the visions of tragic feelings.

The winter nights having warmth.

Luca being ill.

ill on the bed, coughs escaping his lips as he was practically shaking in that damn cot.
Edgar led him there, protected him from the wind, and still, he didn't protect him enough.

Edgar's hand was on Luca's, holding his, as he was resting.

The doctors or medics never had seen Edgar, the light aura within the room. Just being excused as the sun helping or something.

But at night?

Here was Edgar, having the weeps of a sweet soft god.

Seeing Luca on the cot, stuck in that way.

Maybe because he was lifeless.

His loud sobs, with his hand holding Luca's.
Their fingers entwined as Luca's closed eyes, disguised him in a state of a peaceful slumber.

Though, a permanent. One.

Luca Balsa.

Dying at the unknown year, but at the remembered date.

July 10th.

He remembered those praises Luca once had given him.

"You sound angelic, Ed."

Edgar leaned down, placing one kiss on his palm, before disappearing. Back into the form of despair.
Edgar couldn't feel the softness around him, that sweet voice, that messy grin.

They weren't there?

Decades felt like hours.

Before he knew it he was back into his hallucination, feeling Luca's warm hand in his, his eyes fluttering shut as he remembered his voice.

He was holding the same music box, turning the handle then heard the tune, he sighed.
Feeling the cold specks of snow on his soft skin as he was freezing, peacefully..

"I miss you, Luca."