superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

"Am I supposed to have a problem with your personality, Verso?" He's genuinely confused by this one, scanning him in curiosity, before he pulls his tie loose. Verso's version of dressing up for the day seemed a lot more appealing to him than what he'd been forced into.

Yes, he probably should have a problem with Verso's personality, but that's not what he was getting at!!

"It's, uh, what you say when someone only has a good— you know what, never mind." He cannot possibly awkwardly explain all of his pithy quips to Gustave. Cringing a little: "It's not as irreverent if I have to explain it."

"Right," he says, and maybe he should!! But Verso didn't let him die for some reason in this timeline, so maybe Gustave just has some kind of weird metaphysical gratitude thing going on, who knows. "Feels like a really bad way to insult someone as infuriatingly attractive as you, but sure."

"It was a joke," he says, stopping short of saying 'OBVIOUSLY the punchline is how handsome I am'. "I've heard some people tell them in the pursuit of making people they like laugh. Debatable results so far, though."

Come on, man. He turned on the 'PLEASE CLAP' sign.

"Besides, we both know you're here for entirely superficial reasons."

"Hey, I got the joke," Gustave says, playfully defensive as he thumbs through the book just to give himself something to do with his hands. "I just thought you liked when I told you how handsome you are." It still feels strange, somehow, flirting with Verso — he's a little incredulous, still, that Verso would want to hear compliments from someone like him, but he feels that similar urge to try to cheer him up.

"Oh, I do," is shameless. "But I'm not that easy. Unlike you"—apparently, since Gustave wants to argue that he's the simplest man in the world—"I really am more complex than a gestral."

Brag.

"It's all about reading between the lines," he explains, wry like reading between the lines isn't actually a necessary skill for interacting with him. "For example, one usually lounges attractively for this long because they're hoping you'll touch them instead of fondling your book."

Look. Gustave is not the only one here screaming notice me. The least he could do is let their knees accidentally brush.

Gustave exhales a startled sort of laugh at that, putting the book next to him on the bed and standing up. "I asked if this was meaningful lounging or not," he says. "I am learning." But he doesn't want to be a creep and just assume Verso is open to advances every time he lounges!! He seems like a guy who enjoys a good lounge!

He catches Verso by the waist, trying to draw him over. "Besides— I'm trying to be polite while your roommate is home."

Verso would have been content with the brush of a pinky finger, which is hardly impolite; he laughs in response, winding his arm around Gustave's (snatched???) waist and tugging him closer in turn. Again, a serial one-upper. "Fair. Monoco might throw a knife at you to protect my honor."

His nonexistent honor.

"But," he continues, "you should know that I shrivel up like a raisin without attention."

It's not as if Gustave minds it. The weariness in his bones is still there, and— okay, well, part of him is very much afraid that Verso is just going to shatter into a thousand little jagged bits if too much pressure is applied to him at any given moment, but the arm around his waist feels secure. Solid. So Gustave allows himself to lean heavily into Verso for just a few seconds, briefly leeching comfort from the nearness of another body.

"Mm. I'll schedule it into my diary. Compliments at ten am, fawning at noon. Coy looks around dinner, maybe?"

He laughs again, rolling his eyes a little. Gustave is too easy! He can't help but remember, though, Gustave's uncertainty, the way he'd wondered if they shouldn't be doing something more productive with their time. Verso's not quite sure what there is for him to do anymore besides vanish, but Gustave—

"You know," he says, tone casual that Gustave doesn't take it the wrong way. "If you do have more productive things you need to be doing with your time..."

A gentle squeeze, and then he releases Gustave from his grip. "I promise not to fling myself onto the bed crying."

Gustave doesn't pull away immediately. He should. He should. He'd feel better, maybe, if he was taking actionable steps, working toward some kind of plan. He hums, kind of acknowledging what Verso has said, and mostly just stalling.

He's half-smiling apologetically when he does finally lean back. "I can get out of your hair if you need me to." Gustave is pretty sure that's not what Verso meant, but he wants to at least offer. "But tonight's probably a wash on the productivity front either way. My tie's already off, so... past the point of no return, really."

It's increasingly difficult to tell whether this is delusional coping or some incredibly complex form of self-harm. Gustave obviously thinks this is a poor use of his time, but he won't act on those thoughts; meanwhile, Verso feels a little guilty for every moment spent poisoning Gustave's—and everyone else's—life.

He should probably consider dumping Gustave again. It's going to happen in three weeks, anyway — but it's not going to happen tonight, at least. "Oh, right. Genius inventor, useless without his tie." Should've worn it on the Expedition. Maybe things would have gone better.

"—And I don't mind you in my hair," is not entirely true, if only because he thinks he might like it a little too much. "Adds to the volume."

"I'm serious," Gustave says, absolutely not serious. "The tie comes off and the smart part of my brain shuts off. I can only take so much sustained maturity."

He rolls his eyes at himself, leaning in to bump a kiss against Verso's shoulder with a murmured je t'adore — am impulsive reminder he doesn't only feel that way when their clothes are off. And then he returns to the bed, hand on the book even if he doesn't pick it up yet.

"I think a couple of the team really were keen on sparring with Monoco, if you think he'd be amenable." A few of the ones who'd spent the better part of the most recent years training to stand against the Paintress and the Continent's Nevrons, only to be immediately struck down. Gustave doesn't really get it; he'd love it if he never had reason to take up arms ever again, but he doesn't hold it against them.

