Verso has been trying to end things with him before they ever began. Gustave isn't certain about much anymore in this strange new version of the world he'd known before his Expedition, but he's fairly sure that Verso— well, likes him, yes, but that he's humoring him, too. It feels like a distinct line he needs to observe; that if he crosses it too soundly, Verso might disappear from his life entirely again.
He chuckles at the joke, hates himself for the childish way his heart clenches at the I like you. For just a moment, he allows himself to focus on washing the pan he'd used. "I care about you— more than what is likely reasonable," he says. "You are always welcome to wallow with me."
Definitely more than is reasonable, because reasonable would be washing his hands of Verso entirely. He's had ample opportunity to do it. The first time Verso had lied to him; the second time Verso had lied to him; the third time— At this point, Gustave is obviously just a glutton for punishment.
Before the confrontation with Renoir, he'd let himself experience some hesitant optimism for the first time in decades, but he's been disabused of that notion; he knows it's selfish to draw Gustave into Verso's destructive orbit, but it's growing increasingly difficult not to be selfish. He'll end this soon, though, really, before it gets too serious.
Unwittingly, he smiles. "Then let's wallow, Monsieur Unreasonable."
He wonders for a minute if he should go home, grab some clothes, let Emma know he'll be out for the night— but she's a smart woman, and after Verso visiting two days in a row he imagines she can put the pieces together herself.
"I'm going to grab that book," he says. He heads to the living room, stopping only long enough to briefly trap Verso against the counter to kiss him again. Even if he does notice Verso's room is part of an ongoing existential nightmare, he won't say anything about it; he's much more interested in just being comfortably horizontal for at long as he's able.
It's probably hard not to notice that it's part of an ongoing existential nightmare: the curtains are drawn shut so as to block out any light, and the bed is unmade, the mattress the sort of lumpy that only comes from having someone lie, unmoving, on it for about seven days straight. The only joyful things in this room are a small, ceramic model train on the night stand and an unopened paint set on the desk.
"Don't mind the, uh..." Everything. Verso pulls open the curtains and hastily pulls the covers up on the bed. "I just wasn't expecting company in here."
With a sweeping gesture, he says, "Make yourself at home."
"You weren't? Strange. I'm sure you could tell I had a non-stop parade of company through mine," Gustave says a little wryly, ambling over to inspect the little train set. "I'm not sure I'll ever have cause to go back to the manor myself, but you should show me your room there if we do."
But he perches on the bed, sliding back to sit against the headboard with book in hand and his legs stretched in front of him. The message he's trying to convey is don't let me interrupt your lolling about — he isn't expecting to be entertained.
Verso did have a nonstop parade of company through his room pre-Fracture (he was popular!), but he keeps his mouth shut on that topic. The idea of returning to an empty manor is painful, but he shrugs and says, "Yeah, sure." It'll never happen, anyway.
He settles on the bed, too, feeling strangely awkward despite the fact that they had sex in the living room not long ago, and he didn't feel awkward about that at all. He'd been popular, yes, but even pre-Fracture he never had someone make him dinner and then companionably read beside him. It reminds him a little of playing house, except Clea always made him be the family dog.
"I usually just lie here and look tormented," he jokes. It's true, but he absolutely can't do that in front of Gustave now.
There are few enough signs of life here that it's about what he expected, honestly. It reminds him of how he'd spent the week following his mother's Gommage.
"Okay," Gustave says, unfazed, already distracted by his book as he taps the top of his thigh. "Just put your head here so I can reach it."
Oh. He should be offended that Gustave is barely paying attention to him, but it actually makes it easier to comply. He curls up on the mattress, head resting against Gustave's leg.
"I haven't read that one yet," he says after a long moment. Verso hasn't read any of the books on his shelf yet. "It would only be fair to read it aloud."
"I can't help but feel your voice would be much better suited for this than mine, but alright." Gustave flips back to the start, and he'll read for Verso in a soft, measured voice; it's not wholly unlike the time he's spent when he's volunteered time at the orphanage. Life was weird and sad for a guy with a death sentence who desperately wanted children of his own; it was one of the more worthwhile ways he'd occasionally spent weekends.
Occasionally he strokes Verso's head, gentle and fond between page turns. If left unchecked, he'll just keep reading until it's a more reasonable time to actually go to sleep.
It does get left unchecked, if only because at some point during Gustave's book-on-tape reading, Verso passes the fuck out to the soft sound of his voice. He usually has difficulty getting to sleep, but it's been a tiring day of pretending that everything is okay for Gustave's sake. There is, unfortunately, a little drool involved.
