superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

Just as impulsively, Verso chases that kiss, tugging Gustave closer with the hand on the small of his back. Pretense of dancing forgotten, he kisses Gustave the way he might if they were normal people; real people, with real lives, whose existences aren't predicated on suffering. If he were the type of person who didn't meet Gustave by nearly leaving him to die.

It's unrushed, fond, without the bittersweet tinge that accompanies most of his attempts at affection, and he's still humming the waltz as he does it.

"—But that's a move for more advanced dancers," he says, pulling back, face gone a little red at this insane outburst of emotion! that he just let control him.

The movement and the uncomplicated affection catch Gustave off guard, and he's left smiling in a soft and genuine way — especially when he sees the color in Verso's face. They had literally had very messy sex that very morning, and he'd seemed less embarrassed about that, somehow.

"Je t'adore," Gustave says, which has become his stand-in for I love you, which he knows won't be at all well received. "I think I'm much happier to learn that one from you than Esquie."

The sex hadn't been embarrassing (aside from, perhaps, some things that were said during the act) but this definitely is. Verso rarely lets himself get this swept away in emotion—not positive emotion, anyway. Then again, just experiencing positive emotion has been exceedingly rare for him until recently.

He likes the way he feels around Gustave, when the layers of envy and guilt are peeled back. Maybe he'd feel this way all the time, if they weren't here, surrounded by constant reminders of everything he's ever done wrong. Come with me to the Continent, he has the sudden urge to say, and—

The sudden rush of shame is like having ice poured down the back of his shirt. He fumbles, stepping back. "Well, you're a natural," he says, trying to keep up the appearance of good cheer. "You'll have to beat suitors away with a stick tonight."

He dries his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers, looking for his shoes. "We should get going. I need to pick Monoco up from hanging out with your apprentices on my way back."

Verso steps back and Gustave releases his hand, wondering immediately if he'd done something wrong. It was far from the first time he'd told Verso he adored him, and Verso had been the one to kiss him— he can't puzzle out what, exactly, is causing him to run this time.

"Sure," he says after a moment, like he's belatedly realizing Verso might expect a reply to that. Actually dancing at the harbor tonight is probably an extremely poor idea, he decides, and goes to slip on his own shoes. "I do know my way home, in case you're anxious to rescue him from the boys."

He's made things uncomfortable. Again. He can sense it, the way the air in the room has shifted. Verso frowns; the last thing he wants is to make Gustave feel poorly when he's done nothing wrong. He's never done anything wrong—it's always Verso, ruining things.

The walk home is something he wants to do even now, but he doesn't trust himself not to muck things up for a second time today. As he slips his shoes on, he asks, "You're okay walking home alone?" It isn't as if Lumière is dangerous, and the walk to the workshop to pick up Monoco could be good to clear his head. "...Then I'll go play the hero for Monoco."

Anxious not to make Gustave feel rejected, he adds, "He's a little upset about having to share." For decades, there'd never been anyone else to challenge Monoco's place as 'best friend'; clearly, he's feeling a bit insecure now that Verso has been spending so much time with someone else. Might as well make him feel appreciated by saving him from Gustave's gaggle of apprentices.

Gustave isn't a very dangerous man, but he's probably one of the most dangerous in Lumière just by virtue of being able to stubborn a weapon to his side with a flick of the arm — he's not exactly worried about his own safety.

And he doesn't quite feel uncomfortable, either. Concerned, perhaps, but he's less afraid now of making a misstep and causing Verso to disappear abruptly from his life entirely. After a good night's sleep and an incredibly emotionally nourishing morning, he's feeling a lot better than he had been the night before, too.

He's worried about Verso's comfort, not his own. "No, of course," Gustave reassures him gently, "it's important to make sure he knows he's not being replaced. I'll pick you up tonight?"

Right. Tonight. Verso has chosen an inopportune moment to freak out given that he has only hours to calm himself down before he sees Gustave again. Maybe he'll challenge Monoco to a duel—nothing clears his mind quite like being swung at.

"The harbor, right? I'll meet you there."

Although Gustave hasn't expressed the desire to mingle with the citizens of Lumière, Verso has taken it upon himself to decide for him that he will. Better to let him loiter around while he waits for Verso to get there. It'll give him the chance to strike up some conversations, remember where he belongs.

Here, in Lumière, with everyone else. Certainly not with Verso.

He reaches out to graze Gustave's arm with his fingers, a far cry from the impulsive and unabashed kiss. "À ce soir."

Ugh!! Meeting at the harbor is going to make it a lot more difficult to actually skip out of going to the harbor, and it's not as if he has any interest in socializing. He certainly has no plans to actually dance!!

