Chapter Text
Luca had a tendency to forget his lunches.
Which was fine, as Edgar generally didn’t have anything better to do than to haul his sorry ass up to the labs Luca worked. Certainly not on rainy days, where inspiration ran dry and all he had to do was pace about his room. He'd dropped the lunch on Luca's work station, declared he was much too tired from his walk here to bother immediately making the walk back. Then, to Luca's critical gaze, added on that it was much too muddy to be walking back, and had promptly collapsed into the chair across from him.
"You're being dramatic. Go home," But there's a ghost of a smile on his face, and Edgar knows that so long as he's quiet, Luca will not follow through on his command. That does not change the curl of the lip he sends Luca in return, two seconds from sticking his tongue out at him.
(In truth, Luca looks wonderful, working like this. A focused look to his eye, a tense figure. Edgar feels something like a voyeur, being allowed to watch him mumble away to himself. He's elegant. Edgar does as he’s always done best, and sketches away with messy hands. Maybe one day he'll be permitted to bring his paints in while he works, and create him something proper.)
Still. If there was one thing he’d like to change, it would be the mans hair. It was obvious that Luca hadn’t put too much thought into it this morning. Despite being pulled back, Edgar can still catch sight of the tangles and knots that infest it. His hair is frizzy, some strands sitting at odd angles. It was interesting enough to sketch the first few times, but now he wants his model to be perfect.
An easy enough fix.
“Come here,” Edgar mumbles, absentminded, as he pulls himself up from his chair. He swipes his fingers on his pants to rid himself off the charcoal dust, then again just for safe measure. Luca probably wouldn’t be too happy, to have a face covered in smudges. Never something Edgar bothered paying heed to, but he’d expressed his dissatisfaction of the mess in the past.
“Huh?” Luca looks up from the machinery he’s fussing with around the time Edgar manages to pull his hair out of his ponytail for him. Frown on his face, he begins combing his fingers through his hair to clean it up for him. Luca has never been the best at hiding his emotions. The expressive sort. It’s what makes him interesting to draw. He smiles bright when something goes well, gets this contemplative look about his face while he paces around his lab. Edgar could spend the next few hours sketching the looks that cross over him.
You know. If his hair was proper.
But now, in this moment, he catches sight of a few different looks. Confusion (“Ah- Hey?”), uncertainty (“Valden.”), and then something horribly disgruntled, Luca shifting back to try and escape his grasps. Edgar focuses his gaze on his hair instead of his face, steps forward as Luca steps back.
“Edgar, seriously, stop,” Luca sighs, “We’re in public. You can’t just-”
“It’s fine,” Edgar says, still focused on fixing him, “Give me a moment.”
“ Edgar ,” Luca’s voice suddenly gets more stern, exasperated, and he reaches up to grab Edgar’s hand and squeeze, “Lorenz can walk in.”
Ah. Of course.
As if Edgar's face couldn't fall anymore, he brings up his mentor.
"When was the last time he actually bothered to stay more than an hours time? He won't be coming," Edgar grumbles, “Besides. Fuck Lorenz,” Which was his general opinion of the man.
“Don’t be so crass ,” Luca eyes widen, as though this isn’t the hundredth time Edgar has expressed this particular opinion of him, “You’ve not a reason to be here, let alone distracting me from my work. If he comes in and finds my attention elsewhere, he’ll be a horror to put up with the rest of the week,” Luca’s scolding is quick, and firm, and Edgar’s eyes narrow as a result of it. He does not doubt the sincerity of Luca's concern on the matter.
It just- Shouldn't matter. It didn't matter.
“.. Right. Sure. Alright. Whatever,” Edgar sighs, “Good luck on your experiment. Hopefully Lorenz actually bothers to show up today.”
“Edgar!” Luca sounds appalled at the (in Edgars opinion) very correct thought that his mentor might not bother.
With a huff, Edgar turns heel and leaves, leaving Luca to fix his own appearance. He doesn't bother fetching his sketchbook on the way out.
==
The hum of the cipher machine is shrill and unforgiving on Edgars ears, occasional shock stinging his fingertips. How miserable, he thinks to himself, hitting the side of the machine in a way that supposedly helps. He’d run out of supplies to paint with near the beginning of the match, needing to pull not one but two rescue's for Luca's sake. Jerk always had a tendency to get caught first. He'd considered leaving it to Andrew (Considering it was, you know, his JOB) but he was closer, and Victor had send him a letter telling him to do it anyway.
