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mystxmomo · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Empathy (Reprise)

Fandom: Identity V

Chapters: 1/2/3/6

Description:

They fall into a relationship quietly, and easily.

Link: Ao3

======

They fall into a relationship quietly, and easily.

At some point, Luca got his hands on a key to his room.

He almost always knocks before entering despite this, because he’s polite like that, but also always somehow finds Luca curled up in the furthest corner of his bed after particularly bad matches. He still has a bloodstain hidden on the mattress, from when Luca had allowed himself to bleed out instead of going to Emily.

(“Because there’s no point,” Luca had whispered, hands shaking against his, “It will feel better, waking up tomorrow healed. There’s no point to nursing these wounds.”)

Luca’s laundry has sort of begun to join Victors in the corner because otherwise it builds forgotten in his room. He forgets his notes and his tools on Victor's desk, which Victor generally takes the time to organize and sort through. Luca’s objects earn their place in his room. Luca earns a place in his room.

It took a lot to get Luca comfortable sleeping with him.

Physically. In the same bed

"Wake up sloppy," Luca whispers like its something filthy to admit, "Sometimes I uh. Forget where I am. For a bit. Gotta remind myself of it. You know? I wouldn't want to subject ya to that. Could hurt you, n’ that would be no good.”

(Even after the two of them start sleeping together, Victor rarely finds him in bed with him in the morning. It was hard not to feel hurt by that, the first few times.

“I mean,” Luca had said, “I’ll always wait for you to fall asleep,” His voice is weak. He feels bad about it.

Victor doesn’t push it.)

They don’t put a label on it immediately, but Victor can see it for what it is. Because he’s not dull. Because the prospect terrifies him. He’s never been close enough to someone like this. He’s slept with men before (far crueler than Luca, far more unfair to himself) but a relationship is something else entirely.

The turning point however, is inevitable.

“Victor,” Luca asks, one morning, when Victor has brought the both of them breakfast. Because it’s one of those kinds of mornings, where Victor has convinced Tracy to take Luca’s place in a match, and Luca has spent most of it looking at a wall instead of him, and has been pushing his food around on his plate long enough the Victor has not only finished his own but cleaned his dish, “Are we dating?”

There’s no shame in his asking. He sounds.. Genuinely uncertain. Whispers it, in case he’s wrong. Like he fears the repercussion of such a question.

He is wrong, technically speaking.

“Huh?”

“I don’t know. Ah. Sincerely am unsure,” Luca adds, “It feels like something I’d write down. But I can’t find anything about it. I sorted through my notebooks this mornin’ tryin’a find something about it. Can’t even find if this is a new sort of feeling. But- We’re sharing a room, right? N’I trust you. I don’t know. It sort of feels like-” Luca frowns, “You know.”

“...We aren’t dating, no. Not technically,” Victor says, “It’s never come up,”

“Ah,” He sounds disappointed, “Good to know. Sorry to bring it up.”

“...” Victor sits up, “I’ll bring it up later. We'll talk about it. Promise. Rest for now.”

Luca blinks up at him. Nods.

(“I try not t’write my feelings down too much,” Luca admits to him, when he’s feeling a bit better, after they’ve talked it over, “I don’t want to force myself to feel something I’m not, I guess.”

Victor thinks he might understand that. But Luca continues, reaches over to grab his hand, adds, “I’ll write this one down, yeah? I don’t want to forget it.”)

“How do you decide everyone's names,” Luca asks, “You know, in sign language.”

They’ve sitting in the den late into the night when he asks, legs tangled together. Victor isn’t the best teacher, and Luca certainly isn’t the best student. But they’ve a library of books, all the time in the world, nothing better to do with that time. Luca’s determination and thirst for knowledge is nothing to be laughed at, and Victor’s patience and appreciation is unmatched.

Victor shrugs, “I’ve been calling everyone by their title, mostly,” Follows his words with his signs, careful and slow like.