But the fact that Verso accepted the space Gustave had offered probably means he needs it, so he won't push too hard. "There's a statue of Esquie down that way. I'll meet you there." Gustave reaches out to grab and squeeze his hand, before he excuses himself to head home.

He spends at least an hour or two practicing the waltz with an amused Emma who remarks that she wishes he'd had this sort of enthusiasm for it when they were younger, and he likes to think that he's marginally improved by the time it's over. When Sophie approaches him that evening, he can't bring himself to turn her away; his interest in how she's doing is genuine.

He can keep an eye out for his new partner while having a bittersweet catch up with his ex, no problem.

Somewhere after dropping by to save Monoco from the apprentices, assuring Monoco that he's still Verso's favorite person, and tussling with Monoco like two overexcited puppies, Verso realizes that he never asked Gustave if this is, like, a suit thing.

"You could always ask him now," Monoco points out, considering that Gustave lives a five-minute walk away. When Verso declines to do so, Monoco refuses to engage with any more of his attire-related anxiety. "Your fate is your own," he says.

He settles for a crisp shirt tucked into his trousers, a leather belt wrapped around the waistband. Hopefully, it won't be so far outside the dress code as to be notable; he's already a bit worried about standing out among the crowd of people who've all known each other their entire lives. He'll be the only one with any white hair.

The florist he stops by is Ophélie, he remembers, the woman who'd looked as if she wanted to jump Gustave. Either she doesn't remember him—likely, given that her eyes never left Gustave—or she doesn't care, because she's perfectly pleasant as he purchases a flower: orange, like the blossoms they'd picked in the Ancient Sanctuary.

His palms resume their sweating as he makes his way toward the harbor, flower stem between his fingers. The statue of Esquie, just as Gustave had said. He doesn't hide when he sees Gustave with someone else, exactly; he's still visible in the distance, hovering around the edges of Gustave's general vicinity, although he doesn't approach any closer, loath to ruin his opportunity to catch up with what he assumes is an old friend. He's not trying to eavesdrop, honestly, but he does catch snippets.

"You look good," Sophie says, tucking a strand of her fuckass bob behind her ear. Then, with a slight skeptical squint: "Are you good, Gustave?"

There doesn't seem to be much by way of a proper dress code; there seems to be a full spectrum of attire from 'slouchy casual' all the way up to 'whatever the fuck it is Emma wears in both scenes she's in.' Gustave has on a black waistcoat, the brocade embellished with gold thread — Lucien had once asked him if he'd dressed up as an Expedition flag on purpose, but it felt appropriate for that evening, somehow. It's been a while since he's had reason to look nice for someone who wasn't on the brink of Gommaging.

"I'm great," Gustave says, and then laughs, because he knows Sophie is one of the few people who won't just accept that. He holds his hand out in silent request for hers, squeezing it when she passes it over, an attempt at being reassuring. "I'm much better than I was the last time we were at this Harbor together."

"That's an extremely low bar," she counters.

Sophie takes a moment to reiterate the fact that she loves him dearly, and that his happiness has always mattered so much to her. Gustave looks a little embarrassed, tongue tied at that, before Verso's presence actually registers in his periphery; he squeezes Sophie's hand again and releases it.

"Sorry, I just—" And he'll glance Verso's way, like he's trying to figure out if Verso seems willing to approach while Sophie is still there.

It dawns on Verso very quickly that this must be the girl. The one Gustave had been so bereft about, back when they'd swapped stories on the Continent. Admittedly, she doesn't look quite like he'd imagined—he'd thought she'd have better hair, honestly!—but it's obvious all the same in their easy body language, the soft way she speaks to Gustave and the way he sort of splutters back in embarrassment. It's so ridiculously normal that he has to laugh. Nothing has ever been that normal for him in a long time. Not since Julie.

Merde, Julie. That's a whole other can of worms that he's too afraid to open tonight. If Lumière is going to continue existing despite his efforts to the contrary, Julie deserves a second chance at life. The thought of seeing her again makes his stomach clench with even more anxiety than he'd had loitering around and watching Gustave hold the hand of the person he's supposed to be with.

Sophie, picking up on the fact that something is off, follows Gustave's gaze to the very uncomfortable and vaguely sweaty man staring at them. "Oh," she says, even though there's absolutely nothing clear about this situation at all. It's awkward, she definitely knows that! "Um." She smiles politely, waving. "Friend of yours?"

Verso does not want to approach, but he does anyway, willing his feet to move even though they feel like cinderblocks attached to his legs. Petty romantic jealousy aside, this is a woman who was very recently condemned to nonexistence in order to prolong his existence. He's so filled with guilt that his throat is tight.

