tfln overflow / open post

[superniceone]

(open / overflow)

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[superniceone]

The vaguely wistful smile on Gustave's face disappears. He's both straightening up and immediately jumping to conclusions. "There's no way I can change your mind?"

He thinks: it would be like Verso to bring him somewhere nice to tell him he's fucking off entirely, like that would somehow soften the blow.

[recreatable]

"—Sorry?"

Verso frowns, taken aback by the response. He hadn't expected Gustave to jump for joy, but he hadn't expected the reaction to be so instantly poor. It's a blow to his ego, certainly. Surely Gustave remembers what he'd said about needing a couple of days to work on his limerick, so now he's— what, unable to camouflage how much he actually dislikes Verso's poetry?

A little harsh. He smiles, although it's uncertain.

"Ouch. Is it that bad?"

[superniceone]

Gustave realizes he probably has it wrong when Verso reacts with confusion instead of contrition. "No, wait, I— maybe I should let you actually tell me what the reason is before I make assumptions."

[recreatable]

More visibly hesitant now than before, Verso unearths a small slip of paper from his pocket, carefully torn from his journal. "The, uh, limerick."

[superniceone]

"Putain de merde," Gustave whispers, abruptly embarrassed by his own reaction. He rubs his face with his hands, laughing tiredly at himself. "No, of course, sorry, I thought— it doesn't matter what I thought. Of course I want to see that, hand it over."

[recreatable]

The tension in Verso's shoulders evidently relaxes, and the corner of his mouth turns up. "So demanding," he teases, unfolding the paper. "I just made some tweaks for readability, that's all."

Except, upon handing the paper over, it's clearly not the same poem at all. It starts with the same line—there once was a man from Lumière, natch—but the rest is far less dirty and far more genuinely complimentary, romantic in tone albeit a little bittersweet. It's not a particularly long poem, but the faint pencil markings visible beneath the words suggest that it's been written and rewritten several times.

He gives Gustave time to read, although he's worrying his lip the entire time. "So," he ventures after a moment, "any feedback?"

[superniceone]

Raunchy limerick aside, Gustave is fairly confident this is the first poem that's ever been written about him. Fuck, he thinks, this is touching. And then fuck, he thinks: he was supposed to be able to let Verso go, when Verso decided it was time to go.

He reads it once, and then again more slowly, his eyes tracking the words and the ghosts of prior revisions beneath them. "This is— extremely unfair. I'm never going to be able to top this." His eyes cut up to Verso then; he's clearly touched. "Can I keep it?"

[recreatable]

Verso's smile is small, but he's obviously pleased that Gustave likes it. Of course, he'd done everything in his power to make sure that happened — hours making revisions, an atmospheric setting, covering up his horrible hair. Gustave's approval wasn't really left up to chance.

All the same, it's a relief. It's easier to write down feelings through poem or song than it is to express them verbally, but it's still just as intimidating to have someone actually see them. Baring his soul, like he'd said.

"It would be a poor gift if you couldn't." Canting his head, he adds, "It's yours."

[superniceone]

Gustave has emotional whiplash and it's his own fault. He shouldn't have let this start until things were fixed. He's worried about the end of their world as they know it; he's worried about Maelle poisoning herself by running away to Lumière, a place that is somehow less real than her own world. And now he's sitting in the shade of the Hanging Gardens, surrounded on all sides by carefully cultivated flowers, receiving a love poem. Written just for him, in fact.

He's tried not to make any assumptions about how Verso feels about evidence of their relationship outside of private walls, but he's going to reach forward now for his hand, squeezing it tightly in his own.

"I thought you were leaving early," he confesses, sheepish now that he understands Verso's angle. "It was— uncharitable to assume. Sorry. This is— lovely."

[recreatable]

"Oh," he says, and now it's his turn to feel sheepish. Worse than sheepish. His conversation with Monoco about leaving as soon as his month here is up runs through his head, and he feels a pang of guilt. Stumbling over his words: "No, not... early."

But still leaving. The elation he'd felt sinks a little; it's challenging to stay upbeat when constantly torn between making Gustave happy and making it easier for him when Verso inevitably goes. Part of him does want to stay, but he knows better than to trust his own selfish desires. He shouldn't even be lingering here this long in the first place, trying to make Gustave like him when the only person that benefits is himself.

Quickly changing the subject, he says, "Now that I've been your muse, I expect to have a combustion engine named after me."

[superniceone]

Not early, Verso says, and Gustave smiles a little wistfully, pulling his hand to his mouth to softly kiss the back of his fingers before he lets him go. Despite everything, he can't beat his own stupid idealism: maybe, if he can convince Maelle to go, he can convince Verso to stay.

