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Hope, as unlikely as it sounds, is what brought Luca into the game.
Even now, he has the invitation saved and the letter is full of promises of a raison d'être—the answer to his existence. The key of him still being alive after all this time and everything he's gone through.
He's an optimist, or at least he tries to be. In Oletus he can make himself useful, only his presence is sometimes enough to make a difference in a match and that's given him newfound confidence he didn't know he was lacking. He can play with all the available technology without anyone complaining, leave his mark within the machinery carefully distributed on every map. It's fun, thrilling , even the danger he's already grown used to. But then, that's something he's had to deal with before entering the game.
That's all the good stuff he's tried to list down. In retrospect, he's still a prisoner inside the manor. He wonders if leaving Luca's shackles on is the ring master's sick sense of humor.
He notes down a formula he's going to need later while his head whispers that, even if he's still caged, at the very least, here he can do something about it. That there's light by the end of the tunnel.
His mind is a blurred haze of vague memories intertwining together and, sometimes, Luca would rather have a clean slate instead of the awful feeling of being so close yet so far to remember just who he is, where does he come from and what it is that he has to complete.
So, he can't help but admire the way Edgar's face molds and his hands follow suit, expressive, whenever he takes the initiative to talk about his own life without Luca poking him into action.
“She tried to pick on painting too, but really, it was just an empty whim of hers. Of course, I knew it from the start, but she was quite insistent about it and—”
“You still helped her, right?” He already knows the answer—it's not exactly a wild guess—and he's certain his teasing grin is enough to make it clear to Edgar, considering the tips of his ears turn an interesting shade of pink and his eyes narrow in an empty threat.
“The final product was more my work than Maple's.” Edgar huffs before taking one short sip out of his tea. It's the best brand provided by the manor's owner and Luca thinks it's funny how the Painter took so well to it. It's been a while since he's seen him drink anything else, “Then she said it was too much work, and started investing herself in dancing classes. Suits her better, anyways.”
As much as Edgar acts like his younger sister is a bother, Luca knows he loves her from the way the fire of his gaze smoothens into soft candlelight, how his voice rings with a special fondness that's only meant for her. Maple sounds like a spoiled little thing, much more so than her big brother. Luca chuckles.
“Looks like she's attached to you, that's cute.” Meanwhile, a family is something Luca's conscious he used to have, once upon a time. But he can't recall their names nor what they looked like for years now. They were there, then they were gone and he doesn't know who to blame for that.
“Shush.” Edgar's eyes squint as his hands grow restless, fingers tapping the table with an uneven rhythm, “She's the only one I told about the invitation.”
Oh.
“And she was okay with it? Not gonna lie, sounds quite contradictory considering what you've told me about her.”
Edgar sighs, leaving his cup aside and Luca realizes he may have taken a misstep. There's an apology anxiously twisting on the deepest part of his throat because it's a bitter subject and he was careless, too careless, but the other man just shakes his head, slim hands coming together to hold each other, pull his cuffs even further down. It's a small reminder that Edgar has his own secrets, that they're still getting to know one another.
His gaze is solemn, too much for someone as young as he is. He wants to reach out, but Edgar has his own set of boundaries that Luca doesn't dare to push in critical moments, “I was in a bad place and the invitation gave me a chance to look for what I was lacking. Simple enough, Maple was happy to see me leaving my bedroom for the first time in months.”
He doesn't know what to say, his eyes settle on Edgar's placid expression trying to look for something, anything that could give him a hint on how to proceed.
“But I'm doing better now. I guess even this manor holds some beauty.”
As much knowledge there's ingrained on his brain, Luca's at a loss when it comes to whatever Edgar was looking for. Because if there's beauty inside this place, that's the Painter sitting right in front of him, stirring his lukewarm tea, with an expression so gentle it seems unreal.
“You're incredible.” He mutters, and after everything they've been through lately, it doesn't break the atmosphere. Edgar still rolls his eyes, but that pretty smile is not gone yet.
“Of course I am.”
Tracy is probably sick and tired of hearing him talk about Edgar, but whatever, he's not going to shut up any time soon.
“Man, you're so whipped!” She says, connecting the red wire to the center, marking the end of their project for the day. Once they've got the circuits set, they need to consider just how much energy is going to be able to pass through them. Their resources are not precisely the best there are, but they've managed to make it this far, “I can't believe it! Even though you promised me we were going to finish this bad boy today, you stayed the whole night helping him with whatever he was painting now! How could you?”
Luca pulls his tools together before settling his gaze back on Tracy, she's pouting and he kind of wants to be just the slightest bit annoying on purpose to goad her a little, but yes, he did promise.
“I told you I could keep going just fine—”
“Your eyebags are huge! Go to sleep!”
Well, he can't argue with her anymore. So instead, he pulls his trump card out of his sleeve because Tracy is weak against puppy eyes.
“I'm sorry! Let's end this tomorrow? I'll convince Emily to make some pudding?” She's also unexpectedly weak against sweets, and he's going to make use of it.
Tracy sighs, shaking her head like her schedule doesn't match up and that in itself is suspicious. Tracy always makes time for their projects, unless…
“No, William and I are free tomorrow. We wanted to spend the day together…”
There it was.
“Wow, so only you can have boyfriend time now? Rude.”
Tracy blushes, slapping his arm with all her strength (as little as it was) to make him shut up, but it has the polar opposite effect. He's laughing, and her previously pink face turns into a furious red.
“Oh my God! Why are you like this? Why do I put up with you?” She hisses, but both of them know exactly why.
“You love me.”
Tracy rolls her eyes but doesn't complain about his claim and it makes Luca's chest feel full. Maybe he can't remember his family, and a sister doesn't ring any bell whatsoever, but he's got Tracy. She always has his back.
The Bloody Queen is hosting a party unlike any other Oletus has ever seen. Everyone is invited, as long as they agree to abide by her rules and keep their manners in check.
She's beautiful when she allows the Photographer to take her hand in his own. They look like a unit, their movements graced with an ease that's only present after countless of practice during their lives, and Luca is filled with wonder, because you know, that might just be it—muscle memory, they know exactly what to do even if their partnership is improvised. Joseph holds her close with finesse and Mary follows with coordinated steps, as they merrily dance their way through the hall.
The music ends, both of them bow in a perfect salute and soon the hall is, once again, filled with sound as everyone claps after such an exquisite performance.
“My, aren't you all eager to join.” Mary's smile enhances her beauty, her heels click on the floor with elegance as she makes her way through the crowd. It’s quite a sight, how everyone unconsciously moves to give her space. “I shall grant a wish for the first two people to replicate a proper dance. If it’s within my capabilities, of course.”
“How kind of you!” Norton says, a playful glint in his gaze as he walks over to the center. “Don’t mind if I—”
“I said a proper dance, sir Campbell.” The Queen hides her laughter behind a seemingly delicate hand, it’s easy to forget she's just as deadly. “If you sully my party with something unseemly, I will focus on you in every single match we get together.”
Norton backtracks, a strain in his easygoing smile that makes Luca snicker. The man knows which fights to pick, at least.
He’s far from the only one, though. After such a threat, there are not many people willing to take the first try and in turn, Mary’s lips pull-down in a frown.
“She’s growing impatient,” Edgar whispers to him like he’s sharing a very important secret. He could see it, the way those empty eyes follow each and every one of their faces with the cold demeanor they usually bear when the game is on. It makes his heart beat faster and an idea suddenly pops in his head.
“Hey, wanna dance with me?”
Edgar looks like he wants to object—and quite vocally so—but Mary happens to overhear the proposal.
“Ah, what an interesting duo.” She nods in approval and the pressure of her aura is overbearing. She’s unaccustomed to things not going a certain way and Luca finds himself entranced by the power of her image. He’s familiar with the story behind the stitches on her neck, but he’d like to know how much of that was built in rumors and how much in reality. “The floor is all yours.”
The Queen moves aside, and from a moment to another, they find themselves surrounded by curious gazes and expectations.
“You—” Edgar begins, his tone grounded by his discipline and pride. He’s not going to make a scene, but the twitch on his brow is enough to tell Luca that he’s going to get an earful later. He's looking forward to it. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Luca doesn’t have the heart to tell him that doesn’t.
The music starts.
“C’mon…” Luca goes with what feels right and mirrors Edgar’s curtsey before one of his hands settles on the other’s back. “We got this!”
It’s impromptu, but he’s leading. It’s as if his body knew how to proceed before his mind could hope to catch up with the rhythm. His limbs move on their own and suddenly there’s no one else around but Edgar. Edgar, who is struggling to catch up with him. He giggles and it’s worth the nasty look he throws him because it’s cute that, out of all things he could struggle with, Luca never thought dancing would be one of them. Being from a noble family, it’s a given Edgar’s received lessons, and sure, he’s got the theory down, but he’s still rough around the edges.
Suddenly, the music turns heavier and his steps grow bolder. Edgar gasps, trying his hardest to keep the performance up with sheer will. They flow together, Luca’s hands guiding Edgar into a slide and turn and maybe it’s not a shared sentiment, but he’d like to keep going at it. He feels light. Swinging to this tune feels very close to freedom.
It’s a shame all things come to an end.
The claps are not as enthusiastic as they were when it was Mary and Joseph dancing together, but he smiles. He’s happy, Edgar’s hand still on his own when he bows to their public. Yet, there’s a certain feeling he can’t shake off. The feeling that something’s missing.
“I have to admit, sir Balsa, that I was not expecting such a marvelous performance.” Mary looks satisfied, and he’s gotta pat himself on the back for a job well done. “As for sir Valden...you have your charm, too.”
Edgar looks like he’d rather ask Andrew to bury him alive than do this again, but perhaps he’d be able to convince him when they’re alone together. And maybe then, he might have an easier time trying to deal with the fact that he knows the way around a decent waltz and he has no idea when and where he learned, nor who taught him.
“Then, what is it that you wish for?” The Queen’s voice is gentle, pulling him away from the storm inside his head. It could be a coincidence, that or experience has made her very perceptive of people's discomfort.
The thing is, he has no idea what to ask for. What he wants the most—a reason, purpose—are all things Mary can't grant him.
“Can I think about it?”
Mary hums as if considering the idea before a smile takes on her face again.
“I'll allow it.”
Burke is in a particularly good mood this week.
Maybe it’s because he’s had a winning streak against the newbies. Of course, the old man rarely appears and when he does it’s to give their newcomers the special treatment of a fence coming up to knock them off their ciphers. Luca still hasn’t been able to completely figure out the mechanism, but the more time he spends playing against him, the closer he feels to unlock all of his secrets.
And today it’s his lucky day.
“Is it my birthday?” Luca asks with an excited grin when Burke hands him what looks like one of his consoles, he and Tracy had been asking for months to see one of these out of a game and the man never showed a sign of cracking down. “It doesn’t feel like it is, but maybe I’m just confused!”
“Just take it.” There’s no fire behind Burke’s voice. Luca knows he’s also kinder than he wants to appear. He’s prone to developing soft spots. “You can stop bothering me now, this one is an old model. I’ve already upgraded the rest of my consoles so you’re not taking me by surprise even if you took this apart and put it back together before our next match.”
“Oh, wanna bet on that?” Tracy was going to pull at least three all-nighters sorting every single piece out and he was going to be right beside her, taking note of all the patterns in the cabling. The way each one of those bits worked together.
“There’s nothing to bet, you brat.” Burke snorts, taking a sip out of the bottle he always seems to carry with himself. The heavy stench of vodka assaults his nostrils and he winces. He’s not against a drink or two himself, but the Mad Eyes’ taste is too much for him. He thinks the only two that would be able to handle that are Demi and José.
“Not going to bet when you are at disadvantage, huh? That’s smart.”
The man grunts, clearly done with this particular subject and making Luca break into a cheeky grin. Even though he was always sour and bad-tempered, somehow, Luca found himself liking spending time with Burke. Their shared interest in technology managed to break the walls of their supposed hunter-survivor dynamic, very much like what happened with Tracy back then—he doesn’t forget they all have their interests in check, there’s something that pushed all of them inside the manor. He just likes to enjoy the moments where it seems like there’s more than the endless competition.
“Just say ‘thank you’. Why am I giving in to your whims, even?”
A fair question. Luca is aware there’s more than meets the eye. Burke doesn’t have to give them any time of his day, and he’s sure that the fleeting sprinkle of nostalgia that fills his gaze when he looks at Tracy and Luca working together has a lot to do with it.
But then, it’s not only Burke thinking of them as people that are long gone.
“He reminds me of my dad, I think.” It’s what Tracy said, her hands working the doll’s arm back into its ideal position. Apparently, that day’s match was especially rough on it. “Back in the day, he would teach me everything there is to know about clockwork. I’m not lying when I say I could fix that stupid cuckoo clock that keeps opening the wrong way with my eyes closed, I still don’t know how Lucky insists the thing is charming.”
What he feels around Burke is almost the same, but not quite.
It's bittersweet.
He’d been caught on his thoughts for longer than normal. The old man sighs, shaking his head like talking to him was a lost cause and yes, he might be one. He’s been entertaining the idea for a while, that there’s not much he can do inside Oletus than keep trying to regain the missing fragments of the man called Luca Balsa.
“You look tired, don’t push yourself too far messing with my console.” Burke sighs. He’s worried, he made Burke worry for him. “I’ll give you some notes on it later, but you’ll have to figure everything else on your own.”
The machinery feels heavy in his hands, but not as heavy as the weight suddenly pressing on his chest. He’s both overwhelmed and glad that Burke gave him a way out before he even had the time to look for a way to excuse himself back to his room.
“Thank you.” He says, and it’s for so much more than the console and the promised notes. Burke nods, dismissing him but clearly keeping an eye out for him when Luca stumbles out of their side of the manor.
Andrew notices he’s back, but the somber look on his face is enough to make him take distance. He appreciates it, appreciates the Grave Keeper giving him the space he needs right now. He’ll give a vague explanation later to keep his friend from fretting over something Luca himself can’t explain.
What would his life be, if only his mentor was anything like Burke?
The shackles around his neck feel suffocating, more so than ever.
In the end, Andrew doesn't ask what happened and in turn, Luca doesn't tell him anything specific either.
As much as it's an unspoken rule of the manor to mind your own business , Luca still likes to portray himself as approachable as possible. So it's weird to have Andrew so overly conscious of not stepping over a supposed landmine. He'd laugh it off if he wasn't so sure the Grave Keeper could take it the wrong way.
“Y-you're alright then.” The man says, fiddling with the thick material of his gloves. “That's good to know.”
“Yeah, just a rough night trying to optimize the energy transmission between ciphers in wide maps. I've said this before, but please decode the connected machines? Especially if they aren't that close, I can't do both by myself!” And the way Luca shudders is not for a show to keep on with his white lies. He has some terrible memories involving Murro AND Patricia trying to save Mike from Robbie's hold in Moonlit River Park and effectively screwing the match because no one else was decoding. He's not easy to anger, but that day he grew so frustrated that he needed a timeout.
“I always try to do that. I like your help since I'm not very good with ciphers…”
Luca knows. After seeing Andrew missing a calibration one too many times, he's taken it upon himself to try and always connect their machines whenever they happen to be teammates.
“It's nothing, the least I can do for you, to be honest.” How many times has Andrew saved him? He lost count months ago.
His friend grows flustered, and it's painfully obvious against his pale skin. Kinda endearing.
But it also urges him to act mischievous.
“Ah, also…how are you and Victor doing?”
