Work Text:
Luca has a migraine.
He's learned not to be surprised by them at this point. That's what time does, breeds routine and expectations, to the point where the pain becomes an afterthought, lost to the ever-growing thorns of his mind.
Still hurts like a bitch, though.
That doesn't change, But as sharp as the pain is, his work doesn't stop, it never does. Sketch after sketch, draft after draft, the constant flow of idea after idea, locked away in the crevasses of his memory, drifting to the surface.
He needs to draw them, write out the equations, lest they're lost to him again.
It's an annoying, drawn-out process of getting lost in his own mind, frantically scribbling until he finds the right look, the right answer, the right…
Something
Which he hasn't yet because the goddamn pounding in his head is far too Loud.
Luca sighs, roughly rubbing his hand down his face. He leans back in his chair, eyes closed before he forces them open again to look at the clock. it's approaching three am, the night was still young, for him at least.
But he knows there's someone else in the house that's up too, someone who's also lost in the waves of inspiration.
Someone who's touch he's currently longing for.
Luca looks back down at his work. He wasn't getting anywhere with this, his schematics were all wrong, he needed to adjust his equation before he went any further with the circuitry.
And that just wasn't something his mind could process currently. He'd learned his limits by now, he'd be a fool to push himself into another breakdown.
So he settles for flicking off his table side lamp, grabbing the wool jacket off the coat stand and making his way back to the house.
Luca had always enjoyed the walk from the garden to his workshop. (Which was a small, unused Garden shed abandoned years back, along with the rest of the home.) When they first arrived, there were still small remains of flowers growing, purple irises Wilting from lack of care, but it was something.
Nothing grew now, given the cold winter's snow. Luca thinks perhaps once spring arrives some new additions to the Barron beds of dirt wouldn't be a bad decision.
Luca fishes for his key in his pocket, digging them out and unlocking the door in a swift motion. He brushes his hand past the ever-growing vines climbing up the stone walls before he enters. Lord, one of them needed to learn gardening before their house was overtaken by plants.
He rubs at his temple as he enters the house, Kicking the snow off his boots and slipping them off, sock-covered feet padding against the tile as he places his coat on the rack. Part of him wants to go back outside and light a cigarette, but he's been trying to kick the habit as of late. Besides, he'd already been plenty self-destructive this evening.
He knows where Edgar is, so he doesn't bother calling out his name, just makes his way down the stairs to the studio.
The sharp smell of paint hits his nose the second he opens the basement door, wafting up directly into his brain, which was currently on fire, might he add. Luca shakes his head, it was fine, he was fine, he just needed to perform his nightly routine of dragging Edgar away from his work and he'd be resting before he knew it. No distractions, no work, just him and Edgar.
Edgar is right where Luca knows he is, propped on a stool overlooking a large canvas, an explosion of colour shining in front of him. The painter is silent, chin resting on folded hands as he studies the canvas, eyes glued to his work to the point where Luca bets Edgar doesn't even realize he's in the room.
The suspicion is correct. Luca steps closer, wrapping his arms around Edgar's middle, resting his chin on the painter's shoulder. He stiffened, breath caught in his throat for a split second before Luca pressed his lips to the crease of Edgar's neck, whispering into his skin.
"Thought you were going to bed?" Luca hums. Edgar doesn't answer, and Luca doesn't need him too, all too familiar with the sudden burst of inspiration they were both all too acquainted with.
He looks up from Edgar's shoulder to the canvas. It's the same painting of their home he'd been working on for the last month. The small Cobblestone villa settled in the outskirts of town, he's certainly captured the beauty of it.
(Or as Edgar likes to call it, simplicity, refusing to acknowledge he's the only one that finds it as small as he does.)
"It's missing something" Edgar mutters into his hand, slack eyes still trained on the painting. "The perspective isn't right, I haven't captured it yet…" he trails off, hand coming down from his mouth to rest roughly on his lap, chewed up nails picking at the material of his paint-stained jeans.
"Hey." Luca reaches down to take Edgar's hand in his squeezing a bit tighter than he means to. "I thought we talked about not getting stressed over this?."
Edgar averts his eyes away, mouth creasing into a thin line.
"It looks like trash."
Luca rolls his eyes. The painting is beautiful, a dream-like rendition of the small villa, vines etched into the stone and the sun shining through the trees.