Actually Gustave is mostly just kind of tiredly amused that this is the second time he's lulled a Dessendre to sleep in pretty much this exact position (and the second time he's been drooled on, too.) Even sitting up in bed is more comfortable than some of the normal nights camping out on the ground during the Expedition; he'll settle in to sleep with his hand resting a little protectively (and a little possessively, too, to be honest) on Verso's side.
Wow! He sure would like to fall in love under normal, rational circumstances someday! Must be nice!!
There's light streaming in through the window when he wakes up, which is unusual, but it's not actually the thing that wakes him up. There's a knock at the door — which he blatantly ignores at first, but then it continues more insistently, and he blearily crawls out of bed, wiping the corner of his mouth and praying that Gustave didn't notice the drool.
When he opens the door, it's to the image of Maelle standing in the doorway. "Is Gustave here?" she says, and he'll admit only to himself that it hurts. "I know you aren't ready to talk yet," she continues, as if she's quoting him (because she is). "But we had this weird conversation yesterday morning and then he never showed back up at the house, and I know you, um..."
There's an awkward pause, during which it seems like she's waiting for him to fill in the nature of their relationship. Finally: "Talk? Sometimes. So I thought you might know where he is."
Half-asleep, unsure if Gustave even wants him to admit that he's here, and intensely aware of the fact that he'd never even buttoned his pants back up again yesterday, Verso's response is a very eloquent, "Uh."
Gustave is half-aware of Verso getting up to get the door, but he doesn't actually snap awake until he hears Maelle's voice. He grimaces then, and — for a brief, guilty moment — considers continuing to hide back here and letting Verso deal with it. And then he thinks of the way Verso had literally fled through his bedroom window instead of dealing with her face to face, and he pushes himself out of bed.
There's absolutely no hiding the way he's slept here in the exact same clothes that he was wearing before. "Maelle," he interrupts, approaching the doorway and trying to rub the crick out of the back of his neck. With a gentle hand he coaxes Verso aside, but even then he's careful to stand in a way that doesn't make it seem like he's suggesting she come inside.
It's a little odd, struggling between the impulse he has to shield both of them from stress, from upset.
"I'll be home in a little while. What do you need?"
It's shameful how quickly he steps aside to let Gustave speak to Maelle instead, but being face-to-face with her for even this short amount of time makes something twist in his stomach. Whatever lightened mood he'd managed to cultivate yesterday comes crashing down, a dark cloud settling over him as he watches Gustave and Maelle converse.
"Gustave," she says, relieved. "I was— worried about you. You said all of those things, and then you just disappeared." After spending the entire day holed up in his room. It's enough to give a girl who's terrified of loss an aneurysm.
"...I guess now I know where all that came from," she says, looking Gustave up and down, not necessarily accusatory—there's no malice behind it—but certainly implying that Verso persuaded him into it.
Edited (I don't know grammar) 2025-08-19 17:58 (UTC)
It's true that Gustave is depressed, and it's also true that he's spent some time struggling to reconcile the reality of the world. More importantly, though— he hasn't spent the last sixty-seven years being battered physically and emotionally by the canvas, hasn't spent a literal lifetime grappling with his own identity, with his two families' worth. Gustave is tired, sure, but he's nowhere near real exhaustion yet, nowhere near real despair.
"Maelle." Which mostly means that his tone is sharp, a little reprimanding when he says her name. "What do you mean, 'I said all of those things'? You think Verso is the reason I expect you to keep your promises?" It is no more or less severe than any other scolding he's ever given.
And, just like every time Gustave has ever scolded her, Maelle hangs her head — half in genuine contrition, half to try to make Gustave feel bad for scolding her!!!
"Don't reprimand me in front of Verso. He'll think you're mean."
He didn't say anything, for the record.
"I was just worried," she continues, eyes big and blue as she pouts. "I wanted to make sure you didn't skip town or something."
"Not yet," Gustave says dryly. He leans his shoulder against the doorframe, reaching out to fix Maelle's collar in a gesture that is fully fatherly reflex, before he folds his arms loosely at his chest. "But I am sort of thinking about running off to the Continent with your brother. Maybe eloping in the Grandis settlement? Not sure yet. He listens to me." He'll apologize to Verso in a minute for including him in the stupid sibling squabble he's having with her. "Go home, I'll come back later."
Maelle makes a face, clearly wanting to say that she does listen to Gustave but also knowing that she can't rightly argue that after everything. "You swear?" she still says, only partially ribbing. Verso isn't the only Dessendre with neuroses; it runs in the family.
Then, sighed: "Fine. But Emma's serving tartines, and we're not saving any for you."
Her eyes flick behind Gustave to Verso, and they share the sort of strangely intense gaze that only two people with the eyes of Husky dogs can before she steps back. "...Bye," she says, a little lingering.
