evening with only the words of farewell.
Edgar gets a rush of complicated feelings at Balsa’s words – isn’t that funny, how he now says the exact same thing he said so many months back? Edgar isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cry at this situation.
“That is not the first time I’ve heard that,” he settles on saying, carefully inspecting Balsa’s reaction. The man just hums with a smile on his lips.
“I’d guess not,” Balsa answers, not providing further input. He keeps looking at Edgar though, and the painter feels almost a magnetic sort of pull towards him. Edgar is leaning forward without thinking about it, the memories from their past running through his mind. His knee bumps against Balsa’s and it awakens Edgar from his stupor. Eyes slightly widening, he realizes what he was doing and abruptly pulls back.
“No matter! The fact that my eyes are pretty is trivial – it’s not something that I attained myself, so it doesn’t hold any value to me,” Edgar sneers, and swiftly turns his focus back on the flora around them.
“Is that so?” Balsa muses, and Edgar just gives him a sidelong glance before nodding. A silence settles between them for a while after that, but maybe a bit surprisingly, it’s not stifling or awkward. It’s… quite nice, actually. But after a few minutes Balsa starts again explaining different things that Edgar doesn’t really have the patience nor interest to try to understand, happily filling the air with his chatter.
At some point his knee softly bumps against Edgar’s, casual but careful, testing the waters. Edgar doesn’t move back, and after a while Balsa’s leg is halfway pressed against his as they sit there on the garden bench. It makes Edgar feel warm all over.
---
When Edgar walks into the manor’s dining room, he doesn’t expect to hear singing and see people there dancing – firstly, a dining room is hardly a suitable place for such activities. Secondly, dancing together, care-free like this in their situation? Not a first thing that would really come into Edgar’s mind.
He watches as Alonso plays his mandolin and his voice is actually surprisingly pleasant to listen to as he sings along. Bourbon laughs and dances, managing to pull Baden to join her after a moment of persuasion. The way the two of them dance is nothing like how Edgar has been taught to; they’re bouncy, fast, flighty motions instead of the controlled but smooth waltz steps that are engraved into his mind. They’re full of joy and energy rather than the refined dignity required for ballroom dancing.
There are others enjoying themselves as well: Clark is swaying gently to the rhythm Alonso plays in the background, a smile visible on his face; Adams is right next to him, giggling and twirling her hands around happily; Woods’ jumps and swirls are bright and feminine, and Edgar sees Dr. Dyer watching her with a fond smile.
A majority of the manor’s residents are present here, some of them dancing, some of them just enjoying the company and the rare jovial mood in this manor. Edgar’s eyes sweep the room, and he spots Balsa standing next to a wall, laughing and clapping for Grantz who also prances happily around. Kreiss stands next to him, not clapping along but even he has a smile decorating his face.
Edgar stands there, and some of the people try to encourage him to join in too, which is preposterous – as if he, Edgar Valden, would just mindlessly sway around to a music like this. He knows and is used to proper ballroom etiquette, and this here is nowhere close to it. But still, he stays there, watching others before they all grow tired and the small joyful event in their dining room slowly comes to an end.
Later on that evening, Edgar walks into Balsa’s room unannounced and without knocking – it’s more of a remnant of how he used to act around Luca than that they’ve now come to attain the same level of closeness they once had, and Edgar does it without thinking.
When he opens the door, he sees Balsa with a hand under his chin, counting quietly one-two-three under his breath, taking some waltz steps before he happily twirls around with a small laugh. The sight makes Edgar’s heart squeeze tightly in his chest.
The ball is horrendously boring, if you asked Edgar. There are numerous noble ladies trying to worm their way into Edgar’s side, giving him utterly useless and clueless comments over his art, and they all act so offended when Edgar tells them exactly this. They know nothing of art really, so Edgar doesn’t bother to waste his time trying to entertain them – he knows that most of them aren’t even actually interested in his art at all, only his name and status.
Being a noble, Edgar knows how to dance, of course, but the fact that he knows how doesn’t mean that he enjoys the act. He dances a few obligatory dances with ladies he finds the least irritating, but avoids the dancefloor to the best of ability beyond that.
