Chapter Text
It always starts like this.
The elegant ballroom, gilden and filled with light not unlike the heavens, shining down into the centre of the room. A young woman stands there, neatly dressed in a white linen ball gown- she couldn’t stand any other fabric against her skin. Her copper-esque hair tucked in tight ringlets behind her as a crown of silver tames them. Her bangs still peaked through the barrier, however, in the messy fashion that they always did. Her pale skin glowed in the warming light, striking sky blue eyes brought an artful contrast against her face, and a smile that seemed ever so awkward across her freckle-laced cheeks.
The outskirts of the centre seemed tinged in red, drowning in it as the ‘people’ there stood; figures of tar-like composition, bleeding black in their forms. Each seemed to eagerly wait for the two, chattering quietly as they melted into each other, indistinguishable from the one and another.
Eventually the woman stepped closer to the painter, taking a deep bow before lifting her head, “...’Brother’."
Edgar scowled, she knew the difference as well as he did. He glowered towards her as she kept the cheshire smile of hers, “Isa.”
“May I have this dance?” She shifted and held out her hand towards him, glancing back towards the band that came from the crowd, taking its place at the instruments outside of the glow of the ballroom.
They both knew they weren’t much dancers, but the crowd always seemed to seethe anticipation for the interaction, letting the expectation drip into the air and hang like a weight against them. Edgar rolled his eyes and took her hand, moving to take her waist, “You should stop asking, Isa.”
“Why?” She answered ever so calmly, her hand moving and taking his shoulder, the band beginning a solemn tune as they began to waltz.
The band never started too quickly, the dance was all too slow and drawn for their liking. Though still, the two waltzed, and as they did, the chatter of the crowd tamed. Isa let her smile fall for a moment as she noted Edgar looking to the crowd, trying to avoid looking at her. She pouted as she commented, “You’re ignoring me.”
“I always do,” He pulled his attention back towards Isa, though his own sky blue eyes clouded. He knew what came next.
She stared back into those eyes that seemed so desperate to avoid her, scrying to see his mind at that moment. She was never omniscient, just-- insightful. She let off a sigh, “You shouldn’t. I’m still you.”
Edgar pulled away at that moment, the crowd’s chatter returned, hissing and growling as the band increased it's tempo, it’s melody becoming hollow. He couldn’t do this, nor did he have to, what do they care? What do they…
As he pulled away, he could see as Isa’s facade fell, her hands wringing. The silver crown of hers had started to tarnish, her dress slowly eroding away as she bowed her head, “...You know this is wrong.”
He let off a little laugh, as if mocking her and her tone, “Then stop. You don’t have to do this-”
“I do,” She cut him off promptly, hissing out her response much in his own tone, “Mother would never accept it if I let you off. You never did anything right. You couldn’t just shut up and listen. You could never take it. God knows what you and your outbursts cost the family. God knows what…”
She stopped- a jolt running through her body as she crumpled to the ground. Her breath hitched as she reached to her chest, rotting hands clawing at the now bloodied linen in desperation. The crowd grew louder, the band playing faster; its haunting melody echoing as the light above them grew red to match the outskirts. All the while, Edgar stood there, watching. Watching as Isa spat and tried so desperately to breathe, her body corrupting further as she withered into the air much like her dress, her crown bleeding the tar that surrounded them.
It was always a sight- but the noise. The noise .
“You may not recover from this, Miss. Valden.”
“Why couldn’t you stay how He made you? Why couldn’t you just pretend and get over it when it was time?”
“Be quiet… The paint we make must be preserved- we can’t have anyone disturb us, now can we, Bella~?”
“You’re a stain on this family. You’re a stain on the world. Lord knows we’d have gotten rid of you if you weren’t useful with your ‘art’.”
The voices around him warped, growing more incessant as the melody around him filled his ears. He couldn’t stand the mocking, their judgement and skewed views, and that damned music - he couldn’t- he-
“SHUT IT!!!” His voice cried out against the crowd, and the music stopped. His hands shook, looking down as he took a long breath. It’s not real… It’s not.