He'd gotten used to Edgar's self-deprecation by now, it seemed like it had almost worsened since he needed to start selling his work again, but that didn't mean Luca would let it slide here in their own home.
"None of that, it looks perfect, like always." Luca leaves another trail of kisses on Edgar's neck before pulling away, stepping over the open paint cans on the floor to grab the tarp laying discarded In the corner.
"You're bluffing, you always sugar coat when it comes to me." Edgar pouts, rolling his eyes when Luca throws the tarp over the painting, but not moving to stop him.
"Edgar, it looks great, now can you please stop stressing and come to bed?. My head is fucking killing me, I need you." There is a slight look of concern etching Edgar's features when Luca turns, but they're quickly replaced with the painter's usual unreadable expression.
He sighs, huffing as he slides off the stool. "Fine, you're just lucky the other commissions are finished." Edgar scoffs, turning to gather his brushes.
Luca snatches his hand up before he can do so, tugging lightly and making his way to the stairs. "No, no cleaning. I'll take care of it tomorrow, I swear. No more even thinking about working until you can relax."
Edgar protests but Luca doesn't care. He wants to rest, and he wants Edgar there with him. They had both been in a work frenzy as of late, been too apart for his liking, and Luca didn't exactly feel like carrying Edgar up to their room when he fell asleep in his studio for the third time this month.
He knows Edgar can read his expression, if not his thoughts, so he complies, letting Luca drag him up the stairs and into their room. Luca can tell he's tired too, the way he barely complains, or how he just stares vaguely as Luca removes his shirt.
The tiredness is etched on his face, but it's not new. The bags under his eyes hold time, and Luca wants to somehow lift that burden from him if it's even possible.
It had been like this for months, since they'd moved in, hell, they both knew it'd been this way since the manor. They were both tired, drained and weak. That wasn't something that just went away, no matter how much time passed.
When he strips off his shirt Edgar is already sitting behind him on the bed, a hand held out in his direction, two small pills lying in his palm. Luca takes it along with the glass of water in the painter's other hand, nodding a small thank you before chasing the medication down.
The fact that Edgar needs to do this twists his Insides, that he couldn't even be trusted with a couple of pills. But Edgar doesn't mind, he never does, and Luca knows he sees the guilt riddled on his face because he reaches out and grabs Luca's scared arm, pulling him down to the bed.
"You said they were getting better." Edgar doesn't meet his eyes, and Luca wonders for a split second if it's from anger or worry.
"M' fine, Edgar, really." Luca flops his head down to the pillow, resting an arm over his eyes. When he cracks an eye open Edgar is sitting cross-legged, struggling with the lace on the back of his blouse. Luca smiles softly, shifting to his knees behind Edgar. He gently guides the painter's hands away, reaching to undo the lace.
It falls away easily, the loose blouse drifting off his shoulders, leaving the soft skin exposed. Luca rests his forehead on it, a similar position to how they were in the studio, but this time Edgar turns his head, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to Luca's temple.
There were no paintings here to grab Edgar's attention, no advanced circuits to pull him away. Just them.
"You never used to get headaches like this. I mean, you were fucking riddled with neck pain, but not migraines." Edgar sighs, wringing his hands together again.
Luca chuckles, shifting the lay down again, lopping his arm around Edgar's middle to pull him down as well.
"An electrical charge directly to the brain and three years rotting in a jail cell will do that to you."
There's a flash Across Edgar's face as Luca jokes, a shadow passing over his eyes. Luca's smile drops, as Edgar's brow furrows.
"I am well aware."
It's cold and harsh, but Luca knows the real emotion behind it.
Sometimes Luca forgets, forgets what it must have been like for Edgar. He suffered, suffered enough for a fucking lifetime, more than he wants to think about. Luca knows his pain will never compare to Edgar's, Edgar would want him dead for even thinking that.
But there's a part of Luca that knows if he were in the painter's shoes, he too would have gone mad. The thought of having Edgar there then the next gone, only to find him again years later, with no recollection of their time together…
He wouldn't have been as strong as Edgar, that he can admit.
"Don't…" Edgar drifts off, practically seething. "... fucking make light of yourself."
Fuck .