Luca frowns. Tilts his head

“...You don’t like your title as prisoner,” Victor recalls, one of the first things he’d noted about the man.

“‘Prisoner’,” Luca corrects, with the finger air quotes and all.

“I can’t do air quotes and sign,” He tells Luca, bemused.

“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense..” Luca laughs. It seems unintentional.

“I can think of a new one for you?” He offers, “Something a little kinder than Prisoner,”

Luca’s hands stall as he thinks of a reply, “I would like that.”

(“.. How does inventor sound?” Luca’s hands hesitate over the word inventor, when he realizes he doesn’t know it.

“Inventor,” Victor shows him the sign, “Too formal,” Victor says, smile on his lips, “If I’m giving you a new name, I’m going to put thought into it.”

Luca sighs, long and dramatic. Clicks his tongue, “No one’s taken me up on that one. One day someone’s gotta.”

“Of course.”)

He and Luca aren’t exactly subtle, per-say.

But it’s easy enough for their relationship to go under the radar. Luca is a naturally touchy person. Throws his arm around Norton’s shoulder after matches, fumbles against Naib’s hands when they share cigarettes. Touches the small of Eli’s back to get his attention, holds Tracy’s hands in his own to help warm them, grabs Helena’s arm and pulls her when they need to run. He’s touchy. Sociable in a way Victor is not. Luca has a tendency to do that to people. Most don’t notice that they sit closer, whisper softer. They don’t notice the way Luca takes his hits and waits by the gate, and they don’t question the way they collapse to together in a pile when neither feel like going to their rooms.

Because Luca is just like that. And so Victor is like that.

(He discovers, later, that Andrew had. A steady gaze he’d never noticed, from corners of the room he’d never paid attention to. For as observant as Victor is, Andrew had always gone under his radar.

Until he hadn’t, that is.)

“Eventually” ends up being roughly a month later.

Victor wakes up to a knock on his door, the sound of paper being slid beneath the crack. He almost thinks he imagines it. But Wick is up and pacing at the door, whining and scratching at it, (A friend, then) and there is a note, tucked sloppily into an envelope waiting for him.

A letter.. For him?

He scrambles from his bed to grab it, eyes wide. Of course, he gets a variety of letters these days. Letters to matches, well wishes when he’s been particularly hurt in matches. But nothing delivered as such. He decides that, whatever it is has to be something different. Something special.

He hesitates before he opens it, entirely. There’s no wax seal on it. The fold of the envelope has simply been tucked into itself. No writing on the back. The edge of the note pokes out of the envelope, telling him whoever packed it in did so in a rush.

He opens it. Closes his eyes as not to see the writing. Peers open at them.

Victor.

A while ago, you asked why I went to prison. I’ve been trying to wrap my head around why it had to be written. I had the note pinned up to my work station and everything.

The thing is, I didn’t actually remember. Not when you asked. I knew I’d gone to prison, of course. It’s in the title and everything. I remembered being in prison. I forgot a long time ago, why I was there, and for how long. Wretched place like that, prison is.

I woke up tonight and I remembered.

I killed my mentor. I don’t know why I did it. I remember caring about him. Being close to him? I don’t understand why I did it. I think we got into an argument? I don’t understand why he made me do something so drastic to end it. I can’t wrap my head around it. I don’t know if I want to understand.

I don’t know why you wanted this. I’m sorry if it’s not enough. Please keep it safe. I don’t want to remember writing it.

Luca B.

…

...

…

Luca’s handwriting, Victor notes, is sloppy and frantic. Some of the ink is smudged, the sort of smudge that comes with a hand streaking across the page.

The chicken scratch of a panicked man.

(Luca wakes up badly, sometimes, he muses. Doesn’t want to hurt Victor, he muses again.)

Victor paces. Re-reads the letter. Stares at the wall to Luca’s room like doing so will manifest it away, despite the fact that he knows very well he probably isn’t in there.

