superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

Gustave's primary concern is that Verso is going to stop jockeying for attention, that his unwise and poorly timed confession is going to get him iced out. It's one of the reasons why, exasperated as he is, he's relieved that Verso agreed to take his hand—as ridiculous as that little fake limp is.

"Always looking for an excuse to amputate," Gustave says, and while his eyes are ahead and his tone is fairly flat, there's a very slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. "Suppose you'll need to take it easy next time we, uh. Practice dancing."

On a rational level, he's aware that he should never have let it get this far. On a more base, human level... surely it would be all right for there to be a next time. And maybe a time after that. And a few times after that, too. Just to get it out of his system before he self-exiles and never feels the touch of a human ever again.

So: "Yeah, maybe it's time to let you do the hard work." Teasing. It was a new experience for the both of them, but certainly newer for Gustave.

He falls silent for a moment after that, waiting until the sound of crowds and music has died down to say, "Sorry for making things weird." A pause. "Again."

It feels as if he owes an explanation beyond just an apology; it isn't the half of it, but he starts with, "I haven't had anyone say something like that to me in a long time."

"Verso," Gustave says, but there's nothing to follow immediately. He's thinking, telegraphed by another squeeze of the fingers. He doesn't know how to say he knows that he's breaking his own heart here — that a part of him has genuinely always known that this wasn't meant to last forever. "I know. And I— I'm aware it's one of those things that should have remained unsaid. I'm very good at complicating things needlessly, it turns out."

He finally glances at him, brief, his expression neutral. "We could just erase this evening. I'd be fine with that."

Gustave can see Verso's discomfort with Lumière every time he's forced outside, can see the longing to be anywhere but there clear in his unsettling Husky eyes. It'll probably be harder to convince Maelle to go without Verso backing him up — but god, if that were the only reason he wanted him to stay, telling him goodbye would be so much easier. The idea that he's ruined their last few weeks together makes his skin itch uncomfortably.

Complicating things needlessly is both of their specialties, apparently. Verso raises an eyebrow, then stops and tugs on Gustave's hand to urge him to stop, too. This doesn't really seem like the sort of conversation that should happen walking side-by-side, avoiding eye contact.

"Hey." Gentle, nudging. "You know you didn't do anything wrong, right?"

It's not Gustave that's the problem—it's everything else. Gustave is actually one of the few bright lights in a real shitshow of a situation, despite the fact that Verso has fought this relationship tooth-and-nail since its inception. Fumbling, he says, "It's not a matter of... not feeling similarly."

Which he probably shouldn't say, although it feels like such a weight off of his shoulders to admit. Like letting out a breath he's been holding to the point of discomfort. Dry: "...It's needlessly complicated."

Gustave knows that Verso feels—well, similarly enough. His own life has been fairly straightforward, uncomplicated (if you ignore the identity-shaking implications of the last few months). His relationships with the people around him, at least, have been no more convoluted than anyone else's in Lumiere's, at least. He knows how he himself feels, but he can't imagine what it must be like in Verso's head, in his heart. He's lived a long time, and very few of those years have seemed easy. But the feelings must be similar enough, he thinks—and regardless of the assumption, it's still a relief to hear it voiced.

"I know I didn't," Gustave says finally, exhaling a breathy sort of half-laugh. "That's why I didn't apologize." It's tongue in cheek; he's aware it was very much an implied apology. "I just— I don't want to cast a shadow over the last days we have together. That's all."

"Cast a shadow?"

There's a shadow, yes, but it isn't cast by Gustave. These 'last days' only exist because Verso wanted to spend time with Gustave, the right thing to do be damned; he knows that it's in Maelle's best interest for him to disappear from this place, but he'd been selfish enough that he wanted to have his cake and eat it, too.

With a sheepish expression, he says, "You know, I must have read and re-read that poem you had Sciel deliver me a hundred times."

So, no. Not a shadow.

"I think Monoco's exact description was pathetic and lovelorn."

