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    Summary

    Edgar can feel the unease that makes its way up and into each dip of his spinal cord. It weighs heavy on his shoulders and feels more like dread after a moment. He's the one being put on the spot now. It's not his forte to be openly communicative, though he's well aware that relationships require more than they've done thus far. Everything just feels too cliche spilling out of his mouth. Insincere, even. "I couldn't. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I locked you out of our apartment, Luca."

    He steps forward, limbs feeling like they've been drained of their blood and instead pumped full of lead, and places his left hand on Luca's shoulder. A doting grin that would go unnoticed by anyone that didn't know Edgar's little quirks settles on his features, and he inquires in the same tone that Luca had done to him all those years ago:

    "Care for a dance, Mister Balsa?"

    The shock comes, and then it goes. Edgar is in fact a lover, but he's better with gestures and thoughtful gifts than he ever would be with his words, so he's quick to recognize it as something like a peace offering.

    "Yes," Luca offers in response, as was always customary in their social groups as lavish young adults. "I'd love to."

    Language:
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