Luca is there in the ball too, but unlike Edgar, the inventor seems to actually enjoy dancing. The painter keeps an interested eye on him throughout the evening; Luca seems to be more on the dancefloor than not, sharing dances with different ladies, some of which spend a few songs in Luca’s company, some just happy with one dance. There are definitely some flirtatious advances made on some ladies parts, and not all very subtle either, considering the fact that Edgar can clearly spot them from across the room.
Watching all this makes Edgar frown and a nasty feeling pools in his stomach – those ladies don’t even know Luca, yet they’re acting so wantom with him. Have they not any shame at all?
Edgar clicks his tongue and grabs a glass of champagne from a passing servant’s tray. He has had enough of trying to entertain boresome guests and seeing Luca being surrounded by all the unabashed opportunists. Edgar walks away from the great hall, going to the balcony for some fresh air - but of course there are people in there too. Edgar sighs in exasperation, catching a few guests’ attention, but pays them no mind. Even though not as isolated as the painter had hoped, the balcony is still a much preferable option to the hall.
Some of the people try to start a conversation with him, but he’s not really in the mood; even one more extremely ignorant comment about his art and he is out of the door. So when people speak out to him, Edgar doesn’t even try to soften his words – despite what some may believe, he does filter himself in the presence of others, mind you. The difference is obvious now that he doesn’t, and he’s soon left alone in a blissful silence.
The evening goes by agonizingly slowly, and Edgar excuses himself the moment he deems appropriate. As he leaves, he catches Luca’s eye and the inventor seems surprised that he’s already leaving. His reaction makes sense – usually Edgar stays in these sort of parties for longer, never being one of the first ones to leave. But tonight he doesn’t want to stay here, doesn’t want to watch as Luca dances with all the ladies practically drooling after him, so he leaves.
“Oh, Valden! Sorry, I didn’t hear you knocking,” Balsa laughs, a bit sheepish that he’d been caught in the act of dancing around in his room.
“I didn’t,” Edgar states simply, staring at Balsa. The inventor pauses, trying to figure out how to respond.
“Oh. Well, that explains that,” he ends up saying. “So? What brings you here?”
Edgar ignores Balsa’s question. “You were dancing just now.”
Balsa raises his eyebrows slightly in surprise. “Ah, yeah. I guess the merriment from earlier stayed with me,” he answers with an easy smile, but Edgar can see something heavier reflecting in his eyes.
“You weren’t dancing earlier. Why?”
Balsa shifts uncomfortably, turning his face to look at one of the bedroom walls – the wallpaper covering the room is pleasing in its own way, Edgar can admit, but honestly it’s nothing as enchanting as Balsa makes it seem like, with how intensely he is staring at it. The inventor wets his lips nervously and swallows. “I… wasn’t sure I knew how to,” he then admits quietly. Edgar snorts.
“You would hardly need any skill or knowledge for the level of swaying around that occured in the dining room.”
Balsa shrugs. “Maybe, but still. I had this feeling that… that I’ve danced before, properly, but I couldn’t be sure.” Balsa lets out a small laugh. “Apparently I have – I don’t remember ever learning, but when I tried it out, my body remembered what to do. Muscle memory is kinda amazing, huh?”
“Yes, but you would need a partner to know if you truly still possess your skills,” Edgar blurts out before he can stop himself. Balsa looks at him, searching his face, and now that the words are already out, there is no way Edgar would take them back – no way he would admit having made a mistake out loud. A small, perhaps bordering flirtatious smile forms on Balsa’s lips.
“Are you offering?”
Looking straight back into Balsa’s eyes, Edgar answers. “I suppose I am.”
They both take a step towards each other, meeting in the middle. Edgar, obviously, is more used to taking the leading role, but he doesn’t object when Balsa automatically moves his hands so that his right hand is resting against the painter’s back, and his left hand gently grasps Edgar’s right one. Balsa pulls them closer together, looking down straight into Edgar’s eyes, and the painter is mesmerized.