When the door is finally closed again, Verso rubs his face. "Sorry."
Verso lives in a constant state of sorriness, but this time it's for selfishly inviting Gustave to stay over, for drooling on him in his sleep, and for shrinking away from Maelle like she's a Nevron and not his teenage sister.
"I should've said something," he argues. As in, anything at all. "But every time I see her, I—" Feel like he's killing her. Feel like she's killing him, by keeping him here. He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair, which he hasn't even gotten a chance to comb. He can only hope it's closer to charming bedhead than rat's nest.
"We didn't leave off on the best of terms," he finishes. Then, awkwardly, "...Morning."
As if Gustave hadn't been the one to ask to stay literally twice. He straightens up, shaking his head at Verso's argument, and he reaches to try to gently catch his wrist, to squeeze his hand. "Hey. It's alright. We've got a little time. I told you: we're going to figure this out." They've got vast stretches of time, but he means until it's an active crisis.
The pang in his chest is only growing more familiar. How do both of the Dessendres have him wrapped around their fingers? How does it feel like second nature to want to keep them safe and happy? Maybe it's the creepy blue eyes.
Verso's hair is a complete rat's nest, and charming on top of that. Gustave likes getting to see this part of him that he doubts very many others have, and he chuckles sleepily at the sight. "Good morning, mon beau. I'm not sure I'm ready to be up yet."
Time. All Verso has ever had is endless swathes of time. He frowns; now is probably not the right time to bring up that his 'plan B' is to get Gustave to convince Maelle to erase him from the Canvas.
"No," is his tired agreement. "Me neither."
He pinches the bridge of his nose, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Although his heart isn't wholly in it, he nudges Gustave with his elbow. "Crazy night last night?" Reading a book and having Verso drooling on him by 8 P.M. is pretty wild!!
Well, Verso is in luck, as far as Gustave is concerned: he fully does not believe that Renoir is going to allow Maelle to kill herself in this canvas. If they end up needing to expel her like her mother, he's sure they'll end up as nothing more than ash the second she's safely out.
Anyway, he gently swats the elbow away. "You were extremely cute, I'll have you know. Very sweet looking."
When your 1,600 comment thread just abruptly ends with them both fucking dying.
Anyway, the swatting doesn't faze Verso, and the complimentary teasing doesn't seem to, either, although inwardly he's a bit mortified at the way he fell asleep in Gustave's lap while being read a bedtime story like a child. "Oh, I know. I'm very cute."
The embarrassment doesn't show on his face, but he does say, a little sheepishly, "Sorry for crashing like that." That definitely wasn't good host behavior. "Just tired, I guess."
"Verso." The way Gustave looks at him is genuinely a little bewildered. "Stop apologizing to me. That was— maybe the best night I've had since before the Expedition left. I don't want you to be sorry for any of it."
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superniceone) wrote2025-06-23 06:53 pm
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He chuckles at the joke, hates himself for the childish way his heart clenches at the I like you. For just a moment, he allows himself to focus on washing the pan he'd used. "I care about you— more than what is likely reasonable," he says. "You are always welcome to wallow with me."
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Before the confrontation with Renoir, he'd let himself experience some hesitant optimism for the first time in decades, but he's been disabused of that notion; he knows it's selfish to draw Gustave into Verso's destructive orbit, but it's growing increasingly difficult not to be selfish. He'll end this soon, though, really, before it gets too serious.
Unwittingly, he smiles. "Then let's wallow, Monsieur Unreasonable."
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"I'm going to grab that book," he says. He heads to the living room, stopping only long enough to briefly trap Verso against the counter to kiss him again. Even if he does notice Verso's room is part of an ongoing existential nightmare, he won't say anything about it; he's much more interested in just being comfortably horizontal for at long as he's able.
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"Don't mind the, uh..." Everything. Verso pulls open the curtains and hastily pulls the covers up on the bed. "I just wasn't expecting company in here."
With a sweeping gesture, he says, "Make yourself at home."
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But he perches on the bed, sliding back to sit against the headboard with book in hand and his legs stretched in front of him. The message he's trying to convey is don't let me interrupt your lolling about — he isn't expecting to be entertained.
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He settles on the bed, too, feeling strangely awkward despite the fact that they had sex in the living room not long ago, and he didn't feel awkward about that at all. He'd been popular, yes, but even pre-Fracture he never had someone make him dinner and then companionably read beside him. It reminds him a little of playing house, except Clea always made him be the family dog.
"I usually just lie here and look tormented," he jokes. It's true, but he absolutely can't do that in front of Gustave now.
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"Okay," Gustave says, unfazed, already distracted by his book as he taps the top of his thigh. "Just put your head here so I can reach it."