"Mademoiselle," he says, tipping his head in acknowledgement.

Gustave's heart is in his ears when Verso approaches. Fuck! He though he'd be able to use Verso not approaching as an excuse to end the conversation there! "Yeah. He's, uh—" It's said low to her as he approaches. "He's the date? I said I was waiting for."

"Oh," Sophie whispers back, briefly stunned. She'd thought Gustave's reference to the date he was waiting on to mean Maelle, or — at most — Lune. Sciel had made references to the fact that Gustave had grown quite close to someone on the Expedition, and she realizes now that she'd made some assumptions there. "Monsieur," she greets with a tip of the head, and then gently jams her elbow into Gustave's ribs. "An introduction, please?"

Gustave startles, suddenly entirely unsure of what to do with himself. "Soph, Verso. Verso, this is Soph. She, uh— I ran into her here while I was waiting on you."

"Soph," Verso says, repeating the nickname with a raised eyebrow like he didn't get called mon coeur five times this morning. And, you know, like he wasn't inside Gustave this morning, either. Jealousy blackens his heart like rot, the knowledge that he's inherently replaceable at his core mixing with the knowledge that he should be replaced.

"Sophie," she says, shooting Gustave a quick, split-second glance. Sweet and genuine: "It's nice to meet you, Monsieur Verso."

"Yeah." Verso feels the flower stem between his fingers and feels abruptly ridiculous. In lieu of throwing it out, he crosses his hands behind his back. When he looks at Sophie, all he can see is her breaking into a million little petals. "Likewise."

A beat passes before Verso opens his mouth again. His "Gustave didn't—" collides with Sophie's "Well, I—" before they both fall silent.

"You first," Sophie finally says.

"Uh." Verso clears his throat. "He didn't say he was meeting such a beautiful woman here." Falling back on charm, when all else fails.

Sophie all but snorts. Shooting Gustave a sidelong glance: "Honestly, I'm surprised to see Gustave at a place like this at all."

'Soph,' Gustave says, and he cringes internally when they both look at him like he's crossed some sort of line. He makes a face at her glance, dragging his fingers through his hair in an absent sort of anxious way. "We were just catching up while— I was waiting for you," he says.

Sophie manages to keep the wince off her face. She hadn't realized this was going to cause such a massive oops, and she clears her throat. "I've got some friends waiting for me," she says, a gentle way to untangle herself from this abrupt third wheeling. "It was good to see you, Gustave. And nice to meet you, too," she says to Verso, sincere.

Gustave only barely manages to wait until she's out of earshot before he points at Verso. "You're the only beautiful woman I'm meant to meet here tonight and you know it." Why does he feel guilty for running into his ex!!!

So, Verso's seething jealousy must be a little obvious, if Gustave's reacting like this. He does his level best not to look like he wants to sink into the cobblestones of Lumière, straightening up his slouch and schooling his face into what he hopes is at least a neutral expression. He's terrible at disguising his eyes, and he looks like a smiling man with a miserable stare.

"Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to make it weird."

By coming over and interrupting their talk. Maybe he should have stayed back and let them finish what they started. His index finger rubs idly at the stem of this stupid flower.

"She seems nice," he adds. Perfect for you, he doesn't say, because he imagines Gustave will take it the wrong way—and because he doesn't entirely trust himself not to sound bitter when he says it. He can hardly believe he had the urge to ask Gustave to come with him today, when it couldn't be more obvious that he belongs here.

Gustave watches Verso in silence, studies his face with his own brow knit, before he glances toward the harbor. There's light and music and laughter spilling all the way out here, and Gustave can't decide if heading in that direction will make it better or worse.

Part of him wants to apologize to Verso, to soothe that misery in his eyes any way he can. Another small part of him is frustrated, nearly offended; he's done everything he can to make it clear to Verso that he's invested fully in their strange little relationship.

"You look good," Gustave says instead, clearing his throat. He's trying for flirtatious as he tips his head at Verso. "Thought you didn't like belts." It's awkward, but he really doesn't want the night to be about his ex.

Verso very resolutely does not think of how Gustave was holding Sophie's hand before he noticed him. He swallows down the urge to say that there's still potential for something nice and normal, if Gustave would give it a chance. There'll be time for Gustave to realize that, Verso supposes, after he leaves for the Continent.

"I don't like them on you," he says, a little amused despite his dour mood as he remembers Gustave's quite frankly ridiculous amount of belts. "I'm less impatient to get myself undressed."

He's still holding this stupid flower, and he can't very well trash it in front of Gustave now, so he holds it out. "I, um, wanted to apologize for making things weird earlier."

