superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

It's inane, the way Gustave thinks now about Verso's deferred affection. After the Paintress, he'd insisted, and Gustave had allowed that to become a private thing to look forward to.

He'd been willing to let them all be erased from existence without a word of warning or explanation; he's not going to assume 'a handjob in the woods' is beyond reason if it means sticking close to someone who meant something to Maelle.

"Okay." His head hurts. "And what are you going to do now?"

Gustave's asking, he thinks, because he's afraid Verso is some moustache-twirling villain, and that he'll do something to jeopardize their existence again. Despite everything, Verso feels the urge to put him at ease. Old habits die hard.

"Our mother's out of the Canvas," he explains; Maelle had claimed it was hidden from her and that she wouldn't return, and he supposes he has no choice but to believe her. Maelle had also claimed that she would use the Canvas responsibly, unlike Maman, and he has no choice but to believe that right now, too. "I'll help Maelle with whatever she needs."

What comes after that, he's not certain. No more torturing Maman with his existence, no more Gommages to try to rescue her from herself. Maybe Maelle will see fit to erase him, when this is all over.

A pause, before he can't help himself. "I liked you. All of you."

It's not quite that. More than anything else, Gustave is starting to accept that there aren't any mustache-twirling villains in the first place, even though the existence of one would make all of this so much simpler. He thinks about that final walk with Soph, the tentative empathy she'd had for the Paintress even then, and it makes his heart hurt.

"Past tense?" He doesn't really have a point in asking, his head knocked back against the bark of the tree. It's just - easier, to stay here.

"Well, I'm not sure it's requited at the moment." He's aiming for wry rather than pathetic, although he's not sure he entirely hits the mark.

Gustave is silent for a long moment, like he's absorbing those words, before he doubles over to press his face into his hands. "I can't believe I slept with Maelle's actual brother. This is such an- insane situation." He means all of it, not just their weird dynamics.

"You didn't know any better," he says, and the worst part is that he's genuinely trying to make Gustave feel better about it. It's not like he's the one who did it while fully aware of the uncomfortable intertwining of their family trees. Verso should probably do some self-reflection about that, but he's absolutely not going to. "You thought I was just a... mysterious and handsome stranger."

"You were that." Gustave isn't sure what point he wants to make, what he's trying to communicate - if it's anything at all. This is so insignificant in the scope of everything else, but maybe it feels like this is one thing he might actually have influence over.

He closes his eyes, as if that's going to help him think. "I considered us friends. I hope you did, too."

Dry, he asks, "Past tense?"

Verso doesn't linger on that because, well, fucking obviously. No one's ever wanted to be his friend after the truth came out. Superficial charm only goes so far.

He leans his head against the trunk of the tree, bark scratching at his hair. "I think that's Esquie calling you." It's not, but it's only fair to give Gustave the sort of outs he always gave himself.

Gustave is silent for a long moment, but he's unmoving. Focused, in that intense way he does at times, and vaguely he wonders if this is what a migraine feels like.

"You've only ever been on Maelle's side, haven't you. Since the very beginning. I can't hate you for that."

Yes, and no. Maelle, of course, deserves a mother who lives in the real world. She deserves a family that's moved on, that doesn't blame her for things that were never her fault. Kicking Aline out of the Canvas was certainly a step in that direction. Part of it had been selfish, too, though. He'd wanted it all to stop.

"Oh, I don't know. Lune's doing a good job of it."

"This may come as a surprise, but Lune and I are, in fact, different people. Is this where you let us know that all Expeditioners actually look the same to you after so long? Because that would be the worst twist yet."

It's not funny. He knows it isn't funny, but he's at a strange loss.

Oof, it's not funny. Verso turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. "I'm trying to generously allow you to hate me." It's pretty rude that Gustave isn't letting him, actually.

"I don't know what good hatred has ever done me, honestly." And then, maybe a little more seriously: "You're Maelle's brother. It might be rough on her if we can't at least be cordial."

Oof, again. Hatred might be better than cordial, but Verso just rests his head back against the tree trunk, acquiescent. "All right. Cordial." A pause. "Monsieur." You know, since they're being so cordial.

"I said at least cordial," Gustave says, unable to keep the mild exasperation out of his voice. "Don't call me monsieur."

He still has no right to joke around with Gustave, but— "Too sexy?" It's deadpan and more than a little self-deprecating. Nothing he's done recently is particularly sexy.

Gustave rolls his eyes, tipping his own head back against the trunk of the tree. "Yes," he drones back. "You wouldn't want to be a distraction, would you."

Verso pinches the bridge of his nose. All right, so Gustave is still holding onto that. He could explain that it isn't the sex that was distracting, but everything that came along with it. Tell Gustave that he killed the last person who got close to him, and that he wasn't really looking to make a habit of it. Even thinking about that sounds awful, so he doesn't.

"Is there a way I can reply to that that doesn't land me in the dog house?"

Gustave digs his knuckle into his own temple and realizes he's definitely just making his own headache worse with his choice of conversation topic. "It's fine, I get it. There were a handful of ways you saw this playing out, and none of them involved us being alive to talk about it tonight." He breathes a low sigh, then adds: "Hell of a way to try to spare my feelings, though."

"It wasn't—"

All right, it was to spare Gustave's feelings to an extent. He hadn't wanted to have an uncomfortable conversation, and he'd wanted to keep the good parts without having to deal with the bad parts. He'd thought it easiest to simply put it off until— well.

"If it helps, I was sparing my feelings, too."

Gustave understands the sentiment, he thinks, but putting himself into Verso's shoes in impossible. There's so little overlap in their shared experiences that it's honestly shocking they have anything to talk about at all.

"Mmm. You must have resented me and my bad poker face that night it ruined your dance. Just a little bit, at least." How does it feel so long ago?

"Resent isn't the word I'm thinking of, no."

I would rather have danced with you is a viable reply, but he doesn't have the right to say it, and besides, Gustave would probably point out that they very much could have danced together if only Verso hadn't cut him off. It's too complicated, too hard to explain.

"But I'm not sure if I'm allowed to say that it was charming."

Gustave considers that for a moment, finally turning his head to just look at Verso. Studying him, like he might be able to strip a few layers off to help him understand better the way his mind works.

"I think," he starts quietly, "that it's pretty silly that you still obfuscate everything you say. Feels a bit late for that."

"It's not— everything," Verso says weakly. It's just most things. He's prevaricated since long before he met Gustave; sometimes he thinks it must be sketched into his very being, an intrinsic quality of Verso's that got passed down to him.

He sighs. "Force of habit, I guess." That's easier to say than that it's a deep-seated facet of his personality, which he supposes is again obfuscating. But he's taking baby steps — he fumbles through, "I... liked it. The jealousy."

He hadn't been certain Gustave had any real affection for him at all, honestly, or if he'd just attempted it out of his own habit. It had felt good to be liked on his own merit, and not as a stand-in for someone else.

Gustave considers what he's learned since he's sat down at the trunk of this tree, facing north to Verso's west. They'd been betrayed, but it hadn't been out of malice. It felt like the inconsequential parts of their relationships with him were — probably, mostly real. It wasn't nothing.

He isn't sure when he's going to trust Verso again, if he can; but that doesn't make him evil, doesn't somehow inoculate Verso against the tension and anxiety of the situation. Gustave runs his hand through his hair, visibly torn about what to do. After a moment, he twists to face Verso properly, reaching out to clumsily pull him into the sort of embrace he'd employ with Maelle on her worst days.

"Just hold still here for a second," he grumps, a quiet command.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject