Chapter Text
Getting out of the manor is not a planned occurrence.
It happens suddenly. One second, he’s tugging Luca out the open exit gate, on a familiar path. Then, grass turns to brick, and a cloudy day turns to a sunny one. There’s no preparation for this. No warning. One second, they’re stuck in a cycle, and the next they’re out of it.
Just them. Just the two of them.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” Luca says, pacing in front of him, almost tripping twice thanks to wet fallen leaves and overgrown dying grass, “I mean, we always get sent back to the manor on chairs. Right? I mean-”
Andrew can’t offer him comfort on that. Instead, he sits on the steps of an otherwise abandoned manor, and watches Luca work himself up into a frenzy.
If there was one consolation, it was that the promise of riches used to lure them to the manor was not entirely false. Luca finds an envelope stuffed neatly in his tool-pouch mid-stride, with more money in cash than he might know what to do with, a promise of access to more, along with an invention that laid just outside his reach but simply begged to be funded.
“Jesus christ,” He’d said to himself, mouths numbers and repeats quieter, more disbelieving, as he counts through the bills, “Jesus fucking christ...”
Andrew, on the other hand, leaves the manor with a bloody limp and a broken shovel.
“I- ah. I’ve always been foolish. Didn’t really- ask for wealth,” Andrew mumbles into his hands, hiding his face. He’s sitting on the overgrown brick steps just outside the manors gates, speaking so quiet his voice almost looses itself in its recollection, “And I thought.. You must understand. It was the first time I felt as though someone understood my struggles. So I just... ”
Luca doesn’t make him finish the thought.
“Well. If I have money, you have money. That’s how this works. Yeah? No need to worry about that or nothin’,” Andrew isn’t sure what this is suppose to be, and isn’t sure if Luca knows either. Despite the fact that his hands are shaking hard enough to notice he speaks with a tone so certain and firm that Andrew forces himself not to question it.
Instead, Andrew stalls on, "... We’re staying together?" He sounds quite disbelieving of the concept.
"Well. Yeah. Course," Luca nods, "Unless you don’t want to, of course. But I figured-"
“I do,” He assures, quickly, wide eyed, “I do. I didn’t think you would want me to.”
Luca turns heel to face him, “Andrew,” He says, “There’s no one I’d rather be with right now then you.”
Which startles him enough that all Luca gets is, “Okay,” A nod. And then, “Alright.”
So they’re staying together. Right now. “Right now” is great. “Right now” is better than being ditched on the side of the road, half beaten and forgotten about.
Their first night out the manor, Luca buys them a hotel room.
Luca buys the hotel room. Because Luca is the one who walks out of the manor with a pocket full of coin and a promise for more, and Luca is the one that pulls him along the pathway, still dazed, using him as support despite the fact that Andrew is the one with a limp. They find a little inn just on the outskirts of Oletus property. It’s nothing impressive. An odd smell of mildew to the air, and bugs having eaten at the walls with time. But it’s not even a dent in the money Luca has, and they get breakfast and dinners, and the tired old lady running the place takes one look at their torn, worn, bloodied clothing and almost immediately insists she mends them herself.
Andrew takes the sewing kit instead, with a thanks to his tongue and a polite nod, and assures her he’ll be fine to do it himself, thank you again and very much. He sits curled up on the bed doing just that, leaving Luca shirtless and himself pantless, and shame be damned when this is all he can do to thank Luca for his generosity.
Luca sits with the window propped open, smoking through the rest of what cigarettes he has on him. (Not that there’s much left. Luca’s been chain smoking since they left the manor, but it doesn’t seem to be helping whatever nerve’s been struck.) and are making an attempt at blowing smoke out the window rather than into the room. He knows Andrew has never quite been a fan of the smell, unavoidable as it is. It only sort of works, with the breeze that blows it right back in, but he supposed it was the thought that counts.
Andrew isn't talking to Luca, and Luca is careful not to overwhelm him in return. And he appreciates this. He appreciates this up until the point that Luca is left to observe him, eyes on him far too long. He's never liked staring. Even if it's from Luca. Even if it's from someone he loves.
“You’re hurt,” Luca notes, eyeing up the wound on his leg. Like it’s just now something he’s just noticed.
“So are you,” And dirty. Neither of them have gotten a chance to shower, and they’re both still covered in a layer of dirt and sweat and blood. Despite this, Luca is the one that shakes his head at him, and Luca is the one that leaves, still shirtless (shame on him) To hunt down the proper medical supplies. And Luca is the one that kneels in front of him, with a bowl of hot water, gauze, and a rag. He turns over his leg in his hand, eyeing the wound with more concern then Andrew could ever give to his own personhood.
“It’s not going to heal overnight,” Luca tell him, rubbing the back of his neck. It comes out like a realization. An abnormality, Strictly against what’s become their normal.
“I’ve not bled out yet,” Andrew tells him, lifting the shirt he’s nearly finished stitching up, “I’ll wrap it when I’ve finished.”
Luca snorts. He reaches up to flick out his cigarette on the ashtray, “I’m not going to make you lick your own wounds, Andrew,” He tells him, and gives him a look that screams rebellion, “You took care of us all the time. Take care of me, all the time. Let me do this for you, alright?”
Who is Andrew, to argue with something like that.
And so, Andrew mends their clothing, and Luca mends his wound, and for a period of time the only sound that breaks the silence is the crickets chirping outside their window and trees rustling in the wind.
It’s still early into the night. Early enough that the world around them is lit up red, and the sound of dinner being cooked bleeds through the floorboards. But neither of them have much energy left in them, and with his leg wrapped properly and their clothing mended, Luca clambers to rest next to him in bed. That much doesn’t surprise Andrew. What does surprise him is how Luca’s arms hook around him, and head rests on his shoulder. The touch isn’t entirely unfamiliar to him. They’ve found themselves in this position, after a multitude of matches, late into the night when the rest of the world had found itself asleep. But Andrew is always surprised when it comes, so openly and willingly.
He leans over to hide his face in Luca’s hair. Though exhaustion might weight him down, and pain might creep through his bones, he’s thankful for the monkey-paw he wished upon to get Luca Balsa in his life. Even if just for now.