Isa managed to look up to him, her raggedy breathing being the only sound in the silence he commanded. She stared for a moment, before her head turned down and hacked out what she could, blood staining the ground beneath her. It wasn’t long after that her breathing had stopped, and she fell to the ground, limp, skin and bones encased in blood stained linen that eroded around her.
The crowd started up again, outraged beyond belief. The tar-like creatures swole with their anger, rising and moving closer to the two in the centre of the room. Like a sea, the swarm overtook them, dragging away Edgar from the body of Isa. They dragged him away into the darkness, the only light remaining was the fading deep red glow of the tainted bulb until it shattered.
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Now, this… This wasn’t the first time, not even close, that Luca had stirred from Edgar in his sleep. He could feel as Edgar was shaking- his breathing shallow, quick, ragged. Sometimes it was worse, but he could still feel it. As much as he was an entitled brat when he was awake, his body was honest when he was asleep. He always had these nightmares. Granted, Vic and Andy did too, Luca did himself, but Edgar’s were constant. Almost every night, he would shake. Sometimes he would speak, but it was never intelligible.
And there was nothing Luca could do. It hurt his heart a little, to see him in that pain. Not much, but enough that he wanted to help, and it hurt knowing he couldn’t. Edgar really was trying the longer they’d known him, and learning more about him made the ache worse. But what can you do?
So he did what he usually did. He shifted, much to Vic’s dismay, moving and wrapping an arm around Edgar. His shaking calmed ever slightly, but his breathing continued in that shallow manner. It wasn’t a solution. He knew that. He knew the nightmares were something Edgar would have to go through and fight himself. It’s his battle, and Luca doesn’t have a place in it other than to be a rock. Once his shaking had stopped all together, Luca gently rubbed his back, waiting for his breathing to calm. As it did, he let himself get pulled back into the realm of sleep.
…
Edgar woke with a dull jolt. The window lay cracked open, allowing the late night air to fill the room. He could feel as one of the others held around him- It was a sort of love, hate relationship with these three. Idiots, the lot of them, but they had certain things that Edgar was lacking, and so a sort of agreement was settled between them. Victor, Luca, and Andrew could do their ‘love’ thing, and Edgar could jump in for sex if he so wished (and they were willing, of course).
That was as far as their agreement went, as far as Edgar was concerned, however there were still times like this, waking in one of their arms, that left an odd taste in his mouth. He sat up a bit and saw the person holding around him was Luca, whose arms let off loosely as the painter sat up. He could see as Victor had nestled himself up to Luca, though Andrew was nowhere to be seen. He was a night owl after all, so it made sense for him to be gone at this hour. Not that he minded, nor cared- really.
He sat there for a bit, looking down on Lu and Vi- Luca and Vi- Balsa, Grantz. Lord. He watched the two of them before sitting up fully and getting off the bed. He looked around the room, got dressed, and quietly left. May as well not wake them, he wasn’t in the mood to answer their questions. ‘Where are you going?’ Shut up. It’s too loud…
Luca could feel as the painter left his arms, and probably left for his studio. He knew that Edgar wouldn’t get any work done this late, but whatever suited his fancy. He may as well let him go, he knew full well he couldn’t stop him either.
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What sucked was Luca wasn’t wrong. Edgar had left for his studio, and in the darkness of the waning moon, he couldn’t get any work done. Not that he would’ve anyway, his head still felt muddled. No matter how many times he had that… ‘dream’, he could never quite shake it's effects. He wrote it down, he scribbled out the ballroom, he painted her , but he could never fully get his thoughts onto paper. It plagued him, and to be frank, it kept him up tonight. He didn’t want to fall back asleep, he didn’t want to go back there.
So there he sat, miffed about the moon, upset about his dream, staring at a blank canvas that taunted him. He swore he left some sketches on the slate, but honestly, he couldn’t pull back the memory of doing so. His mind escaped him, as if all the pieces weren’t there that night. Which pissed him off, really. He didn’t want to deal with this tonight. He stood up from his stool, moving and biting a hangnail off his thumb as he started to pace.
“Can’t sleep?”
He jolted at the low voice, turning to see where it came from. No one showed themselves to him, however, and he mumbled, “...Amazing.”