There’s a knock on Edgar’s door. It’s surprising, someone coming to visit him this late in the evening, but not entirely unheard of. “Come in,” he invites, and sees the handle turn down before the door carefully opens up. Standing in the doorway is Luca, a care-free smile adorning his face.
“Hey. You left early today,” he says as a greeting and walks inside the room, closing the door behind him.
“Wasn’t really in the mood to mingle with all those boresome “art critics” and shameless opportunists today – they’re bad enough on a regular day, but tonight they were downright horrible,” Edgar huffs out while waving his hand in the air in a vague gesture. Luca hums in response.
“Still, you usually stay a bit longer. I don’t think I saw you dance even once during the ball.”
“First of all, I did dance, thank you very much. Secondly, you’re more than aware that dancing isn’t exactly among my favorite activities,” the painter sneers, crossing his arms.
“Dancing can be very enjoyable with the right partner,” Luca says. “You can carry your conversation while dancing, and there is no one to interrupt you then.”
“Hard to find a fitting partner when the only person I’d be interested in talking with spends his time twirling some wanton ladies around without a worry in his mind,” Edgar snaps without thinking. When his words and their meaning register to him, Edgar feels like someone had poured a basin of cold water over him but like he had been set on fire at the same time. His face is as red as his everyday cape, he is sure of that, so he turns his head away, refusing to look at Luca.
“I see… Then, would you like to dance now?”
Edgar snaps his head back to stare at Luca, who is now wearing an inviting smile, his hand stretched out, waiting for Edgar to grasp it. A shiver goes through Edgar when their eyes meet; Luca’s brown irises hold so many emotions in them – compassion, expectation, excitement – and if Edgar can read him correctly, there’s a shimmer of want in there as well.
Swallowing, Edgar opens his mouth to answer. “That’s stupid. There’s no music to dance to.” Despite his words sounding harsh, he’s not outright refusing Luca’s offer, and Luca knows how to read between the lines when it comes to the prickly painter.
“We don’t need music. Now, come on, Edgar – humor me?” the inventor says and takes a small step closer, his hand still up invitingly. Begrudgingly Edgar takes hold of it, as if it wasn’t clear from the start that he would end up giving in to Luca’s whims.
Luca moves his hand around Edgar, resting it at his back, and holds the painter’s right hand in his left. Luca pulls them close, closer than truly necessary if Edgar is being honest, but he doesn’t mind the proximity in the least. Quite the opposite, really.
True to Luca’s words, they don’t need music to dance - the inventor starts humming a soft, pleasant melody under his breath that is easy to fall in rhythm with. Luca leads them gently but with confidence, and Edgar has to admit that truly, it’s no wonder why the man is so popular among the ladies who wish to dance.
They sway and twirl elegantly across the floor of Edgar’s bedroom, putting on a wondrous performance for no one else to see. This moment is just for them, to enjoy and cherish without needing to think of the world outside of these four walls. Oh, how Edgar hopes this moment would last for an eternity, just them two and no responsibilities.
Edgar lifts his face to look at Luca; he’s wearing a soft expression, the fondness clear from the way his mouth is lifted upwards from the corners and the way his eyes are half-lidded when looking down at Edgar.
‘I could easily kiss him now,’ Edgar thinks as his eyes fall down to glance at Luca’s lips. It would be so easy now, just stand on his tiptoes, closing the distance between them, so small yet so big. But he doesn’t. He wants to save it for later, save it for a moment where everything is wonderful and feel right. This moment is close, but it’s not perfect – and Edgar wouldn’t be here where he is today if he would settle for anything short of flawless.
So that night, he is content to just dance together. The tension and anticipation is almost palpable in the air between them, but it’s more comforting than anything. It’s clear that they both want more than what they currently have between them, but tonight the only steps they take are that of waltz.
Balsa starts slowly leading them, taking small, a bit hesitant steps, not confident enough in his memory to start out more ambitious. With each new step Balsa seems to regain a bit of his confidence in his ability to dance, and it reminds Edgar of the last time they danced together like this.
(The last time they ever saw each other, while both still remembering everything shared between them.)
