superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

This is, again, very cute. Very hopeful for the future, which is something he can't say he's experienced recently. Verso pinches his nose again, a tension headache forming. Gustave really has no idea how much stress he's putting Verso under!!

"And if I decide to go back to Lumière and be your Uncle Verso"—he is not going to be Uncle Verso, ever—"are you going to follow me like a lost gestral then, too?"

Gustave hesitates visibly, flexing his empty hand on his own knee like he's not sure what to do with it. Eventually, he leans back, crossing his arms in the way he does when he isn't sure what else to do with them.

"Depends on how much it'd bother you, I think," he admits. "But if you'd have me, yes, probably."

"That's madness, Gustave."

And it really is, although perhaps Verso is being unfair; after all, Gustave only has a slight inkling of what kind of a person he really is. Verso could end this in a second with a few truthful confessions, but—

He doesn't want to. Selfishly, he doesn't want Gustave to think poorly of him, even though it would be the right thing to do.

"...Everyone will think you're interested in your uncle."

Gustave laughs at that despite himself, blowing out a puff of air and rocking his head back to look up at the sky. He's not quite agitated, exactly, but it is taking an effort of will to keep from stubbornly reaching out to touch him again.

"I think my sister would probably ruin the 'favored uncle' plan, anyway, you know."

He doesn't know why he's chasing after this with both hands; it's not like him. Telling himself that does nothing to ease the prickling discomfort he feels when he thinks about Verso choosing to let himself evaporate from their lives.

"—a month in Lumière. To help us rebuild. And if you're miserable— I'll help convince Maelle that you belong anywhere else."

A month. It's plenty of time for Gustave to remember his real life, at least for some measure of real. It's entirely possible that he'll be so disillusioned with Verso by the end of it that he'll be glad for the out.

And it's very difficult to say no to those big brown eyes. Gustave should be forced to wear a blindfold around him, for fairness.

"—All right, twist my arm," he says, like he's not just viewing this as a momentary stay of execution for their relationship. Gustave doesn't have to know that. "It... would be fair to help rebuild." Considering how much of the destruction is his fault. "You know how fond I am of giving back to the community."

"Lucky community," Gustave says, tone dry, but there's no denying that something subtle in his posture relaxes. The worst part of this all is the possibility that Verso is right: that Gustave will return to Lumière and be drawn so fully back into it that all of his current doubts and fears vanish. Won't he feel foolish, then.

"Thank you," he says a little more earnestly then, and he reaches over to gently rest his hand on Verso's leg. "For humoring me."

The tension in Gustave's shoulders relaxes, and the same happens to Verso's. The stress and anxiety and dread is still there, but it does feel nice to push it off for a little bit. Like procrastinating on a project until the due date arrives, it isn't the wisest choice, but it's the one that feels the best.

"Oh, it isn't for free. I'm expecting five star entertainment from you for that month."

Gustave snorts, and isn't proud of his own abrupt and intrusive thought: maybe adoring Verso and Maelle is inevitable. Maybe it's coded right into their genes. He chases that away, quietly horrified at himself, his hand tightening slightly on Verso's leg.

"We've got these amazing things in Lumière," he says, holding up his free hand like he's imagining a marquee. "'Locking doors.' Can't wait to introduce you to all of their practical uses."

Verso's not quite sure how he went from trying to gracefully dump Gustave to promising him a whole month, but when he laughs involuntarily at Gustave's dorky, charming humor, he has an idea. Gustave makes things seem not so dire, somehow, like maybe there's a chance that everything isn't horrible forever. Verso, in all his selfishness, can't help but chase that feeling.

"Hmm," he says, staring into the fire as the corner of his mouth twitches up. "Never heard of them. Are they related to this fraternization I keep hearing so much about?"

You can't break up until you've both hit the streets of Lumière in matching slutty little ensembles, Verso, it's basically law.

The fact that they're on an even enough keel to joke around is a massive relief, anyway. Gustave wasn't sure how this conversation was going to go, but— the outcome could have been worse. "Mm. Frequently, yes. I'll have some stinging nettles brought into my room if you need a reminder of home."

Catch-22, no one could ever break-up with Gustave while he's wearing a slutty V-neck!!

The wilds of the Continent aren't home, but the concept of home is too heavy of one to discuss here, now. He's still recovering from Gustave having seen him at his most miserable and pathetic. He may never recover, honestly.

Instead, he keeps it light. "Sweet of you. But I'll admit, I imagined your room to be too full of nuts and bolts to be used for extracurricular activities."

"My bedroom is extremely normal," Gustave protests, then grows quiet for a moment. "Or was, I suppose. Emma said she'd handle my things if I didn't come back. Really the only time it felt like she actually believed in the mission."

He glances at the rest of the camp, then back at Verso, before he'll once again channel Sophie— hoping more than anything to summon her ease and elegance as he parrots the sort of thing she used to say. "Hey, lay down. Let me play with your hair." Surely eight thousand belts will make a nice pillow.

"Um," he says, very suavely. "Okay."

This is all— not new territory, but certainly territory that he hasn't tread in long enough that it might as well be. He scoots to the side, moving to hover awkwardly over Gustave's lap, a ridiculous echo of the way Gustave had been hesitant to rest his weight on Verso. He's not at all nervous about crawling into Gustave's lap, but putting his head into it feels significantly more intimidating.

"Family can be... challenging," he says to distract from how faltering he is, before finally setting his head down on Gustave's thighs. "But—ow—" The belts are very pokey. He readjusts. "—She's your sister. I'm sure she believed in you."