It chuckled softly, continuing with its question, “You should.”
“Yes, oh yes I should,” He mocked back to the voice, “And for what? So you can give me another one?”
“Why not?” The voice mused, a light teasing in their tone.
However, Edgar didn’t quite take the pleasure in their joy, his brows knitting together as his expression fell to a glower, “No. No thank you. Go away.”
“Never have. Never will.”
Though as the voice said as such, it didn’t continue, and Edgars mood only worsened.
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It’d been a few days since anyone had seen Edgar, not even the three who’d seen him last. Claude told Adams that she’d seen him in the studio the morning Luca noted he’d left, but he hadn’t come out for any of the survivors' meals, matches, or even to ‘make conversation’ as he so called it. Granted, anyone could go see him, check in on him in the studio, though the last time someone did they came back with distinctly paint soaked clothes. Poor Emma.
As such, no one had seen him. He holed himself in the studio, and worked on whatever he could manage to put on canvas. It wasn’t much, but as far as he was concerned, it was something. Something to keep him busy, keep his mind occupied and off what he didn’t want to face right now.
It wasn’t the first time he’d done so. Vic and Luca noticed he usually holed himself up like this whenever he woke up in the night. It was how he coped, they assumed, but this was one of the longer bouts they’d tracked. In an odd sense, it worried them. Not much, but a little. Luca more than Vic at first. Luca was a bit closer to Edgar than Victor and Andrew, at least on the knowledge that he was trying his best. He knew Ed was more or less… bottled up, and knowing he was now more physically bottled made Luca concerned. Slightly. Slightly.
Thus, Luca managed to convince Vic to come with him as they walked to the studio. He paused, however, once standing before the firmly shut door before them.
‘Want to do this, positive? Painter, you, little connection,’ Victor signed out to Luca, still not quite set on being here in general.
Though Luca nodded, turning his head to the door after watching Vic sign, “Well. Someone needs to get him out of his hole. Besides. If I’m wrong- and he’s fine, then at least I have some peace of mind and I don’t have to worry ‘bout him.”
He smirked, though it didn’t completely ease the nerves of getting the knock over with. If he was wrong, then Edgar’d come out and rip Luca’s head off, as per usual. If he weren’t, then maybe they could have an honest to god talk. He cricked his neck and reached his arm out to knock, though a distinct strike brought his attention behind him.
...Adams was there. Why? Luca couldn’t quite say, nor could Victor. It was a bit of a surprise to both of them, albeit not the most hated surprise they could’ve found. She cleared her throat and shifted her cane, “...I wouldn’t knock, if I were you.”
Her tone was soft, though firm as she hazily looked to the two of them. Whilst she couldn’t see them, she knew it was more polite to look at others when speaking. She allowed a moment before continuing, “He’s asleep.”
“Asleep?” Confusion laced both Luca’s tone and his expression. He wasn’t fully expecting that lil brat to be hiding out in his studio to sleep of all things.
Though Adams nodded, her eyes drifting off as she recalled the sounds from the studio, “He hasn’t slept in a few days, and he just fell asleep now.”
‘You know how?’ Signed out Victor, though he winced, remembering Adams couldn’t… see sign. Luca caught onto that fact for the postman, and translated for him, “Victor asked how you know that.”
Adams took a few more steps to the two, closer to the door. She could hear inside the studio- granted, she could hear just about everywhere in the manor, but her focus was particularly zoned into the room. She listened for a beat, before she pulled back and looked to them, “I can hear him. He’s not painting, or I’d hear the brushes being used. All I hear is shallow breathi-”
Her voice caught, as she paused. Something caught her attention once more. Luca wasn’t particularly up to Adams’ antics, and turned to the door, “What is it now?”
She winced slightly, “...maybe you should join him…”
‘Why? Said no.’ Vic signed to Luca, to which he once again translated, “You told us not to.”
“...he’s mumbling for you, Mr. Balsa.” Her tone was quieter than before, as if what she said she knew she wasn’t supposed to. Adams was always meek when it came to the matters of others lives, but the meekness was more appreciated than boasting about it.
