superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

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."

Gustave is so wary of stumbling over verbal landmines when it comes to approaching his relationship with Verso that he's spontaneously generating brand new ones to trip himself up with.

He flusters at Verso's reaction and doesn't say what he's thinking, which is Clearly I'm just trying to express my feelings with enough plausible deniability that you don't think I'm expecting anything back from you, and he grabs Verso's arm as he starts to retreat. "Je t'aime," Gustave says, brow furrowed and serious. He squeezes Verso's arm and releases it, not leaving enough time to reply before he follows with: "Drinks would be great."

Verso, never happy, can't say that's what he wanted to hear either. It is on some level; of course he has the pesky human desire to be loved, especially by someone like Gustave. On another level, though, everyone who's ever said or felt something like that towards him has suffered greatly for it. Verso is like a fire: best enjoyed from a distance, lest someone get burned.

"Yeah," he replies, feeling tongue-tied and flustered and terrible. He should be angry at Gustave for doing this to him in public, but it's his fault—he's the one who insisted on this stupid party, and the one who gave Gustave grief over his ami-ing. For lack of knowing what to say, he stumbles over, "I'll be right back," before scurrying away with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

He's right about Gustave getting company. As Verso takes his sweet, sweet time getting drinks, Lucien swings a companionable arm around Gustave's shoulders, pulling him in. "Gustave!" A clap on the chest, and then— "You look miserable. No offense."

It feels like a bitter balancing of the scales, the payment for the joy and contentment Gustave had found in Verso this morning all coming due at once. He should have just kept his mouth shut. I'm crazy about you, Verso said, and selfishly he wanted more. He scurries away like he'd rather be anywhere else, and Gustave really does look absolutely fucking miserable when Lucien comes crashing into him.

He fixes him with an affectionately cross look, before gently shaking him off. "Only a little offense taken," he says, and then clears his throat. "I'm feeling a bit under the weather, actually. Probably best to head home."

Lucien makes a face. "Oh, don't be that way. Tonight's going to be great, come on."

"Next time, my friend," Gustave promises. He's trying to be good, to wait for Verso to actually return instead of just bailing, but he's clearly antsy.

Edited 2025-09-24 16:06 (UTC)

Verso drinks an entire glass of wine at the drinks table before even trying to procure something for Gustave. "Oh," says the poor, sweet woman handing them out. "Okay."

When he finally does return, two very full glasses in hand and a slight wine stain on his lips, it's with some reluctance to approach Gustave and his friend. Being weird about this is just going to make everything worse, so he pushes down any discomfort or anxiety to appear next to Gustave, glass held out for the taking.

"Mon ami," he says, and it's meant to sound dry and teasing instead of pointed, but he second-guesses himself after the fact. There's no time to correct himself, though, because—

"Expedition Zero!" Lucien says, clapping him on the shoulder with such friendliness that a little bit of his overfull drink spills out.

Gustave's glance is a little sharply surprised at the greeting; he struggles for a moment to decide if it's the cruelest friendzoning in the world or not, and instead he just takes the cup so he can pull a long drink from it.

"I was starting to think you were just a myth," Lucien declares, and he seems genuinely delighted to have stumbled across Verso's path.

"Verso, Lucien," Gustave says, gesturing between them with his cup of wine. And then, to Lucien, in a way that could plausibly called joking, he asks: "Don't suppose you've snuck your flask in tonight."

Lucien rolls his eyes, then nudges Gustave with an elbow as he shoots Verso the sort of long-suffering look you share when your mutual friend is being ridiculous. "This man. Can you believe he's desperate to leave already?"

"Oh," Verso says, eyebrows raised, trying not to look like it hurts to hear. "Is that so?"

Gustave swats Lucien away with a sound of protest, holding up his cup. "I think I was just thirsty," he says, trying to brute force the mood into something less awkward. "I can't go anywhere until I see at least one of you making a fool of yourself dancing."

Lucien tuts under his breath. "Going to have to wait all night, then. I exist without flaw."

Verso raises his glass in Lucien's direction. "That's the attitude, ami."

However, this is the man who has given excuse after excuse after excuse to exit an awkward situation—and this situation is certainly awkward on Verso's end, no matter how hard Gustave tries to pretend that it isn't. There's very little way for him to quickly recover from meeting Gustave's ex, being friendzoned by Gustave, having Gustave say that he loves him, and returning to find that Gustave apparently wants to be anywhere but here.

(Did I write 'Gustave' enough in that sentence or should I add like two more?)

"I'm starting to think I pulled a muscle earlier today, though." He makes a show of rubbing his leg. Obviously, he's just making Gustave unhappy by being here, so the polite thing to do is excuse himself so that Gustave can enjoy the rest of his night. "Might, uh, head home and rest. Us senior citizens have to take it easy."

"Mon dieu," Lucien says, shaking his head. "Is there anyone here who isn't trying to leave?"

Gustave's brow furrows again, because— why! Why did Verso look hurt by Gustave tapping out if he was just going to do it himself!

"Look on the bright side," he says, and realizes he has no idea how to salvage this evening. He passes his mostly-full cup over to Lucien, who just looks baffled. "More wine for you, isn't it?"

"It's not like we're running low," Lucien says, bouncing a disappointed look between the two of them. "Really, you're both off this early?"

Great. He's not sure how to take that furrowed brow, but he's already committed. Verso takes a large sip from his cup, then pats Lucien on the shoulder. "Just me." He's unilaterally making that decision for Gustave, because unilaterally making decisions for people he cares about has worked out really well in the past. As a Dessendre, respecting agency is practically illegal for him.

Canting his head toward Gustave, he says, "This one's just afraid to dance in public, but I've heard bullying is a very effective cure for that."

"No, I'm heading out, too," Gustave cuts in, and it's only now that Lucien seems to put some of this together; open curiosity dawns on his face while Gustave speaks. "I just wanted to see how things were going— I'm sorry if I got your hopes up. Send my love to the rest of the team "

Gustave holds out his hands, palms out, and takes a few steps backwards. They're not even in the thick of it yet and he's overwhelmed; it would have been tolerable if he were with Verso for it, too, but left alone he can only see his social battery draining rapidly.

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fucking swype, the enemy of me who doesn't read my own tags

how dare you catch it so i can't immortalize it

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seven gustaves, ah ah ah

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