Visibly cringing, he clarifies, "At the house." Since that's something he has to clarify now, given that he's made things weird twice in one day. By way of explanation: "I guess I just got in my head."

"We're both extremely good at getting in our own heads," Gustave says. He takes the flower, admiring it for a moment, and with no better place to put it, tucks it behind his ear.

He steps in a little, expression still obviously cautious. "And I really hope you won't get in your head about me running into Sophie. I'm not in love with her anymore." Though he does absolutely and fiercely still love her — that will never change, but maybe it's best that remains unsaid for now.

Gustave looks handsome with the little flower behind his ear, and Verso once again feels his heart clench. Yearning is not an unfamiliar feeling for him, but yearning for someone standing right in front of him is. He's never felt such longing for someone that he could have.

Maybe you should still be, he again doesn't say. He's not jealous because he thinks Gustave still has feelings for her; he's jealous because things would be better if he did. It's complicated, ugly. Gustave doesn't need to be privy to all of that. This was supposed to be a night about putting Verso's comfort aside to make him happy.

"In my head? Of course not," he lies. "I was just feeling bad that... she's going to see how improved your dance skills are since you broke up." You know, because Verso's ten-minute lesson turned Gustave into a prodigy. "Heartbreaker."

Gustave rolls his eyes at that, but he's going to make a point to try to reel Verso in to kiss him. It's a stupid thing to do, attempting to make a point this way, but enough of him just wants to try to kiss that upset away that he doesn't really try.

"We could practice a little more at my place, you know. It'll be empty until the party's over, I imagine." It's feeling less and less like either of them want to be part of a crowd.

Enthusiastic physical response to Gustave has never been a problem, and it remains that way; he kisses back even though he should be reasonable enough not to, hand on Gustave's cheek and thumbing at the petals of the little orange flower. He should have been reasonable enough not to get them in this situation in the first place, too, but clearly reason left the building when he met Gustave.

"You don't want to go to the party?" is his initial response upon pulling back. He doesn't want to go to the party, but he wants Gustave to have a good time, so he says, "Could be fun."

It will not be fun.

Dryly: "And you know how eager I am to start a fight over you."

Edited 2025-09-23 02:13 (UTC)

Unfortunately for them both, Gustave is chronically bad at reading the room; he really does think that Verso is the one who wants to go, so he concedes it to him. "Let's go for half an hour," he offers, a half question, and tilts his head toward the music.

It won't be until they're on their way that he'll clear his throat and add, trying to make it light: "And I'm really not convinced about the 'fighting for me' thing. You looked like you would have handed me over to my ex if she'd just asked nicely enough. With a little bow and everything. You can't be that eager to get rid of me."

Eager is the opposite of how he feels. With each passing day, the looming prospect of being rid of Gustave feels worse and worse. His thoughts are regularly consumed with dread at their expiration date and guilt that he's so selfishly let it go on this long. On the other hand—

When Verso was little, maybe nine or ten, he'd stolen his father's watch and taken it apart to use the gears for his model trains. He'd felt immediately shameful, and he'd crumbled underneath Renoir's knowing stare. He can imagine that ending things with Gustave might feel the same way: like giving back something he stole, something he never deserved to have in the first place.

"Well, she looked strong," he says, going for glib but missing the mark a little. "I was looking for a fight that I could win more handily."

It's somewhere between a joke and the truth. If Sophie had wanted to throw her hat in the ring, he's not sure he'd stand a chance. Not sure he'd even want to compete, knowing how much better suited she must be.

"But the night is young. I'm sure we can still find someone for me to assert my masculinity at."

Gustave hates how much this feels like preparing for a Gommage. Rationally, he knows that the circumstances of their looming goodbye isn't the exact same sort as the myriad goodbyes he's said before, but it changes nothing about the fact that he's left scrambling to make good memories to hold onto when the nights ahead are tough.

"Je t'aime, mon ami," he says, leaning as they walk to gently bump his shoulder against Verso's. "You make a formidable opponent."

It's very possible that he's trying to muddy the conversation to mask how his steps are growing slower as they approach.

Well, it certainly muddies things. Gustave essentially tells him 'I love you... as a friend' and his eyebrow twitches as he suppresses the urge to raise it. Being ami-zoned after everything is certainly... unexpected.

But it's okay, maybe. It'll have to be, because he's not going to say anything about it.

"I'll get drinks," he says as the music starts to carry, welcoming the opportunity for both distance and alcohol at this moment. Gustave won't be lonely; undoubtedly, someone else he's known for 32 years will approach.

Then, since apparently they're calling each other this now, he appends, "Mon ami."

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stubborn a weapon

😤😤😤😤

in my tl;dr era

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