Andrew's eyes grow wide at the mention of the Postman, and Luca is quite sure they haven't properly addressed their mutual feelings yet—but they're slowly getting there. If the decided glint adorning Andrew's gaze was anything to go by.
“I've been meaning to invite him out during the off chance of a friendly match?”
What.
“No way!” Andrew was being bold.
“Yes, I'm just…waiting for a chance.”
Something clicks inside Luca's head.
“Oh! Miss Mary owes me still, maybe my wish should be for her to be friendly?”
Andrew looks both, bewildered and about to say no , but the little sparks of hope lighting up his face are enough to convince Luca that he has to do something. He'd rather use his one-time privilege for his friends' sake than his own.
“It's decided. I'll talk to her tomorrow, okay? Maybe Miss Michiko would be up for some fun too, friendly matches are always better when there are lots of people together.” If there are eight survivors and two hunters in-game, then Andrew and Victor have a better chance to go on their merry way together without anybody making awkward questions. Yes, Luca could see it already—
“Ah, thank you?” Andrew doesn't know what to say, but in his defense, Luca is a bit too invested in his friends' relationship. He just wants them to be happy.
“Don't worry about it, everything will turn out great.”
Andrew sighs, but Luca can see that shy hint of a smile and yes, that's the spirit!
Aside from the game’s set of rules, Luca comes to realize the manor doesn’t care for either of their circumstances. Survivors and hunters alike, most of them have done something that would make them shunned in the eyes of society.
“Something is lacking here, dear. Pray you to fix the colors? I’m sure you can do better than this.” Jack’s singsong voice mocks Edgar, but his eyes are fixed to the painting in front of him and he’s unable to stop the man from rescuing Luca right under his nose.
“Your opinion is certainly noted.” Edgar shoots back, his sharp gaze telling Luca to make a run and hide because he has a plan that the inventor doesn’t like in the slightest, but their basic strategy involves the Painter buying them as much time as possible. In the end, it all comes back to how much they can entertain the hunter, especially with someone as fickle as the Ripper.
So, he moves slowly. Jack’s staring at the painting rather than the narrow alley he managed to sneak in, giving Luca enough time to turn around and press his body against the surface of Eversleeping Town’s main building. He’s hiding in plain sight, yes, but with experience, Luca’s learned this is the most effective way to eventually switch zones. Now, if only the Ripper walked past this particular segment, he’d be free to go and decode.
The problem is, Jack is not moving. He keeps looking at his portrait with something akin to disappointment.
“I’m serious, this portrait of mine could use some improvement. And your first works upon your arrival were quite exquisite, too. Have you perhaps lost your muse, mister Valden? If so, then I understand how that feels. I used to be an artist too, you know?” The hunter sighs, his eyes behind the mask look like they’re glowing, reminiscent. “That’s why I had to go search for inspiration. And, believe me, I found it in red.”
Edgar’s stance is tense, Luca’s never seen him so visibly upset before. His fingers gripping on both, canvas and brushes with such a strength that his knuckles turn white. Luca wants to say something, do something, but they are not moving at all—he can’t risk being caught again. Him being eliminated would change the entire course of the match.
“No, you’re not telling me what to do. Who do you think you are—”
“It’s just a piece of advice.” Jack walks closer to Edgar, who unconsciously steps back. Luca wants to tell him not to do that with the Ripper, no hunter likes the chase more than he does. “From one artist to another, you could call us colleagues, though I might be more experienced in certain fields. Sure, I could be like a—”
Edgar doesn’t allow him to finish his sentence before he furiously strikes him with a pallet. The hunter groans, trying to stabilize himself and now it’s Luca’s chance to go away . Then, he can help Ganji decode his cipher faster and they’ll have someone able to rescue if Edgar happens to fall.
He swallows the knot forming inside his throat, it doesn’t feel right to leave like this but Luca has to force himself to walk around the infrastructure. For everyone’s sake, they’re all counting on him to do it so they can have a chance to turn this match around.
...