Not the mission, maybe, but at least her brother.

"Hard not to, when you have all the determination of Monoco detaching a Nevron foot." It's not pretty!!

Okay, maybe 'put your head in my lap' is the kind of thing that a young, beautiful woman can get away with saying without it being strange; it probably has a different vibe coming from a dorky, mustached man in his thirties. He's preparing to apologize, to tell Verso it's fine, but then he settles and— okay, yeah. Still kind of weird, but also nice, too. Gustave slides his hand into Verso's hair, sort of just gently petting him, and he can understand why Sophie was so fond of doing this to him.

"She believed that I was an idealist," Gustave muses, his hand steady, and then he exhales an abrupt laugh. "She hit the roof when I blew up my arm. Nearly got banned from my own workshop forever, you know."

The vibe of it coming from a dorky, mustached man in his thirties hadn't been unappealing, but it does feel strange. Always painfully aware of the way he's perceived, he can imagine Maelle or Lune or Sciel looking over and seeing this, and he isn't certain what they'd think. It's one thing to think the world's most questionable man is just sleeping with your friend, but it might be another to see him laying his head in said friend's lap.

He links his hands together over his abdomen and tries not to let himself get carried away. Instead, he thinks about how Esquie will probably be jealous that he wasn't invited.

"Mmm," he hums disapprovingly. "Well, I wouldn't know about that sort of thing. I've always been an angel."

Obviously not, but at least he never blew anything up.

Gustave is by nature neither a jealous nor a possessive man, but there's no denying that a small part of him is making an intentional statement here. If Verso is going to return to Lumière with them, if they're going to trial a thing, whatever shape that thing ends up taking — he doesn't want it to begin and end as some kind of shameful secret.

"What a load of absolute horseshit," Gustave says, tone affectionate as his hand sweeps gently over Verso's brow. "You know I had to fix all that shoddy work you did on the shield dome myself, right?" Spoken like Verso's involvement with the shield dome isn't the sexiest thing about him as far as Gustave is concerned.

"Shoddy seems harsh," he gripes, although— yeah, it was probably shoddy. He's not scientifically minded like Gustave, hasn't spent the better part of his life taking things apart and putting them back together. Creative, sure, imaginative — but the actual implementation probably left something to be desired.

"And you don't know it was my work. It might have been"—hell, he almost says Papa's—"someone else's fault."

Gustave chuckles down at him, gentle as he scratches his nails against Verso's scalp. "Hmm. Maybe," he hums, trying his best to telegraph that the picking on is flirtatious!! "Suppose I can give you the benefit of the doubt just this once."

Sort of absurd to be sitting here and relaxing like this, but he'll take it.

It is absurd, and Verso feels a twinge of guilt for enjoying it. He closes his eyes for just a moment, inhaling. Gustave's fingers feel different from Julie's: little calluses on his fingertips from working with machines, less slender and elegant. And, he supposes, Julie's would be very cold now.

"We should sleep while we can," he says, opening his eyes. "I have second watch, and Lune may find the cure for immortality if I don't relieve her on time."

Gustave wants to protest, to ask Verso if it would kill him to just relax there a little while longer, but he holds it back. "Get some sleep," he encourages quietly, bracing both of his hands behind him and stretching his back. "I've got some writing to do tonight." Religiously.

As he sits up, he says, dryly, "And here I thought you'd be begging to cuddle." Kidding!!! He is absolutely kidding. They haven't even had the what are we conversation, and Verso definitely doesn't plan on being the one to venture there.

But he does make an overture, reaching over to—briefly—place a palm on the back of Gustave's neck. "Stay up too late, and I might have to volunteer you for my watch instead."

Gustave leans his head back just very slightly into the touch, obviously enjoying it. "Well. If you need help staying warm, I would be happy to step in if Monoco's not feeling up to the task."

He hesitates, then leans in, trying to be extremely casual as he bumps a kiss against the side of Verso's mouth and murmurs a goodnight. If he pretends he's extra cool and chill about all of this, maybe he can convince himself.

It's objectively ridiculous to feel flustered about being kissed good night when Gustave's mouth has been far more scandalous places on his body, but he does anyway. "Well, you are furry," he says fondly, gently flicking one of those sizeable brows, but leaves it at that.

While Verso absconds to lay out his bedroll, Esquie approaches Gustave with a dejected, "Verso never lets me pet him." Because Esquie messes up his hair, for the record. One of Esquie's hands pat-pats Gustave's hair. Maybe Gustave will be more amenable to pets. "But humans are just the right size for petting."

"You saw that, did you?" Gustave cringes just the littlest bit, but he won't swat Esquie off. Is he exasperated beyond measure at the sheer whimsy that seems to radiate at times from Esquie and the gestrals? Sure, of course. At the same time... he doesn't like that Esquie sounds dejected. 😩

"He's just very particular about his hair, I think," says Gustave, who is Not. "Don't hold it against him." As long as Esquie doesn't accidentally crush him, he can tolerate most things for a little while.

Esquie is a gentle soul!! He clumsily but gently strokes the top of his head, like a child with questionable motor skills showing affection to a puppy.

"Best friends don't hold things against best friends," he says, like everything really is that simple.

Despite the gentleness, he is tousling Gustave's hair to a degree that would certainly irritate someone as image-conscious as Verso. "See? You're good for petting. That must be why he likes you so much."

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