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"I haven't read that one yet," he says after a long moment. Verso hasn't read any of the books on his shelf yet. "It would only be fair to read it aloud."
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Occasionally he strokes Verso's head, gentle and fond between page turns. If left unchecked, he'll just keep reading until it's a more reasonable time to actually go to sleep.
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Actually Gustave is mostly just kind of tiredly amused that this is the second time he's lulled a Dessendre to sleep in pretty much this exact position (and the second time he's been drooled on, too.) Even sitting up in bed is more comfortable than some of the normal nights camping out on the ground during the Expedition; he'll settle in to sleep with his hand resting a little protectively (and a little possessively, too, to be honest) on Verso's side.
Wow! He sure would like to fall in love under normal, rational circumstances someday! Must be nice!!
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When he opens the door, it's to the image of Maelle standing in the doorway. "Is Gustave here?" she says, and he'll admit only to himself that it hurts. "I know you aren't ready to talk yet," she continues, as if she's quoting him (because she is). "But we had this weird conversation yesterday morning and then he never showed back up at the house, and I know you, um..."
There's an awkward pause, during which it seems like she's waiting for him to fill in the nature of their relationship. Finally: "Talk? Sometimes. So I thought you might know where he is."
Half-asleep, unsure if Gustave even wants him to admit that he's here, and intensely aware of the fact that he'd never even buttoned his pants back up again yesterday, Verso's response is a very eloquent, "Uh."
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There's absolutely no hiding the way he's slept here in the exact same clothes that he was wearing before. "Maelle," he interrupts, approaching the doorway and trying to rub the crick out of the back of his neck. With a gentle hand he coaxes Verso aside, but even then he's careful to stand in a way that doesn't make it seem like he's suggesting she come inside.
It's a little odd, struggling between the impulse he has to shield both of them from stress, from upset.
"I'll be home in a little while. What do you need?"
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"Gustave," she says, relieved. "I was— worried about you. You said all of those things, and then you just disappeared." After spending the entire day holed up in his room. It's enough to give a girl who's terrified of loss an aneurysm.
"...I guess now I know where all that came from," she says, looking Gustave up and down, not necessarily accusatory—there's no malice behind it—but certainly implying that Verso persuaded him into it.
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"Maelle." Which mostly means that his tone is sharp, a little reprimanding when he says her name. "What do you mean, 'I said all of those things'? You think Verso is the reason I expect you to keep your promises?" It is no more or less severe than any other scolding he's ever given.
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"Don't reprimand me in front of Verso. He'll think you're mean."
He didn't say anything, for the record.
"I was just worried," she continues, eyes big and blue as she pouts. "I wanted to make sure you didn't skip town or something."
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Then, sighed: "Fine. But Emma's serving tartines, and we're not saving any for you."
Her eyes flick behind Gustave to Verso, and they share the sort of strangely intense gaze that only two people with the eyes of Husky dogs can before she steps back. "...Bye," she says, a little lingering.
When the door is finally closed again, Verso rubs his face. "Sorry."
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He turns to face Verso, leaning back against the door. "What are you sorry for? I should have left her a note, I knew you don't want to see her yet."
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"I should've said something," he argues. As in, anything at all. "But every time I see her, I—" Feel like he's killing her. Feel like she's killing him, by keeping him here. He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair, which he hasn't even gotten a chance to comb. He can only hope it's closer to charming bedhead than rat's nest.
"We didn't leave off on the best of terms," he finishes. Then, awkwardly, "...Morning."
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The pang in his chest is only growing more familiar. How do both of the Dessendres have him wrapped around their fingers? How does it feel like second nature to want to keep them safe and happy? Maybe it's the creepy blue eyes.
Verso's hair is a complete rat's nest, and charming on top of that. Gustave likes getting to see this part of him that he doubts very many others have, and he chuckles sleepily at the sight. "Good morning, mon beau. I'm not sure I'm ready to be up yet."
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"No," is his tired agreement. "Me neither."
He pinches the bridge of his nose, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Although his heart isn't wholly in it, he nudges Gustave with his elbow. "Crazy night last night?" Reading a book and having Verso drooling on him by 8 P.M. is pretty wild!!
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Anyway, he gently swats the elbow away. "You were extremely cute, I'll have you know. Very sweet looking."
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Anyway, the swatting doesn't faze Verso, and the complimentary teasing doesn't seem to, either, although inwardly he's a bit mortified at the way he fell asleep in Gustave's lap while being read a bedtime story like a child. "Oh, I know. I'm very cute."
The embarrassment doesn't show on his face, but he does say, a little sheepishly, "Sorry for crashing like that." That definitely wasn't good host behavior. "Just tired, I guess."
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