In the end, their win still doesn’t feel like a victory. Not at all.
In contrast to this afternoon’s match, Edgar’s fingers are gentle when tangling on Luca’s hair, sliding down to trace his jawline in a caress.
They’re comfortable like this, Luca’s body curling on top of the couch and resting his head on Edgar’s lap while the other reads one of the many novels sitting inside Oletus’ library. This one, in particular, looks like it’s seen better times before, it’s almost torn from how much the pages have been passed one after the other—but it seems like the Painter doesn’t mind, he’s beyond immersed to care for such details, that’s how much he likes it.
On his side, he likes Edgar’s hands. Calloused after years of holding the brush but still soft against his skin. Luca can’t help but lean into the touch as if starved.
He’s certain of one thing, and that is the fact that, prior to the manor, he had yet to feel like this. He considers the thought of himself, younger and bright, standing by the idea that he'd always be in love with engineering.
He just hadn’t met Edgar. Not yet.
Or maybe…
He opens his eyes, looking up at Edgar’s face. Luca doesn’t remember so many things before he ended up in jail, but he likes to believe he’d remember having personally known someone like Edgar. Someone as dedicated as he is, someone that understood, that held the same amount of passion for their field as Luca did. Still, he wonders if they ever ran into each other before, as unlikely as it could be. It would’ve been nothing more than coincidence, he could even picture it. Them, standing in the same room, passing by each other, their heads focused on their respective careers and nothing else.
It occurs to him that, yes, Edgar has talked about himself. About his family’s renown, about the role he had to fit into, and the society he so hated . Yet, it was obvious there was more. That he still had a burden upon his shoulders.
The book closes with a snap, as Edgar decides to put it aside. Oh, was it him? Luca tended to forget his stare could easily make people uncomfortable. Yet, Edgar’s posture was relaxed, his left hand still brushing through his hair. If it wasn’t Luca, then…
“You’re thinking about what happened earlier,” Edgar stated like he was seeing right through Luca and the notion made him freeze because he was sure he couldn’t be that obvious. An apology was right on the tip of his tongue before the other shook his head. “I don't care, ask if you want.”
Luca considered his options.
“Ah, it’s not the first time Jack—or any other hunter, tries to pull our strings. It makes us prone to mistakes, after all.” He starts, explaining his case. He continues when Edgar nods in agreement. “So, what was different today? I’ve never seen you that angry before.”
And I’m worried, left unsaid.
Edgar sighs. Whatever it was, it bothered him enough to take his hands back to himself. Crossing his arms under his chest, as if to protect himself from a nameless danger.
“When I turned ten, father gave in and let me study under a well-known artist.” The story begins, and Luca holds his breath. “Mother died, earlier that year, he thought it might benefit me to cultivate the talent she once praised.”
So it was like this.
“Sarai was...a decent teacher. I admired him before I realized he was just using me as an advantage for his status. That he didn’t care about art, nor me as a person. He just wanted me to produce , keep on producing things that suited the taste of all those mindless nobles I never wanted to involve myself with.” Luca’s brain was trying to catch up with as many details as possible. The way his arms clung onto each other, how his face was carefully sculpted to look impassible. There’s resentment dripping from his words, there’s no mistaking it, but—
“I know it’s not a good thing to feel, but once he died, I regained freedom I didn’t know I was missing. I could...paint. Whatever I wanted, and in the way, I saw fit.” Edgar’s shoulders drop, like just speaking all of this aloud was exhausting him. “But I didn’t know what I wanted at the time, I could just create in a rush and it ended up doing more harm than good. That’s when I received the invitation.”
The ominous feeling behind Edgar’s voice, how it all seems to connect to the details he had priorly known. His jaw drops for a few seconds. He’s noticed, of course, he’s noticed the scars beneath Edgar’s sleeves—
“But as I told you before, I’m doing better. Jack just reminded me of him for a moment, but I wasn’t lying when I said this manor brought back the drive I thought I lost.”