“Prisoner,” He signs to Wick, frown on his face. Wick turns about in her spot, waiting for the letter to come. But it never does. And when he signs it again, she gives a confused whine, a pace at his feet. A third time is all it takes for her to give up, bolt away on an order she doesn’t fully understand.

And then Victor is alone. Letter in his hand.

… Murder, huh?

He traces along the side of the page, careful not to damage it. He rereads over it, time and time again.

Victor tucks the note into the pages of his own diary and holds it close to his heart. He smiles, and it’s empty.

Something special indeed.

(He keeps his promise. Never brings it up again. But it’s tucked away like a memento, secure. A secret he’s entrusted with, to keep close to his heart.)

Luca’s body is more scar than it is skin, webs of angry red strung out across his arms and chest and creeping up his neck.

Victor admires them in fascination the first time he sees them, eyes wide, fingers dancing against skin. They’re something uncomfortable to Luca. He knows this because Luca takes the time to cover them in a series of bandaging each morning, in a way that cannot possibly be good for him.

The first time he sees them is not the first time he sleeps with Luca. Not even the second. The first time he sees them is well into their relationship, in a room where the lighting is so low that he might as well not see them at all. It had been on a day where Luca wasn’t doing bad, exactly, but wasn’t doing good either. Had that kind of mindset to him.

“Lichtenberg figure,” Luca tells him, tilting his head to avoid the way Victor's fingers follow one up to his neck, “It’s what happens when electricity enters- Well, anything. But in this case, skin.”

“Looks like it hurts,” Victor notes, bleakly, as his hands make their way back down Luca’s arms. They stop at the scars on his hand, the ones that aren’t so pretty and aren’t so kind. He lingers over the dips in his palms, lets Luca’s hand rest in his own.

“Lucky to have my arms still, let alone use of my hands. S’ what they told me,” Luca admits, and as if to prove his point, reaches out to rest his hands on Victors waist. A gentle, shaking touch, “I remember that clear as day. Thinkin’ I would never be able to feel my hands again. Never be able to work with ‘em. I think, I got lucky. Even if I hurt my head, I can still use my hands real well. Got me through prison, bein’ able to work like that.”

Victors got a few scars of his own. A few knife wounds, a bullet scar on his shoulder from when he’d gotten in the crossfire of a hit and run, a few cigarette burns from people that had a point to prove.

Luca evidently recognizes them for what they are, “Shit Victor,” He says, fingers brushing over them with care, “What happened to you?”

The last person Victor slept with threatened to burn him and his dog alive. Luca doesn’t need to know this yet. He simply shakes his head, rests his forehead on Luca’s shoulder.

“Fair enough,” Luca decides, “I won’t push.”

(Luca smells of sweat and oil, of a mess buried so deep into his skin he’ll never be cleaned of it. He feels comfortable.)

Luca has a complicated relationship with electricity.

For something that’s defiled him as badly as it has, it does just as much to protect him these days. Victor can’t see it, but he can feel the field of static that forms around Luca while he works. Luca doesn’t pull back when the cipher acts up, doesn’t shy away from the jolts and buzzes of the machine. He can shock hunters, something that builds up under his skin and sticks to him.

Victor feels it sometimes. When they’re decoding together, and their hands touch. When Luca ushers him close to sooth his wounds. After matches, when he’d had no use for his stuns, pent up and adrenaline filled. The static will snap against his skin, burn into his flesh, and the only thing he can wonder is if this is the ghost that haunts Luca’s pains.

Supposedly, Luca doesn’t feel it much.

“It’s been like that since. Ah. You know. The accident. Even in prison, they couldn’t- Well. They tried to. Ah,” He huffs, reaches up to tap his head a few times, can’t manage to get the words out properly. Victor doesn’t want him to elaborate, doesn’t ask him to, “Electricity didn’t do much worse to my head then it already was. I ain’t think they realized it though.”

He even speaks highly of it.