He supposed it wasn't too horrible. The two of them had managed to scurry off to the other-side of the map, away from Mary and the mirror's she was placing up. This cipher was apparently Luca's preferred one, as he'd near beamed when he'd gotten to it. He'd then proceeded to spend the next few minutes mumbling to himself as he set up connections and hit calibrations, giving the occasional little laugh and gasp. Lost in his own little world, of course.
Weirdo.
Edgars eyes blankly observe the way he works. Scattered, rushed, but efficient. His hands tremble and shake against the keyboard, lips stay in a perpetual grin. He's been doing this long enough that most of it seems to be muscle memory rather than thoughtful, as the look in Luca's eye is distant. There's a bit of blood on his forehead from a hit Edgar hadn't managed to clean up entirely, and his hair is a frizzy mess that sticks up in a hundred million different directions.
Hm.
“Hey,” Edgar says, “Turn here for a second,”
“Huh?” Luca’s hum interrupts his mumbling, and he bothers to raise an eyebrow at him. But it takes Edgar actually reaching over to grab his chin for him to rip his gaze away from the cipher machine, Edgar’s own narrowed to something sharp.
“You’re a mess,” Edgar says, reaches up to wipe the blood off his face, to fuss down some of the stay strands of hair about his head. Near immediately, Luca bursts into a fit of giggles (Most of which Edgar knows to be unintentional) head tilting into Edgars touch.
“Ah! Hey now-” He says through his laughter. But he’s not pulling away. If anything, his eyes close, and he takes a moment to soak in the touch, "Thanks?"
“You need to brush your hair more,” Edgar scolds, bitterly, “You have more knots in it than Emma has thoughts in her head.”
“It’s not that important,” Luca has the gall to beam at him, “You’re fussin’ over somethin’ small again."
Edgar huffs, gets a little more forceful with his work, “Personal appearance is very important,” he insists, “If you gave more a shit about your appearance I wouldn’t have to bother fussing over it.”
“Like you’ve room to talk! You’re covered in paint most of the time!”
“Occupational hazard,” Edgar scoffs, grimacing as his fingers catch on strands of hair, “At least I’m not the one rolling about in the dirt.”
Luca’s giggles turn into laughter, full body, and he leans down to give Edgar a bit more room to work with, “‘Sides, the static does all kinda weird stuff to my hair. It’s not really worth worryin’ about it during a match.”
"I guess.." Edgar doesn't pull back, despite this. Luca humors him for another few seconds, before the smile on his face falls to something softer. His hands, gloved, almost always gloved these days, reach up to gently grab at Edgar's. Edgar doesn't put up any resistance.
“Seriously. What if Victor or Andrew see us goofin’ off or somethin’?"
Edgars fingers stall as he feels an unsteady sense of Déjà vu curls in his stomach. He blinks. Stares at Luca, forces the feeling to bubble back down from wherever it's come from.
Apparently does not hide this well at all, as Luca seems far too concerned about the look on Edgar’s face.
“..Huh?” Luca tilts his head, “... Was it somethin’ I said? I don’t- I mean, they probably won’t actually care that much,” He admits, finger coming up to rest thoughtfully on his cheek, “Once I found ‘em hiding together in a locker. Gossipin’ like two schoolyard children, you see. They were insisting they were hiding from Joseph but Andrew was blushin’ bright red. Don't think it was from embarrassment!” He grins, laughs, “Before your time though.”
“And their opinion really does not matter,” He spits bitterly, and pulls back. Luca reaches up to pat at his hair, only a little bit better then the mess it once was, "Really, if they care about you as much as they say they do, they should be pleased I'm helping to clean your sorry ass up. They sure the hell don't know what they're doing in that regard. I swear, none of you have heard of a personal care routine," Edgar rolls his eyes, crosses his arms
"Oh, give me more credit then that! I just can't control this mess these days," Luca bites back a smile, shows off his snaggletooth. Hold the ponytail holder between his lips as he pulls his hair back into place.
...
They're quiet, for a few seconds. Edgar turns heel back to smack the annoying machine, because the faster it's done the faster he no longer has to hear it. Luca huffs out a laugh.
“Hey, really though. Thanks. I ain’t really pay too much attention to it these days, you know? More important things goin' on up here,” Luca taps at his head with his free hand, "Remind me when we get back n' I'll brush it out all proper-like."
“You never have,” He shrugs, "Just get back to your work."