However her words caught on the air, and silence befell them, before Luca looked to Vic. His eyes had that sort of half laced worry, more concerned for Luca… As it seemed he was more fretting over the situation than the other two. Vic nodded softly, and that was all it took for Luca to move and open the door.
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It was quieter out here, out on the balcony. At least, that's what Edgar thought as he stared out to the gardens below. Perfectly manicured, much like the rest of the manor. He could hear as the music from inside continued to play, though he didn’t much care to return to the party. No one had noticed his disappearance, and frankly, he didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be working, painting the view before him.
But alas, that was for another time. He could hear as the door behind him opened, shutting with a click. Footsteps broke the quiet of the night as they approached the railing Edgar was leaning against.
He shifted a little, glancing up to the man who had joined him. He was well dressed, donning a sharp vermillion suit that appeared as gaudy as one would expect for a party such as this. His ashen brown hair was allowed to be messy as ever, and sharp eyes met Edgars own. Those eyes that always seemed to carry a spark, a wit that he could never be dulled, only sharpened. There was something about them that Edgar couldn’t ever quite describe. Something he could never quite get onto paper.
The man smiled, and the slight fang of his peaked out from his lips, “It’s a wonderful night, isn’t it, Edgar?”
Always with his name, not the one he was given, nor the surname Edgar donned, but the name Edgar had asked for so long ago. It always made him smile back, as much as he cared to not admit that.
“I’ll have you know, sneaking off like this- someone’s bound to notice~” The man teased, gently nudging Edgar’s arm with his elbow, “You’re lucky it was me and not someone else.”
“I am. I’m glad it was you,” He spoke, though nothing came out- He heard himself, but… nothing actually aired. His brow furrowed, and he brought a hand to his lips. What happened?
Though nothing came, the man still responded, a hearty laugh escaped him, “Haha~! You’re right, I’m sorry.”
Sorry? Edgar’s expression knit together further, letting off an awkward laugh back, though again, nothing came.
“I know. I know. You don’t like us talking here. I just- wanted to let you know. I made the decision,” The man turned his head away from Edgar, watching the gardens below them.
The decision…
Oh.
Edgars eyes widened a little, moving and trying to grip into the man’s arms; to pull him away and say something. Say anything. Anything at all.
“Luca!! God damn it!! Listen to me!” Though as he spoke, the silence sat between them. As desperation sunk into his mind, he tugged harder on the man’s arm- though nothing worked… and eventually, his hand went straight through the man.
“I know you said no… but- I,” He pursed his lips as contrite seeped through Edgars nerves, “I’m going. He seems a good man, and I’d love to learn more from him. I’ve always been better with my hands than my mouth, hehe~”
No… No- He could feel as his eyes started to water, he knew where this went…
“Y..you can’t do this- Luca… P-please…”
Though that deadened stillness took the air again. Edgar pulled back and struck the railing, crying out, “FUCK!”
And a loud crash brought him out of it.
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Paintbrushes clattered to the ground, their dampness flicking off remaining water onto Edgar’s hand and arm. He shuddered and took a long breath. His throat ached, dry, sticking together as he swallowed the little saliva in his mouth.
‘You fell asleep.’ The voice spoke, a hush of a voice, really. He glared to where he thought it’d come from, but all he saw were old paintings and Claude’s half finished statues.
“Really? Wow. I didn’t notice.”
“....notice what?” Spoke the ever familiar voice. Not the haze, not a memory either- he thought. He stiffened and sat up, turning around to look to the origin.
Luca sat on some of the clear space near the countertop, his hands folded up in his lap as he sat there cross legged. Edgar's eyes dulled a little, staring straight over Luca's head. They were more concentrated on the darkened figure behind it, watching as it breathed, staring right back to him with dead eyes. Ah. So we're at This Point. Nice to know. He let off a sigh and his eyes shifted off, still wary of the black creature behind the prisoner, “What are you doing here, Balsa.”
“...I was worried,” He almost looked like a kicked puppy in admitting that, as if he didn’t want to say it. Worry wasn’t much something he wanted to say he felt for the brat, but it was a feeling he couldn’t quite ignore.
Though Edgar scoffed, watching as the figure shifted, holding around Luca’s shoulders, “I’m busy. Get out.”