“Electricity is the future, Victor!” He tells him, pacing with a child-like excitement about the room, “Pure energy. One day, they might even have auto-mobiles runnin’ on it. Hell- Entire cities structured to suit it! Entire webs, connectin’ to one another. Like- Like veins in a skin! It’s own kinda life! Can you believe that? A truly incredible thing, I tell you.”

“It sounds terrifying,” Victor admits.

“Absolutely,” But he says it with a certain type of awe to him, “I would have liked to see somethin’ like that one day. I want to see the world change with it. I mean- ”

They hadn’t accepted yet, that they’d never get out of here. They’d only been here a year, at that point.

“It would be something fantastic.”

(“It’s a pretty sign,” Victor tells him, tapping his knuckles, “Electricity. It suits you, I’d say.”

Luca nods. Mimic’s the sign back at him, “Know what? You’re right.”)

Luca cries after they have sex.

Worries Victor to bits, the first time it happens. He does his best to hide it, but the room is quiet, and he’s right there, and he shakes with the tears.

“It’s nothing you did,” Luca explains later, “I can’t control it. S’ a lot at once, and I..” he tilts his head, “Like the laughter,” There had, in fact, been a lot of laughter during, “It’s all unintentional. Uncontrollable. I’m sorry.”

Luca feels shame about it. He sees it in the way Luca avoids his gaze, hides his face.

“As long as you’re not hurt,” Victor decides. As long as he didn’t hurt Luca.

Even so, Victor thinks it best that they don’t immediately sleep. Sometimes they lay there, simply enjoying the others touch. Other times, they talk. Conversation that would normally be harder to approach, easy and warm in an afterglow.

"Have you ever been with a man?" Victor asks him one night, when they’re laying together, because he's curious. They’ve laced their fingers, and Luca is hiding his face in his neck, and it’s comfortable despite the chill of the room, “You know. Before me.”

"I don��t ‘unno. Probably," he decides on. And then, "Actually, yeah. Definitely have."

He doesn't elaborate. Victor doesn’t ask him to. Not tonight.

“.. Have you?”

Victor.. Nods.

“You??” Luca grins, and Victor can’t wrap his head around why he’s so surprised by this, “Victor Grantz??”

“I’ve only ever been with men,” Victor adds on, as an afterthought.

“You seemed more like…” Luca thinks about what he wants to say, “Gettin’ married to your pretty childhood friend at twenty or somethin’. Didn’t expect you to be the type.”

Victor.. slowly. Can’t find it in himself to say it, so instead he signs it, “It’s not something I like to think about though,” He considers leaving it at that, but at last moment adds, “Was a very bad time in my life.”

“Ah,” He knows that Luca, of all people, would understand that much, “... Did you love him? I don’t know if I’ve loved any of the men I slept with. It just kinda happened.”

“...” He looks over at Wick, sleeping at the foot of his bed, “I loved something about him. Nothing good though.”

Luca nods again.

It’s Victor's turn to ask a question. It’s generally how these things go. Luca’s fingers brush against his arm and trace something victor barely knows to be numbers. He wonders what they mean.

"What's the worst thing you've done," Victor asks, instead of signing it, props his chin up to watch for Luca’s reaction to this one. He seems amused.

".. Besides the whole. Murder?"

Victor returns his amusement, "Besides murder." He signs it.

"..." Luca tilts his head back as he thinks, a long breath leaving him. He sounds sort of like air leaving a balloon, "Shit Victor, I 'unno. I can barely remember the thing I went to jail for,” But he hardly seems upset over the question, which is good.

There’s silence between them. Victor all but collapses to lay closer to him. To rest his forehead against Luca’s shoulder and wrap his arms around his waist.

"Please,” He whispers it with desperation, “Entrust me with something?”

"..." Luca shifts to adjust for his weight, "I guess I've been the cause of a lot of infidelity?"

Victor.. laughs

“What,” Luca asks, then again, with a smile beginning onto his face, “What?”

