superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

Being casually referred to as sexy is still absolutely bewildering to him. The kneejerk reflex is to think he's being teased— and, well, he is, but it's not the sort of teasing that gets him called sexy ironically.

"Why don't you go wait with Monoco," he says with a baffled little grin. "You definitely have an ulterior motive."

Gustave's little grin is a win, even if he's getting kicked out of the kitchen for it. Casual affection still doesn't come naturally to him—and it isn't casual, not really, if he has to think about it this much—but Verso leans in to press a kiss to Gustave's cheek anyway, hoping that Gustave will like that, too.

For a split second, it's faltering, betraying how out of his depth he is, but in half a moment the hesitation is gone. It's brief, and he pulls away after, smile lopsided before he absconds to the living room with Monoco as requested.

"Banished, were you?" Monoco asks. "Understandable. That flirting was pathetic."

Gustave does, in fact, like it — but the smile drops from his face when he's left alone in the kitchen, and he wonders if he should remind Verso that he doesn't need this. Not that he's unhappy about the little gestures, the words; it's just that, standing alone in this small, quiet room, the artificiality of it settles on him like a too-heavy blanket.

It occurs to him that he'd like more than anything else just to crawl back into bed and just sleep until he can't anymore. Maybe he was just worn out from the inescapable socializing earlier, and he tries to shake it off as he plates the food and brings it out to the living room. "I brought a few bottles of wine from the get-together," he says when he offers Verso his, and Gustave drifts toward the piano bench. "I could grab one before I sit down?"

Verso seems to perk up when Gustave appears, attentive in a way he currently isn't to Monoco (sorry). There's still a slight weariness in Gustave's body language, even after he'd so kindly complimented him; the sight niggles at him.

"A few bottles?" Kind of excessive. "If you're going to need that much wine to get through the night, you could have cancelled."

Monoco rolls his eyes, grousing something along the lines of be less obvious under his breath.

"They were brought as a gift, not a necessity," Gustave says in the sort of long-suffering tone that indicates he's just playing along. He seats himself at the bench, stabbing some pepper with his fork. "But I'll keep them for myself if you're not interested."

"I'd be a terrible host if I dismissed my guest's generosity," Verso points out, even though he sort of just did. "And you know me. I never pass up an opportunity to get you drunk."

Monoco thinks that Verso doesn't need more opportunity to get wine-drunk and in his feelings, but he keeps that to himself. Instead, he complains, "You didn't bring me any offerings."

"I did," Gustave says with a little wince, and a look at Verso that clearly spells apology. "I brought some throwing daggers from the old expeditioners' academy for you." Not like the equipment there is going to see much use now. "They're in the bag in the kitchen."

This is how he's trying to win the approval of Verso's best friend. He's just really sorry about contributing to the existing damage in the home.

"Could get you access to the building if you wanted, you know."

Monoco perks up. Daggers!! For throwing!!! Inside the house!!! Then he realizes that he's practically puffing up with joy, so he leans back against the divan, trying to maintain his cool exterior. With a shrug, he says, "Well. It would be something to pass the time."

Very chill. A moment later, though, he's hopping up off the couch— "I'm going to go look at something. In the kitchen." Verso pinches the bridge of his nose. "Don't mind any sounds."

As Monoco scurries off, Verso levels Gustave with a Look™.

"Are you trying to destroy my house, or is that just an added bonus?"

Gustave meets Verso's eyes with a Look™ of his own, unapologetic and amused. What he doesn't say is we both know you're not here for long; instead, he makes a point of chewing contemplatively. "Thought you could use a little more decoration," he says instead. "But I really wasn't going to give them to him until it was time to go." As if that's any actual consolation.

Verso doesn't ask if 'time to go' means when Gustave leaves tonight or when Verso and Monoco leave forever.

"Luckily for you, I'm feeling very magnanimous." A forgiving soul. He grins at Gustave, faint and sloping. "Must be something about those big, brown eyes." A pause, and he spears a pepper with his fork. "...Or maybe the hanger"—because if they have the word 'bromance', they surely have the word 'hanger'—"is just receding."

There's a dull thwack from the kitchen, and Gustave cringes visibly. He hesitates, then stands, moving to drop down lightly into the spot Monoco had been occupying until now. He dips down, pressing a quick kiss to Verso's shoulder. "Hey. It really is good to see you. You think your roommate will mind if I stick around to read a while?"

Verso gets the distinct feeling that Gustave is only saying this to distract him from the fact that a Gestral is currently tossing knives in his kitchen, but, well. He's easy. He sets his plate down on the coffee table before shifting to look at Gustave, blurting out, "I'll kick him out of the bedroom, if you want."

It's a good thing Monoco isn't here to listen to this. Verso can actually feel how pathetic this sounds, but he can't help it; Gustave only just got here, and he doesn't want him to just make dinner and leave.

With a shrug: "There isn't... that much fur on the duvet."

Gustave doesn't seem to find it pathetic; if anything, he just seems a little guiltily relieved. "I can handle a little fur." He pauses, then laughs, dragging his hand down his face. "God, why is this so awkward? We've had sex in the woods. Why is it weird now?"