However, Luca shook his head, “...why were you asking for me?”
Edgar’s eye twitched, letting out a snort. What was he talking about? Surely he couldn’t have-- Oh, fuck .
“...Whatever you think you heard, you didn’t. Get out.” He sounded more defensive than usual, knowing his guard was down and was trying to replace it with brute words. His tone had that growl in it, the growl of a cornered animal. He didn't want to talk, nor satisfy whatever feeling of righteousness that Luca felt was owed. What did he need pity for? All it was was a waste of time. He wasn’t going to waste his time again, nor be pulled along again.
“Now!” He snapped, spite lacing his tone as more of that defensive side kicked in.
Luca rattled, though still sat there, tilting his head. He watched Edgar, saw the bags underneath his eyes, his hands shaking and his gaze elsewhere, unable to focus. Probably the worst Luca’s seen the painter. He let his head fall slightly, “Look. You can't blame me for being worried you're not taking care of yourself again. We haven’t seen you in days. I came in and you’re having another nightmare. I’m not leaving yet. Not until you at least try talking about it.”
Edgar scoffed again, a bit in disbelief, “What. Something came back to you to make you care? I don’t want your pity, and I don’t want you.”
It wasn’t wrong. Edgar didn’t want Luca. Not now. Not how he’s become. The things he knew of Luca had gone, there wasn’t comfort there still. All that was left of his-
All that was left of Luca was a shell that’s moved on. Without him. That spite fueled him enough to stand up and move to him. He glared at the figure and Luca, before striking him across the face.
At least, he tried to. Luca had partially seen it coming. He moved and grabbed Ed’s wrist before he could strike, pulling the hand down and gently holding it between his hands. He let the quiet sit for a moment, before he cricked his neck, “...If you’re not going to talk, then at least come out? Get something to eat. Come to bed, get some sleep, you need it.”
Edgar huffed, glaring to Luca. As much as he hated the prisoner- as much as he hated what he did, he let the words sit and stew, thinking on them.
‘What’s the harm? You could make him leave- but then you’d really be in for it when he doesn’t come back.’
And the painter bit his lip, knowing if he didn’t at least bend a little, he’d lose the brittle connection he still had with… well- his muse. Begrudgingly, he let his head bow before nodding, “Fine. Fine! I’ll come with you. Don’t think I won’t hold it against you for taking me away from my work.”
Right, your work, thought Luca. As far as he could see, all Edgar had been doing in here was sketching- working with charcoal and scratching out whatever he’d worked on. Some pieces held that dark red he’d seen in a few other pieces. The pieces Edgar tried to hide.
God, and Luca thought he was a mess…
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Eventually, Luca had returned with Edgar behind him, leading him to his own room. Luca figured if he was going to ease Edgar, he may as well be somewhere comfortable to him. Thus, they’d entered and settled in Edgar’s room. It was about as much of a mess as the studio, neglected canvases piled in a corner, finished pieces hidden about. Papers strewn over the floor, and pencils were scattered about with them. It seemed like you couldn’t step anywhere without standing on something laid on the ground. But if that’s how he liked it…
Luca moved and sat on the edge of the bed, watching Edgar and he stiffened up a bit. Personally, he wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of purposefully laying with Luca- any other time they had it was after a session. But just, laying with him seemed odd. Out of place, moreover that being in his arms again wasn’t his place. Not to mention he’d spent so long trying to forget the man and here he is- falling again. Again. Motherfucker…
The prisoner patted the bed, “Whenever you’re ready.”
Which only put him more on edge. Why did he agree to this? He could’ve easily just stayed in the studio- what made him cave to the will of a prisoner. Though Luca smiled, the same, gentle sort of smile he’d seen so rarely in this manor from Hell. That’s why.
He let off a huff and then moved to sit next to him. Luca didn’t say anything, though the silence spoke loud enough.
‘Really doing this, mm? Why not with me? You loved it, you know.’
Edgar shuddered, though could feel as his body calmed, Luca reaching his hand to Ed’s back and gently rubbing. He shifted a little and laid back, opening up his arms. Truly acting like he was gaining a cat’s trust- he didn’t move too quickly, nor force Edgar to do anything.