"I didn't take you as the type."

Luca shrugs, "Lot’a of married men in prison. Not a lot of wives. You can see where that would come up.”

Victor huffs laughter.

“...Why me?” Luca asks, when enough time has passed that he’s sure that they won’t continue off the last point, “Why this.”

The answer is an easy one. He doesn’t know if Luca will accept it easily.

“I find our relationship to be.. Quite boring,” Victor admits to him, with a tilt of his head and a smile.

“Huh?” Luca’s eyes widen, “That’s why we’re dating?”

Victor nods his head, “And that’s a good thing, Luca.”

Luca grimances. Victor only just realizes, looking at his expression, how horribly he’s presented this to him. Luca chews on his lip, suddenly seeming far too concerned about the state of their relationship, “You’re going to have to walk me through this one Victor.”

Victor tilts his head up to think. He can explain it, he thinks. Opens his mouth to, only to discover that the familiar weight of uncertainty has settled on his tongue. He pauses. Looks around to his nightstand, where his fancier papers and pens rest.

He signs, “Can I write it down instead?”

Luca stares at him. Then, slowly nods, “Yeah. Yeah- I mean. Shit, sure Victor.”

Victor pulls himself up. Stretches. He feels a bit bad, leaving Luca to wait. But he feels no pressure to rush, and when he holds the page out for Luca to take it’s with a small amount of relief.

“We do not fight often. When we do, you apologize and admit your wrong doings. You make sure you’re not hurting me. You trust me unconditionally,” That one might as well be damn near euphoric, “I do not have to prove my trust in you. That’s rather boring. Is it not exciting, to need to prove your worth? Is it not fulfilling? You’re patient, well mannered, and gentle. When I come back from matches, you will be here to welcome me and assure my safety. You’ve never been a threat to me, Luca. That’s quite boring.

I hope you don’t misunderstand. I do not find you personally to be boring. You’re wonderful, Luca. You’re more brilliant than I can begin to express. I often think to myself that your creativity is unmatched, and find myself frequently startled at your perceptiveness. You’re far smarter than you give yourself credit for, and far more forgiving than you realize. For all your flaws, you’re a man of many virtues.

And for that, our relationship is boring, and easy. I do not know if I have the words to express the comfort and gratitude I find in that. A boring relationship is a good one, Luca. You must forgive me when I say this, but I am somewhat envious of you. That you do not have to discover that through experience. I would never want you to remember experiencing that, even if you had.”

Victor gets to watch Luca read his. He watches the way his face falls from concern, to confusion, to uncertainty. He gets to watch the way his eyes soften, shoulders untense, lip twitches. There’s an implication in the letter, of an experience far darker than he’s told Luca of. He wonders if Luca realizes Victor hasn’t told him. He wonders if he thinks he’s just forgotten.

“Victor,” Luca still has yet to smile. He looks hurt, and Victor think’s it may be for his sake, “What?”

Victor’s own smile widens. It’s the only answer Luca gets.

“...” Luca sighs. Folds the letter up, and rests it on first page of his journal, “Come here.”

He comes back to him, “You still don’t understand,”

“I don’t,” He admits, “Not entirely. But I think- I’m missing part of the story, aren’t I?”

“I’m sorry,” Victor tells him, “I don’t know if I can tell you it just yet.”

“That’s okay,” Luca assures, and holds him close, “I won’t ask you to.”

It continues like this.

Edgar and Luca calm down enough that they’re no longer pushing handfuls of snow into eachothers face. They’ve taken to talking in tones too hush for Victor to be able to hear from a distance away, but have also both been exchanging quick glances in their groups direction. Victor watches it with a blank gaze, counts as he waits for the inevitable.

Antonio and Andrew have taken to leaning up against the cipher machine, Andrew poking hesitantly at the keys. He’s not really decoding, but explaining;

“I’d never seen anything like this, before coming to the manor. Never had the money for it. Oh- I’m sure I’ve told you this before, though..”