"Hey, it's fine, Eddie. Just a joke…" Luca shifts closer, taking his hand from Edgar's waist and bringing it up to hold his face, rubbing a thumb Along his cheekbone.
It's a habit. Hide the pain with humour, pretend it doesn't bother him. He does it for Edgar, even if he knows he hates it. It's something he does to keep them both sane.
"I don't find it funny…" despite the obvious annoyance, Edgar leans into his touch. Luca knows his anger stems from grief, and he'd rather see Edgar's emotions being shown, nasty or not.
"I'm sorry, then…" Luca tries his best to smile. Edgar's eyes are averted and the lack of contact shoots dangers into Luca's heart. "I'm just. ha, just trying not to make it such a bad thing, you know?. No need to dwell on the negative. I may be broken, but doesn't mean I can't-"
" Stop"
When Edgar's eyes finally meet him, they're brimmed with tears. It makes Luca's heart jump, his Shaking hands Falling from the painter's face after Edgar all but throws them off.
"Edgar?, What's wrong-"
"Just fucking stop, Luca !." Edgar yells, hard eyes bearing into the investors' soul.
"You're not broken , you never we're!." His voice trembles. "I'm so fucking tired of you acting like you're nothing anymore!."
Luca's eyes widened. He watches Edgar's trembling hands shoot up to hold his face, a gentle palm on either cheek. "I've told you already, so many times I might as well be blue in the fucking face. I don't care , Luca."
Luca doesn't know what he means by that. So he laughs, something pathetic and small. "Eddie, y-you don't need to pretend, it's ok! Really." He strains his voice to be positive. "Look, I'm fucked, we can both acknowledge that ok? N-no needs to beat around the bush!. I'm not the man you fell in love with anymore, ok?"
He ends it with bitterness because he knows what he says is true. He's not the man Edgar fell in love with, that Luca balsa is dead, and Edgar was the one who had to bury him.
No matter what Edgar says, no matter how hard he tries to pretend . Luca knows they'd both give up anything to have that man back.
He loves Edgar, loves him more than he's ever loved anything. He'd bring the world to its knees for him, throw away any ounce of happiness just to see him smile.
But despite how his heart bleeds, he doesn't love Edgar the same way that Edgar loves him. He's missing a crucial part of their past, a part that no matter how hard he hopes, will never come back.
He loves Edgar Valden because it's Edgar. Smart, inspired, beautiful Edgar. Nothing could ever change that, but he longs for something he can reminisce on, something outside of the manor's walls.
They may have escaped, but despite the hell they had been stuck in for years, a death game filled with people he grew to trust was still better than a cold, damp jail cell.
The difference was everyone else had fond memories to look back on, not him.
He's snapped out of his thoughts by a sob, realizes it's his own by the look on Edgar's face.
"I'm sorry, ok?. I...I can't be who you want me to be, no matter how hard I try, or you pretend that you're ok with this, I'm not!. And I know I have to accept it and I know it's not my fault, but I have a right to be upset, ok?!." Luca yells, Huffing and throwing himself up.
Luca's voice trembles, his whole body Shaking, his head pounding more by the second.
"I can't do this Edgar…" he whispers into his hands, leaning over the side of the bed. "I'm sorry… for everything, for leaving you… I thought when we came here we could put all that bullshit behind us, but every day I wake up… terrified, this is all a dream, that I'm going to wake up without you, or back in that cell…"
Silence falls over the room and Luca hears a shuttered breath behind him along with the soft rustle of bed sheets. A pair of arms twist their way around his waist, Edgar mirroring the pose Luca often did, cheek resting on the small of his back.
"I used to call you Icarus."
Edgar mumbles, drawing Luca's attention. "When we first met. You were so naive, so eager to impress. I thought it was a weakness, thought you were just another fool with his head in the clouds."
There's a sad fondness in his voice, and Luca can almost swear he hears the tears in his eyes.
"But then I realized it was nothing but pure, unbridled passion. You were willing to sacrifice so much, for everything, for me . You were a fool, but you were my fool."
Edgar laughs, quiet, but pure and it spreads a contagious smile on Luca's face. He squeezes him tighter, enough that it beacons Luca to turn, now half facing Edgar, being able to see the painter's face.
"I called you Icarus, and you called me Eurydice…"
That makes Luca's cock a brow. His memory may have been shot, but the manor had plenty of books on Greek mythology, and racking his brain now he finds no reason why he would call Edgar after a helpless ploy in another man's story.