Gustave ducks his head to laugh at that. It's probably stupid, he thinks, how much that sheepishness on Verso's face puts him at ease, but it really does, and he shakes his head. "I'm glad," he says finally, and some of the tension from the absolute shitshow of the night so far seems to ease from his shoulders.

And then, he gently shoves him. "I can't believe you dragged me out to this party and then tried to abandon me with Lucien."

Verso takes the shove because he deserves it, laughing just slightly—albeit more out of embarrassment than anything else. His expression grows even more sheepish, neck reddening slightly. He'd hated the party. He'd hated being surrounded by people that remind him of how guilty he feels for being alive. He'd especially hated being called Expedition Zero.

"I... wanted you to have a good time," he admits, hangdog. "And I thought you'd enjoy yourself more if I left to brood alone."

Gustave squints at him, momentarily speechless. "You remember that this was meant to be a date, right? You did actually say the word 'date.'"

"I remember," he says, a little defensive but trying not to sound it. "And I also remember you telling your friend that you were desperate to leave."

The moment Verso had stepped away, in fact. Is it so farfetched that he'd think the situation was better off with himself removed from it? He doesn't think so.

Gustave's expression sobers. "After I... overshared the way I did," he starts, his phrasing careful, "I thought it was pretty unlikely you'd be back." His immediate and hasty escape had made it feel a bit like Gustave had jumped onto a visible landmine with both feet.

Verso's expression darkens, too, into something visibly ashamed. The thought of Gustave thinking that Verso would just up and leave after he'd said something so vulnerable is awful, and... not entirely unfounded. Isn't that what he's always done, the moment things get too close for comfort? Every time, he'd told himself that he was doing it for Gustave's benefit, but it surely hadn't felt that way on the other side. It had probably felt very lonely.

He blows a stray strand of hair out of his face, arms akimbo as he looks for the nearest trash can to hurl himself into.

"Historically," he says, and he sounds as if he's choosing his words with painstaking care, "things haven't turned out well for people who..." He hesitates, unsure if it would be too much to drop the word love here. Unsure if Gustave even still feels that way after how he'd reacted. "Care. About me."

A guilty glance Gustave's way, and he confesses, "I thought that I was protecting you." But he'd also been too selfish to deny himself, so he'd engaged in a never ending cycle of pulling Gustave closer before pushing him away.

Protecting him from what, Gustave wants to ask and doesn't. He's briefly struck by the absurdity of the moment, of having this serious conversation out on the street instead of in the privacy of one of their homes. Then again, they had done so few things in this relationship normally; a heartfelt conversation in the open air of Lumière was hardly beyond the pale.

He doesn't know if this idea of Verso trying to protect him is any better or worse than his initial assumption of just being humored.

"I don't need your protection. I'm— I know what I'm setting myself up for." Heartbreak and pining, but what else is new. He makes a face, glancing away while he thinks, but his keel remains even. "I just don't think I care. I'd rather just keep you as long as I'm allowed."

"Allowed isn't the word I'd use," because it implies that Gustave is somehow putting Verso out with this, when the opposite is true. If there's anyone Verso is disallowing from having this, it's himself; Gustave is only collateral damage.

He leans against the bricked wall of a bookshop, slumped in defeat. Another admission: "I poison things." Not intentionally, and in fact he spends a great majority of his time trying not to poison things, but— it must be in his nature. Some sort of incontrovertible byproduct of his existence. "I just don't want to poison you."

Canting his head, he drones, as if reciting from a script, "I know. You don't need my protection."

Gustave rolls his eyes at that droning admission and can only again think of how much Verso reminds him of Maelle in these moments, of her anger and shame at the way the world around her seemed to work when they'd first taken her in.

"That is," he starts, rounding to lean against the same bookshop wall, "pretty dramatic, you know. But I suppose you've probably studied theatre, too, huh." He's gentle through the needling.

Star of the class play, actually. But Verso just rubs his face, which feels uncomfortably warm. "I'm pouring my heart out here." Dick.