Antonio shakes his head, “You have not,” He assures, and Victor thinks that may be a lie.

“I’m sure you could have guessed,” he says, tone suddenly darkening. It does not seem to bother Antonio in the slightest.

“You know I enjoy hearing what you’ve to say, my lovely grave-keep,” He says, “No need with the attitude. It is already chilly enough out here,” Antonio laughs to himself. Antonio flusters, sighs, reaches over to grab his sleeve.

“... Sorry.”

Before he can begin speaking again, a snowball comes flying in Andrew’s direction. It smacks mercilessly into the back of his head. Andrew blinks. Frowns. Reaches up to check and see if he did, indeed, actually get hit.

“Valden,” Andrew hisses, turning almost immediately on his heel. Edgar gives a laugh as Luca leaves him, hand raised as if to confirm that he was very much the one to restart this war. Andrew is already beginning to storm over, brushing the snow off his hair.

“Oh. How delightful. A change in tempo,” Antonio adds, ever the peanut gallery, and begins to follow after him. Realizing his mistake just a second too late, Edgar begins to make a b-line for the closest pallet he can find.

"Come on now," Andrew says, blankly, "This is what you wanted, isn't it? You have my attention Valden."

“No, no, no. Shit,” Edgar hisses, “Fuck. Know what? I change my mind. Go away! I hate you, actually! Get fucked!”

Luca comes over to collapse into the snow next to him. He scares away the crows that Victor had been petting, that Wick had done such a good job at not growling at.

Ah, well.

“You’re done?” He signs. On top of that, he’s circled his earlier statement about the two of them acting like children, and drawn a long line up to show that he wants Luca to see it. It probably would have been easier just to rewrite the word. He has a point to prove.

“Yeah, well. I am. I’m actually kind of sore,” Luca admits, “It sucks to be Luca Balsa. Being Luca Balsa sucks. I don’t ever recommend it.”

Victor offers him a sympathetic pat on the back. Luca responds, in turn, by resting his head on his shoulder.

Luca is cold. Of course, this should maybe come as no surprise, considering he’d just been laying in the snow. But Victor still adjusts to offer him a little more warmth. Luca’s closet had never offered much in the way of thick clothing. He’s been meaning to write to the baron about that.

“... No one is decoding,” Victor whispers against his ear, earning a series of shaky giggles from the other.

“So? It’s not like there’s any rush, you know,” Luca tells him, all smiles and ease. But it’s different from the smile he was wearing moments ago, less show and laughter and more sincere, “It’s a nice change of pace. Whatever Antonio was sayin’ earlier. S’the holidays, who wants to be decoding, blugh,” He rolls his eyes, exaggerated, “Wish we could be celebrating it somewhere warmer though.”

“We’d be able to do it inside, if someone were to decode,” He presses.

“Oh, y'know. Technicalities.”

They sit like that, huddled together against the dilapidated stone wall. Edgar manages to get Antonio with a pallet once, but is rewarded with a shriek of the violin and Andrews far less forgiving shovel swings.

“Can I tell you something, Victor?” Luca asks, far too polite for their relationship, “Something a little personal.”

Victor.. Pauses. Then nods, “Always.”

Luca considers his thoughts, as he tends to do. He watches over the way Edgar is being manhandled between Antonio and Andrew, the way he kicks and laughs and stumbles over himself in an attempt to get away.

Luca’s gaze falls to the ground.

“Everyday, I think I forget what the outside world is like just a little bit more,” Luca says, dream-like, “You’d think that's.. That’s a bad thing, right? Cause the things that are sticking about the outside world are the worst parts about it. Like ..Prison. N’. You know,” Luca side eye’s him, offers a few taps to his head, “Mostly just prison. Never go to prison, Victor.”

He signs, “I’ve been told it’s bad.”

“Whoever told you that was a genius.”

Victor smiles.