Edgar feels his heart constrict in on itself as the memories and feelings from that time flood back into his mind, but he continues to follow in Balsa’s steps. It might not be the same with Balsa not remembering, but he should be grateful that he’s been granted with the opportunity to meet him again. They can… just make new memories together. It’s fine this way.
But even as Edgar tells himself all this, a small part of him is still desperately clinging onto their shared past. Balsa’s steps aren’t hesitant anymore, but he’s gone unusually quiet, as if lost in his head. Edgar watches him but Balsa doesn’t seem to really see him. Their rhythm isn’t lost, Balsa still leading them with expertise Edgar could expect from him, but the inventor doesn’t seem to be wholly present in the moment.
Swallowing, Edgar starts quietly humming. It’s the same tune that Luca had hummed back then, and even though he himself was the one who started humming it, hearing the melody brings forth a rush of emotions in Edgar. But what he didn’t expect is that Balsa would react to it as well. He falters in his steps, distracted, and looks down at Edgar with confusion and uncertainty.
“I’ve heard that song before,” he says slowly, still gently swaying back and forward with Edgar in his arms, his steps smaller than before. His words make Edgar’s heart skip a beat, hope persistently rising in his chest despite him trying to quell it.
“...It’s a popular song,” Edgar answers carefully, weighing each word. Balsa recognizing this tune tells nothing yet.
“No, I… It’s not that- It’s something more important than that,” Balsa insists, and Edgar tightens his hold on Balsa’s arm instinctively. It makes Balsa jump a bit, and he looks down at Edgar, searching his face. They’ve stopped completely moving at this point, the two men now just staring at each other.
“Edgar..? Have we… Have we danced before..?”
The question steals the breath from Edgar’s lungs. ‘Don’t give in to the hope, you’ll just come crashing down,’ a voice whispers in the back of his mind, but it’s hard to listen to it when Balsa is looking at him like that, like he remembers.
Edgar tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. “...Yes. Yes, we have.”
The smile that comes onto Balsa’s face is too bright in this dimly lit room, yet Edgar can’t bring himself to look away – ridiculously, like a moth he is attracted to this light he can’t keep away from.
“I- I remember that– not- not everything but– I remember it!” Balsa laughs breathlessly, eyes wandering on Edgar’s face as if truly taking it for the first time. His excitement is unmistakable and contagious; Edgar can’t help but mirror the disbelieving but elated smile on the inventor’s face.
Balsa then pauses a bit, a more wistful expression taking over his features. He brings a careful hand to cradle Edgar’s cheek, stroking softly with his thumb. Edgar relaxes and leans into the touch, craving for it.
Balsa is quiet for a moment, just holding Edgar in his arms – Edgar isn’t sure what to do, so he does nothing and just waits. But he doesn’t have to wait for long.
“I… I really wanted to kiss you that night,” Balsa whispers, and it’s enough to break the wall Edgar has so carefully constructed around his heart so that he wouldn’t, couldn’t hurt again.
“Then do it now,” Edgar says, and Balsa doesn’t hesitate after that. He wraps his other arm around Edgar, one hand staying on Edgar’s face to frame his cheek, and he brings them closer to finally close the distance between them.
Edgar snakes his arm around Balsa’s neck, clinging to him, clinging to this moment with all he has. Balsa’s lips are chapped, but it doesn’t matter because they are warm and moving and after waiting for so long, finally pressed against his. The kiss is passionate, but sweet, Edgar pouring every inch of his longing and love into it, and Balsa answers in kind. They stay locked in the embrace for what feels an eternity but also just a second before they have to part for breath.
Balsa presses so that his forehead rests against Edgar’s, staying close together.
“I may not remember everything but… I think I remember loving you,” Balsa– no, Luca whispers between them.
“‘You think’?”
A soft, breathless laugh. “No, I know,” Luca corrects himself, and Edgar huffs.
“That’s better. I tolerate no such vague sentiments,” he says, but leans up to press a kiss against Luca’s lips and he can feel the smile there. He smiles into the kiss as well.
Luca might not remember everything that happened between them, but now Edgar truly thinks that perhaps it’s alright. They’ll just make new memories together then, and Edgar makes sure Luca won’t be forgetting these ones.