"You've got a dramatic heart," Gustave says, glancing over to watch him, before he seems to settle on what he actually wants to say. "I'm— sorry. That life has been fucking unfair to you." It's the sort of thing that could be sarcastic, but Gustave is being utterly sincere. "As far as I can tell, you've been thrust into impossible situation after impossible your situation your entire life, and—" He hesitates. He really does hope Verso will open up more about the last seventy'ish years at some point, thinks it could be good for him. "I just... worry a bit. That you're so convinced that things are going to fall apart that you're pulling the linchpin and making the wheels fall off early just so you can say you did it on your own terms."

At least, that's how the hot-and-cold treatment felt to him, especially when they were on the Continent.

It doesn't feel good to hear, but it's not exactly wrong, either. (Probably why it doesn't feel good to hear.) He's had such a fixation on ruining things in the future that he's ruined them in the present instead.

"...You're very astute," is all he says for a moment, crossing his arms. Then: "Must be that big brain of yours."

He nudges Gustave with his shoulder very gently and quips, wry to hide his embarrassment, "Pretty hot."

Gustave snorts, nudging him back. "Everything ends eventually. We don't need to help it along." Even if Maelle never leaves the canvas — as grim as it is to think, she won't live forever. "I'd— do and say a lot of things differently, if I could go back in time. But all of those choices would still lead me here, to this exact moment, with you tonight."

It's so many words to say "I don't regret you," but he means it.

"Who's dramatic now?" he asks, but he's smiling faintly, a little tug at the corner of his mouth. It's a relief, honestly, to get all of this off his chest. It doesn't necessarily make anything better, but it does make it feel a bit more bearable. A burden shared and halved, as the case may be.

"I've made," he says, "a lot of mistakes."

If he could go back, he's not sure his choices would bring him back here. There's so much that he wishes he could undo, and personal happiness is a sacrifice he would have to make—but the sentiment of wanting things as they are regardless of the shit circumstances they find themselves in is shared. He reaches out, grazing Gustave's bicep with his fingers. "But you're probably the best thing that's ever happened to me."

It really would have sucked if he just let Gustave die, or something. Man.

For once, Gustave is the one slightly staggered by the weight of the admission. That feels like a much bigger deal than a spur of the moment confession of love, and he struggles with it for a moment. "I won't tell Monoco you said that," he starts, and then—concerned but not displeased—he blurts: "I've barely done anything for you." How awful were these other Expeditioners???

"One of the best things," he corrects. Monoco's still his boy.

Verso withdraws his hand after that, amused and bemused at the idea that it's supposed to be about Gustave having done something quantifiably beneficial rather than having merely kept him company after seven decades of bone-deep loneliness. "And sure you have." He crosses his arms again, staring out at a flickering streetlight, thoughtful. For once more contemplative than miserable: "I think you're the first person to love me instead of him."

Verso phrasing it like that makes it a little harder to argue against. Gustave hums low under his breath and decides not to voice his immediate thought: that it's something very few people have had the opportunity to do, given Verso's circumstance. Instead, he just shuffles over so that he can lean his own shoulder into Verso's.

"Doubtful that I'll be the last," Gustave says. "You might not believe me yet, but you're pretty easy to love." It wasn't as if Gustave had fallen for him on purpose, after all.

Oh, please. Nothing about this has been 'easy' for Gustave. For the sake of maintaining the moment, Verso gives him a knowing look, but doesn't argue.

Gustave's weight against his is a pleasant feeling, warm. He's spent a very long time without any real human touch save for rushed wilderness hookups; despite how little familiarity he still has with this casual physical intimacy, it does feel good to have Gustave close to him, and he leans his body a little closer too, shoulder to waist to hip.

"So are you," he says softly, if Gustave isn't already full up on confessions for the night.

Falling in love with him that been so easy that it'd started happening before Gustave had identified the feeling. Convincing Verso that he deserved to be cared for was the complicated part.

They're away from the party now, but a group of people drifts near them on their way toward the music. Gustave leans a little more solidly into Verso, almost protectively, and he seems relieved when they're hardly noticed.

"Am I?" he says, not sure if that's a confession of feelings or just a general statement. "Emma might disagree. Loving me is the most stressful thing you can do, according to her."

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