“What was I.. Ah,” Luca stares off into space, “Right. You’d think that's a bad thing. But I think.. I don’t mind it. Because one day, maybe the only thing I’ll be able to remember is being here,” Luca closes his eyes, “My only connection to the outside world is a book of half truths and a dishonest, vulgar man. Isn’t that pathetic?”

Victor shakes his head quickly. He doesn’t think it is.

Luca isn’t paying attention.

Luca hides his face in his legs, “I’ve been here so long that I can barely remember why I came here to begin with. It’s written up in my room, you know. Somewhere. I think. But if ‘ya asked me right now why I came here? I could only guess.”

Victor.. Knows why Luca came here. He remembers Luca telling him about it with such an excitement to his eye, passion behind his voice, hushed and secret like. And he wants to remind him of it.

He knows better than to try.

“I don’t think we’re ever getting out of here,” Luca admits, “We’ve been here for years now. I don’t think it’s happening. So I guess, that’s a good thing. That I don’t remember the rest of the world. Who knows what I’m missin’”

Victor's gaze falls to Edgar again, just as he gets hit a second time. A gong rings throughout the field as though it was a normal game, and Antonio leans down to pluck the squirming man up in his arms.

“On the other hand. One day, we might get out of here,” Luca points out, voice a whisper, “Yeah?”

Victor… nods. It’s unlikely, he thinks. They’ve evidently all come to accept that. But it could happen. Anything was possible.

“What if the same thing happens when we get out,” He asks, “What if I loose all of this, and the only thing I can remember is. Getting stabbed a whole lot.”

Victors eyebrows furrow together. He goes to lift his hands. Pauses when Luca’s hand comes to rest on his.

“What if there’s stuff I don’t remember, stuff I didn’t tell Edgar. That I’ll just never be able to know ‘nymore. Does it matter? Should it matter?”

Edgar, for as good as he is at squirming away, is not good enough to fall from the others arms in the two seconds it takes him to find a chair. Edgar attempts to kick Andrew from his spot, but they both seem to recognize it as a fruitless battle.

(“Kriess! Get me out of here now!!”)

Andrew reaches shovel up some snow and dump it atop of Edgar’s head. He can barely make out the way Edgar grimaces as a result, shaking it off of himself just in time to receive another.

If he squints, he can make out Andrews vicious little grin as well.

Antonio plays an old holiday song he thinks he might just be able to place a name to if he tried.

“I want as many days like this seared into my memory as I can get,” Luca says, taps his head, “I never want to forget what this feels like.”

“I wouldn’t let you forget,” Victor assures him, “None of us would.”

“Well. Edgar might,” Luca corrects, “You know. If history is anything to go by.”

“Edgar might,” Victor agrees, bemused.

Andrew, just as the rocket chair begins to hiss, pulls Edgar from it. Edgar stumbles, goes to hit Andrew with trembling arms. He thinks Antonio begins to play a little bit louder, a bit faster.

Victor smiles.

“Thoughtful as that is, one of us really should decode,” He points out.

“Nah. I want to see how long this goes on for."

===

Luca

I've found that often, I throw myself into more than I can handle for the sake of my own security and pleasure. Secrets have always been something hedonistic for me. Your secrets are an addiction, and your story is a tragedy of literary proportions.

I wish there was more I could do, beyond keeping yours untold. I often find myself thinking your secrets might end up becoming too much for me. How is one supposed to keep secrets from their rightful owner? Should I tell you of your own dreams? Or should they be forgotten as the rest of your life has been. Would you be happier, in ignorance. Is it proper, for me to allow a story so tragic to disappear with us?

Isn’t that something curious? Isn’t it exciting? Maybe I’ll ask. I suppose only time will tell.

I can only hope that our future brings you happiness.

Victor.

["Prisoner" has received letter entitled Tranquility.]

#victor grantz #luca balsa #lucavic #Empathy (Reprise)#An actual update this time #and not me messing up my formatting

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