“I’m glad.” Luca whispers, dazzled by the small smile making its way on Edgar’s pretty face.
“So, don’t worry about me, are we clear?” He hums in satisfaction when Luca nods his head, “Great, because I’m sick of my past. I don’t want to be chained by it any longer.”
Oh, that’s one way to see it.
Luca’s eyebrows knit together, the concept of past is foreign but at the same time, he understands being tied up. Not knowing when to start all over again.
“I’m sorry, that came out wrong.” Edgar quickly realizes what he said and backtracks.
“Don’t be, it’s not your fault, you have the right to feel the way you do,” Luca says, hand reaching up and effectively untangling Edgar’s arms. Both of them need to relax, and what can he say? He likes the way the other melts the moment he intertwines their fingers together. “Besides, you’re right. You’re better off considering either your present or your future.”
Edgar looks down, Luca looks up. Warm chocolate against clear blue.
“If you want to say something…” It’s clear that Edgar is no good at comforting others, the fact he still tries is more than enough for Luca.
“I’m fine! I’ve had a lot of time to dwell on my situation. You just make letting go sound easy.” And that's not a bad thing , Luca is sure Edgar is not the only one around that’s starting over in their own terms. “Or nah, easy is not the word I’m looking for...More like, you make it sound like it’s the obvious way to proceed. What should be done.”
Perhaps it might be easier to let go of Luca Balsa if only he could claim himself to be Luca Balsa. Edgar frowns, lidded eyes trying to look for something in his expression.
“Don’t be stupid,” Ouch , always so frank. “It’s normal that you want to remember.”
“Is it?” Isn’t he holding on too tightly to an identity that doesn’t suit him anymore?
“Of course, it’s your life.” Edgar points out, holding his hand like it’s precious and it might break if handled carelessly. Ah , when did Luca start shaking? “And like I said, I’ll be with you until you remember.”
“And after I do, we’ll figure it out.” He sighs, feeling the beginning of a headache is coming. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“But I ruined the mood!”
“I didn’t exactly make up for it.”
Fair.
“It’s really okay, though.” Luca insists, before willing his body to relax again, “Like you, I had a mentor too. I don’t remember how it went, back when we still worked together. I figure it was great, until, y’know, it wasn’t. ” Lorenz is the reason he’s wearing a prison uniform, after all.
“Do you resent him?” Edgar wonders and Luca can’t help but snicker.
“I don’t.” More than resentful, whenever he thinks about him, Luca feels incredibly sad. “I don’t think I could ever resent Alva. Either way, he’s dead too. You can’t speak ill of the dead.”
Edgar blinks like the concept doesn’t fit inside his head.
“You’re too good, Luca Balsa.”
“Yeah? You should tell me I’m a good boy more often.”
“No.”
He laughs out loud. In part, this is exactly why he can’t hate his own circumstances and what brought him here. Life inside Oletus isn’t so bad, not for him. Three meals a day, a roof, and a warm bed to sleep in. A found family, full of friends that he could count on. Edgar.
“I love you.” He doesn’t know why, but Luca just feels the need to say it out of nowhere. His heart swells, suddenly too big to fit inside his chest.
Edgar splutters, but is quick to compose himself.
“You better.” He snaps, but Luca knows him enough to realize that’s an I love you too.
As much as he’d like them too, he can’t ignore the possibility that his memories might never come back, that there’s always going to be a side of him he won’t be able to figure out, won’t be able to share. But then, Edgar still accepts him. Encourages him, even. It gives him hope. A certainty that, even if he forgot himself, he was far from being done.
If there’s a future for him, Luca thinks, he hopes it’s with Edgar .
He moves a little, still draped all over his partner. It’s messy, exactly what he wants, and needs to finally give in and relax. He’s drained, and his eyelids start to fall down on their own until he decides whatever, a nap would be amazing and he doesn’t care about a normal sleeping schedule.
The last thing Luca catches before falling into a repairing slumber is Edgar’s smile and the whisper of sweet dreams in that adorable voice of his.