"You might have to wait a bit. Lune actually has me looking into synthesizing Nevron abilities the way Monoco does," Gustave says, sounding a little good-naturedly beleaguered. "It's not going to get anywhere, but I promised her I'd have a think." And there's no point, either, other than doing it just because they can. It's not like they have a larger world to defend themselves against.

[recreatable]

Damn. He can't even get a combustion engine in return for his poem.

"Is that what you were working on?" Before Verso so rudely interrupted him and took him away from his math, that is. "I hate to say it, but I'm not sure even Monoco knows how he does it."

[superniceone]

"Hypotheticals of hypotheticals, but yeah." Gustave leans back on the bench, smiling politely at a couple strolling by near them. "I'd need— so many more samples than what I actually brought back to make any progress. But it's something to keep me busy."

[recreatable]

"—You brought dismembered Nevron legs back?" Ew???

[superniceone]

"No? I collected a few small tissue samples. Thought it might come in useful for research after we harvested that Bourgeon skin." He gives him a look. "What?"

[recreatable]

That's gross. No less gross than whatever diseases Gustave probably got from having wilderness sex, but still pretty gross!!! Verso has to laugh.

"I just didn't know you were such a mad scientist, that's all." He can imagine Gustave looking at Nevron tissue under a microscope, and it's unfortunately endearing. "Should I be worried that you're going to lop off my finger to study regeneration?"

[superniceone]

"I'm not!" Gustave says a little defensively, but he's laughing. "I don't usually handle the— organic side of things. There was a lot of luck involved with the Lumina converter, too. Some ideas just take off." He pauses for a moment, then adds a little more seriously: "But, uh, I'd be careful around Lune the next time she's looking for a new project." She would lop a few fingers off and not think twice.

[recreatable]

"I'm sure it wasn't that lucky," he says, pinky finger brushing against Gustave's in a very scandalous way!! "You don't give yourself enough credit." For, like, anything. Gustave still doesn't know how hot he is, which is insane.

[superniceone]

Can't believe Verso has fallen to societal pressure enough to find mediocre white men hot now but okay. "I didn't say it was all luck," he concedes, and then glances at the folded paper in his hand a little, smiling again. Teasingly: "Can't believe you admitted in writing that you like me. How embarrassing for you."

If they're going to pretend everything isn't going to hell around them for a few hours, he's going to go all in, fuck it.

[recreatable]

Newsflash, asshole, I've liked you the whole fucking time!!! Verso politely doesn't say. What part of Verso dumping him multiple times isn't clicking??

"I don't recall seeing a name," he teases back, although his head is slightly ducked, and he's, yes, embarrassed. Liking Gustave isn't the embarrassing part, but writing his feelings out so plainly is. "That could be about anyone whose 'handsomeness is beyond compare'."

Don't make fun. It rhymes with Lumière.

[superniceone]

Gustave isn't like Maelle — he'd never razz Verso for his actual poetry. But teasing him like he's a schoolboy with a crush feels like fair game. Safer, at least.

"Not letting you take a word of it back. I am fairly certain I'm the only one in the city with an arm made of metal," he says with a little grin, nudging Verso's leg with his own. "It does make me fairly incomparable."

[recreatable]

"It does," he agrees, softly. Admittedly, there's very few people for Verso to actually compare him to; he's not been a social butterfly in a long time, and definitely not since returning to Lumière. All the same, he feels confident that Gustave is incomparable in nearly every way that matters. Intelligent, dedicated, unapologetically himself.

"I meant it," he ventures after a moment. "I do like you." It sounds juvenile to hear himself say it, but it also feels like a juvenile feeling to begin with.

"I'm sorry that I'm not better at—" Showing it, he plans to say, but that's really just the tip of the iceberg. Truthfully, he should just be sorry in general. "All of this."

[superniceone]

"Don't do that. Apologize, I mean," Gustave says, and his voice is gentle, not reprimanding. "I don't need— I hope you know I still like you just as much when you're not performing for me. Sitting by you, watching you concentrate on what you were writing— it felt like you forgot I was there."

He pauses, then backpedals. "Which is a good thing. I don't think you let you relax around people enough to forget about them very often. It was nice."

And he'd read way less than he'd pretended to. Verso was very cute while he was scribbling away!!

[recreatable]

The sentiment is a little weird and very sweet; Verso feels a bittersweet squeeze in his chest that he does his best to ignore, instead knocking their knees together briefly. "If I'd known your ideal date was being forgotten, I would have tried way less hard this time around."

[superniceone]

He'd been similarly fond when Verso had fallen asleep with his head on Gustave's leg. It had felt sort of like winning the trust of a feral kitten. He won't say that part out loud.

"Good to have variety," he says, a little distracted, because the next thing out of his mouth is— "Emma asked if you were my boyfriend. That's— it feels like such a childish word. I'm in my thirties."