Edgar must pick up on his confusion, because he laughs, more of a snort if anything. "Hey, I was confused at first too."
he smiles, eyes meeting Lucas. "You said it was something about… how you'd go to hell and back for me."
Oh, now that made more sense, turns out it was a fitting name after all.
Edgar zones out for a second, obviously remembering something, then clasps his other hand over his mouth, trying to hold back laughter.
"You never let me call you Orpheus though, said you didn't want to be associated with him, how did you put it? ``A dumbass with rocks for brains'' think."
Luca Snickers. "Well, I Was right!. Now, what kind of dumbass looks behind him when the literal king of the underworld tells him not to?!. You can argue that it was a trap but I like to see it as hubris, and another thing! I-"
Luca suddenly feels gentle fingers on his forehead, his ramble devolves as he meets Edgar's eyes again. He's smiling, gentle and genuine, pushing Luca's bangs from where they fell in front of his eyes, sliding his hand down to cup his cheek, wiping a trail of tears he didn't even know were there.
"There's my Luca."
Luca laughs, a broken sound as he takes Edgar's hand in his, moving it down from his cheek to his lips, closing his eyes and pressing a kiss to the back of his palm.
Edgar laughs, smiling fondly. "You know, it helped. Those months after you first left. Sometimes I just thought you were gone, and you'd come back, to save me from hell, like you always used to say. But one day you flew too close to the sun… and you didn't come back down…"
Edgar bites his lip, tears forming in his eyes.
"Edgar…"
Luca reaches up, fingers thumbing under Edgar's eyes, wiping away his tears. But surprisingly, Edgar smiles, leaning into Luca's touch.
"No, it's ok, you know why?."
Edgar waits for an answer, one that Luca can't provide.
"Because you came back, that's all that I care about."
Luca laughs, the last of his tears for the night slipping down his cheeks.
"Look, my point is that you're
not
broken. No matter how much of a burden you think you are, or any other self-deprecating bullshit that brain of yours comes up with. And I'm sorry… if I overreact when you make light of yourself, I just.."
Edgar leans forward, resting his forehead against Luca's, shutting his eyes.
"...can't stand to see you act like you're not the best thing that's ever happened to me…"
Luca's heart breaks at that, it's everything he needs. To hear and yet something he just can't admit to himself.
"You don't have to pretend to be ok, not around me. And you don't have to pretend like it never happened either. You're right, you have every right to process what you went through, and it's selfish for me to act like my feelings take precedence over that… I'm just selfish that way, Always have been…"
Luca holds his hand tighter. "You're not selfish…"
Edgar laughs. "No, I am. And I don't mind admitting that, not to you. Loving you to the point I can't function without you isn't sin, not in my eyes, at least."
Luca smiles. If this were the Edgar he met in those first few months at the manor, a sentence with that level of honesty wouldn't have left his head at all. Luca raises his hand to stroke at Edgar's hair, toying at his hair ribbon until it comes undone, brown curls gently falling onto the painter's bare shoulders.
"You know…" Luca twists his finger around one of Edgar's chestnut curls, watching as the hair bounces in his grip. "This level of vulnerability is quite new, when did you get so soft?." Luca jokes.
Edgar rolls his eyes fondly, pulling on the elastic of Luca's pants absent-mindedly. "I'm not sure, probably ever since you started making a habit of worrying me out of my goddamn mind."
Luca smiles, the stress and emotion of their conversation melting away. "Well then, how about we don't worry about anything, just for tonight. We can continue our ever declining mental states tomorrow."
Edgar chuckles, shifting to lay back down on the bed. Luca follows suit, sliding as close to Edgar as he can, wrapping his arm around the other man's smaller waist, pulling him close and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
"I love you, Edgar. I'm sorry for tonight, but thank you for talking some sense into me." He lets their lips drift away, pressing a cheek to the crown of the painter's head.
"Well, someone around here's gotta keep that mind of yours in check." Edgar yawns, resting his head against Luca's bandaged chest.
"And I love you too, Luca balsa. Always have, always will."
Everything else goes unsaid.
And with that Luca flicks off the bedside lamp, plunging their room into darkness, the only audible sound being the soft breathing of his lover pressed against him.