Well, it doesn't feel great to know that Gustave thinks this is awkward, considering how hard he's been trying to be charming this whole evening. He's right, of course, this is awkward, but Verso had at least hoped that he'd been able to cancel some of it out.

Is it weird because you know somewhere deep down that this is a mistake? he doesn't ask, because he doesn't want to ask stupid questions that he already knows the answer to. Instead, his initial response is a flippant, "I thought I was doing a good job," followed by a much more sincere worrying of his lip. "Is it, uh... too weird?"

Gustave shakes his head at that, nudging Verso in the ribs lightly with his elbow. "You were doing a good job. I'm the one who shouldn't be allowed out in public, honestly." The question seems to catch him off guard, though, and he gives Verso a slightly baffled look. "You're worth a little weirdness. I was just- apologising."

Verso had asked because Gustave's mood has tipped into 'slightly dour' a few times tonight, and it all being too weird could certainly have been the reason why. He doesn't push, though. It's the Dessendre way to leave a wound alone until it's so badly infected that it can't be ignored.

"A few bottles might have been the right call." Hearkening back to the wine. "A couple of those, and you won't know the meaning of the word 'awkward' anymore."

"I'm never going to hear the end of it if I go home drunk tonight," Gustave says, but it's not a no. He isn't beating the 'slightly dour' allegations, mostly because he's wondering if he should tell Verso that he's not worth Verso hanging around for; that if he wants to go, he should. But it's a strangely intense sentiment, and he's honestly not sure why he's suddenly struck with this sentiment.

"I think we're just both out of practice. With the 'relationship' thing," he says, and then relents, adding what they both know: "It's not— irresponsible, do you think? We shouldn't be— spending our time more productively?"

"Irresponsible is my middle name," comes quickly, without thought. "It's a family name."

Honestly, it might as well be. But he feels somewhat chastened by the question, even though he doubts it was Gustave's intention to cast aspersions. A little defensiveness bubbles up in his chest; he's been productive for nearly seventy years, and he's tired. More still, he was going to be productive by never returning to Lumière, but Gustave hadn't liked that, either. No matter what he does, no one is pleased.

Again, he says none of this, because it's much healthier to build up silent resentment instead.

"...I am trying to be productive." By staying away from Maelle. The less attached she is to him, the better.

"No, I didn't mean— I am, too." But Gustave isn't trying hard enough, is he? He's going on dates, making dinner, daydreaming about Verso sleeping peacefully with his head in his lap. "Don't listen to me, I'm just tired. I can get mercurial. I'm grateful for you."

He'd been vaguely irritated every moment his attention had been required somewhere else; maybe that was part of the problem. Selfishly, selfishly, he resented the fact that he wasn't here instead.

Verso frowns. He's out of practice, yes, but he's pretty sure that relationships aren't supposed to be quite this much work. Then again, his last relationship ended in homicide, so perhaps he isn't the expert on healthy romance.

"Mon chéri," he says, softly. "Tell me how to make you happy."

Because clearly he isn't, despite Verso's best efforts. It doesn't make him happy to face reality, and it doesn't make him happy to live in delusion. Verso's running out of options.

Gustave doesn't mean to look surprised by that request, but— it's absurd, isn't it? Verso does understand that it's absurd? Happy isn't in the cards until he's sure Maelle is safe, until he's worked out this strange snarl of anxiety that's taken root in his chest, all tangled up in his ribcage. He knows that he can't make Verso happy; he thought their mutual misery was just implied.

"I don't need more from you," he says, and then continues on quickly, because he doesn't want Verso to misunderstand. "I can't— You're the only person—" Gustave cuts himself off, then swears softly. "I trust you. With me. So just— a little patience for me, maybe. While I sort my own head out."

Yeah, he's pretty sure healthy relationships don't involve asking how to make the other person happy and essentially getting the response of you can't.

"Okay," he says, even though it makes him feel a little helpless. No, he can still get a good grade in Being A Boyfriend. He just has to do it better. "I can be very patient. I once waited ten years for Monoco to admit he stole my hairbrush."

Gustave imagines he'd be met with pretty much the Exact Same Answer if he'd hit Verso with that question. "Must've been a great hairbrush," he muses, and be tries to coax Verso into a quick kiss, like he can fully telegraph an apology for bringing down the mood. "Did he own up to it, or are you still waiting?"

"Finally caught him using it." Verso doesn't feel very light right now, but the memory makes his mouth quirk slightly up regardless. "Don't believe him if he pretends not to be vain."

He pauses. "I wouldn't be opposed to some of that ill-begotten wine right about now." The mood is in the gutter, and although he doesn't want to ask Gustave to leave, he doesn't want to keep him here with this depressing atmosphere.

Another thwack from the kitchen. "—But I should probably be the one to brave Monoco's throwing daggers."

It's greedy again: he'd rather be here in a bad mood than at home in a good mood, but he doesn't know how to say that without it coming on too strong, too weird. 'I thought we were going to wallow together.' So he just cringes instead at the sound, rubbing at his face again.

"I'll, uh, handle the repairs." 'When you move out' is implied here, but he doesn't want to voice the words. "I'm clever enough, I'm sure I can figure it out."

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