"Why doesn't it mean anything?" Edgar asked, his face scrunching up in a heartbreaking mixture of confusion and hurt.

Locke shrugged, face devoid of emotion and movements robotic. He'd been this way for a long time. Longer than Edgar liked to admit. "Nothing means anything," he said quietly. Edgar watched his lips as he spoke; they were still wet from when Edgar had been denied. "Not until the Empire pays for what they did."

"Vengeance won't--"

"It will. It has to," he added in a smaller voice. "Because it has to stop hurting." His leather gloves whispered against each other as he wrung his hands. "Please tell me it will stop hurting."

The kiss had been Edgar's coup de grace. Talking hadn't worked--nor had hugs, feasts, or elaborate treasure-hunting escapades. Edgar could no longer bear to see Locke sink any deeper. He leaned forward, kissing him softly on the forehead. The bandana was rough and worn against his lips--Locke's hair greasy against his fingertips.

"It won't," Edgar told him when he pulled back. "But it will hurt less."