When Verso sits on the bed, it's with his legs tucked up underneath him, criss-cross, like they're teenage girls at a slumber party who are about to play MASH. There is a small amount of Monoco's hair on the bed, although it's not much worse than everything else in the house, which has quickly become marked by his presence.

"Monoco? Amenable to sparring?" He quirks a brow. "I don't know. He's quite the pacifist."

No, Monoco would certainly be amenable, but— "He's incapable of 'going easy', you know."

"I think it'll be fine," Gustave says, face briefly scrunching. For the most part, the rest of the Expedition is just happy to be alive — but a very small minority does seem disappointed to have missed 'the action' after getting thrashed before they could ever really get started. He doesn't think he'll mind very much if Monoco thoroughly disabuses them of those notions.

But the look eases when he glances at Verso. Gustave's smile is small, but genuine. "Here for another bedtime story?"

"You've caught on to my dastardly plan; really, I just wanted to lure you here to read me a bedtime story."

On one hand, he should really fight for his dignity by mentioning that he just happened to be really tired that day!! On the other hand, if he falls asleep on Gustave again, Gustave will be too awkward and polite to extricate himself and therefore will have to stay the night.

Decisions, decisions.

"Maybe I'm just curious to see what happens next."

He was serious about sleeping on the couch!! He really doesn't want to displace Monoco. But it doesn't seem like Monoco is beating down the door to go to bed yet, so Gustave just hums thoughtfully and hands Verso the book.

"I've been talking all day, my throat's tired," he says, then shifts back to recline, stretching one leg across Verso's lap. He'd tucked the bookmark in around the time he'd noticed Verso was asleep.

He likes Gustave's voice, and he'd hoped to hear it, but Verso takes the book without complaint; after all, Gustave has been talking all day, and Verso has only had Monoco to entertain. The leg stretched across his lap gets a palm pressed against the knee, another one of those casual gestures of affection that he has to think about just a little too much.

"Nostalgic," he comments, glancing down at the book in his hand. He used to read to Alicia, before. Is it wrong to miss her when Maelle is right here? Does he even have the right, considering how he chose the real Dessendres over the painted ones?

He flips open the book, eyes scanning the page. "To set some ground rules, you're not allowed to criticize the voices."

'Nostalgic,' Verso says, and Gustave doesn't know if he should ask or not. Verso's past hasn't ever necessarily been a comfortable subject; he's not sure if this is an invite to talk about it or just a genuinely idle remark.

"You're doing voices?" he asks instead, leaning back against the headboard. "And I'm paying attention, I'm just getting comfortable." If asked, he will insist he's only closing his eyes to help him picture the story.

Gustave isn't going to fall asleep — but he's got maybe two chapters in him before he's visibly fighting it.

Of course he's doing voices. Like everything he does, Verso's reading aloud has great effort put into it; he glances up from the page periodically to check Gustave's reactions, although there's little to be gleaned when his eyes are closed. Once Gustave starts looking as if he might drift off, Verso says, "'You're cute when you're tired,' Pip said."

Hey, Pip said it, not him!!

Gustave's shoulders shake with silent laughter, and he opens his eyes to look at Verso for a moment, his expression overtly fond. He hums when he shuts them again, like he's collecting his own thoughts. "This is what makes me happy," he murmurs, left sedate and comfortable by the peaceful company. "Since you asked before."

What, Great Expectations? he might ask, deflective. I'll inform Dickens. But—

He likes having this sort of effect on someone. Verso spends much of his time chasing superficial charm but ultimately feeling as if he has a deleterious effect on anyone unlikely enough to cross his path. It's dangerous stuff, letting himself think that his presence could actually be beneficial, that his existence could ever bring somebody peace.

It's just for a moment, but still. It makes him feel like less of a mistake, which is even more than dangerous. Impulsively, he leans over to press his mouth to Gustave's, the first gesture of affection that he hasn't had to think about at all. Gustave's facial hair has grown back in, thank god, although it's still a little scratchy. Verso doesn't mind.

"And you look enormously handsome when you're happy."

Gustave can tell right away that there's something different about that little kiss, but it would take a lot of thought to pinpoint what's changed — the fact that it's the first time Verso has kissed him in a way that really just felt like impulse.

His eyes stay closed, but he's smiling just the littlest bit now, visibly content. "I think," he starts slowly, "once, on the Continent— I think I told you that you didn't have to try so hard, you already had me in the woods with you. S'one of those— embarrassing moments that pops into my head when I'm trying to sleep sometimes. I was trying to flirt, not complain. Glad you didn't actually stop trying so hard."

Only Gustave would still be thinking about an awkward moment that feels like it happened years ago, and only Gustave would think that essentially calling him a tryhard now is a compliment. Verso knows it isn't meant maliciously, though, so he can't find it in himself to be offended. He bookmarks their page and closes the book, setting it aside on the nightstand before stretching his legs out and leaning back against the pillow.

"I will continue to try excruciatingly hard to win your favor, then."

Gustave makes a face at that, glancing sideways at him and swallowing down the impulse to yawn. "I didn't say anything about excruciating," he complains half-heartedly. "I just— like being liked by you. That's all I meant to say." He reaches over to rest his hand lightly on Verso's leg, seeking out that last little bit of extra connection.

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