And thus Edgar seemed more comfortable. Damn to the voices, he leaned back and let himself be taken in by Luca, who very gently held around Edgars waist. Eventually, in the calm of his arms, he let himself be taken in by sleep.
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All he could hear was the whirling. The water rushed around him as it swirled into the sea. The crack of the waves around the pool as they thudded down. There were no animals, no signs of life out here, nothing but him and the vortex of the ocean above him as he lay there, watching the storm beat down on him.
It didn’t take long for the water around him to become corrupted. He could see as the black tar took over the rim of the whirlpool, the same black tar that taunted him, the same tar that plagues him and his mind. The tar took form as it looked down into the whirlpool, before all the voices started to speak. Their voices took form and fell into the water, swirling down until it landed on him, coating him in the tar and bearing more weight down on him. The more they said, the more that coated him. He was never entirely sure what it was they were saying, but he knew from his other dreams that it wasn’t pleasant… The feeling was suffocating, being stuck down in the bottom of the sea- no escape, no ability to swim, forced to lose his breath to the never ending vortex.
“ Isabella. ”
The water around him broke as he sat up with a sharp jolt, and he could see tiles in front of him. He was back in his bathroom, sitting in the tub. The water around him had turned red, though that didn’t much bother Edgar. He took a long, gasping breath once he realized he could do so, and sat there for a lingering moment.
“ Isabella! ”
He winced, looking towards the door. He knew what laid outside it. But he couldn’t stop himself from standing up out of the bath. He couldn’t stop the motions he’d known so well, the act of drying off, wrapping up, and heading to the door…
What stopped him was the mirror. The only thing stopping him in his tracks. The mirror, above the sink, displaying their god awful truth. It was usually broken, shattered into pieces. He’d done that so long ago, shattered the mirrors in his room- he couldn’t stand them. But this one. This one mirror was still unbroken. He stood there, watching himself. His face was blurry, he couldn’t remember what it looked like anymore. His frame was all too round for him, soft and curved, skin pale and dusted with light freckles. He’d thought to wrap himself, but he still knew what disgusting works were underneath. He ruined his own canvas, how could he have?
What was stranger was that the face, once blurry, seemed to clear. Though he knew full well the face that came wasn’t his own. The eyes were bound in dark cloth, the mouth too wide- filled with fangs.
“...Wake, dear child…”
Yidhra. Her voice intruded, echoing in Edgar’s head, swirling in with the other voices he’d heard earlier. He wasn’t entirely sure what she actually sounded like, her voice was ethereal, it changed every time he’d heard it. Besides, the voices he remembered were her followers. What’s she doing here?
“Child, you must wake… You won’t be able to leave if you continue… you know you cannot take the next span,” Her form took over Edgar’s reflection, replacing his awful body for hers, and her odd snake-like frame.
“You have someone to help you on your way. Let them be a dreamcatcher, dear child.”
And then she disappeared, the mirror shattered as she did so. Edgar let her words settle, before he moved and turned out the lights in the room. He could hear the voice call for Isabella once more before he woke.
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As Edgar pulled himself back to reality, he could feel as his breathing returned to normal. He’d not even noticed when he fell asleep, but he could feel as his lungs burned on his breaths slowing. Odder though, as he could hear someone talking to him. Very quiet whispers, calming, though not quite what he expected.
“You’re okay. I know I can’t do much- just… Calm down…”
He could feel as Luca still held around him, a very loose hold just in case Edgar had moved in his sleep. He had a tendency to do so, you see. Shaking, sometimes hitting the nearest thing to him. He once solidly smacked Victor (hence he spoons Luca instead).
In the whispers, Edgar realized Luca hadn’t noticed he’d woken up… Luca had been speaking to him, ever so softly, talking to him all the way through. Edgar hadn’t heard it, but it was comforting to know he was. Er. No, no it wasn’t- Not at all. Nope. Nuh uh.
He couldn’t deny it. It was reassuring… He wasn’t alone- and as little as he noticed when he was asleep… Luca was there. He never left.
Maybe it was alright to talk again.