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[superniceone]

(open / overflow)

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[superniceone]

Gustave is tired, actually, but in a peaceful sort of way — and he has the idea that Verso might take it the wrong way, like a criticism instead of a compliment. So he just hums and shakes his head no, shifting to sit up slightly.

Maelle is going to be upset at him if he spends another night away from home, he thinks vaguely, and then swallows that concern down. She's surrounded by people who love her; it's probably the least he's ever needed to actively worry about her, he tries to convince himself, and rolls off the bed to clean himself up (and to grab the sheets he'd meant to lend Verso that morning.)

"Do you want to borrow an outfit for the walk home?"

[recreatable]

"I'd like a washcloth first," he points out, shifting onto his back now that Gustave is getting up.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with the clothes he came here in—they're quite nice, if he says so himself—but he does selfishly like the idea of taking something with him that has Gustave all over it. (Probably some inherent desire to steal all of Gustave's stuff that's gone as of yet unfulfilled in this timeline.) So: "But I'll take the clothes, too."

With a nudge of his knee, he adds, "You can pick something out for me." He's curious what Gustave might choose. Verso would give Gustave his sluttiest V-neck, but he's less shameless.

[superniceone]

"I— right, of course," Gustave says sheepishly when it registers that he'd just left Verso there with a sticky, cooling hand. He disappears briefly into the bathroom to retrieve a warm rag, offering it to him and leaning in to bump a playful sort of kiss against Verso's still-bared thigh. "Sorry. It's a good thing you're not a nudist. Entirely too distracting for me."

The button-up he brings doesn't default to a plunging neckline, but Verso only needs to fasten those buttons as high as he would like. Gustave doesn't really acknowledge that he's bringing quite a bit more this time alongside his clothes — his hairbrush (!!!), his drafting journal at the very least, and he's taking what's meant to be a sly glance around to make sure there's nothing else he'd like to grab.

[recreatable]

The button-up only gets done up halfway, obviously, because he is a bon vivant and man about town who needs to be able to lean seductively in doorways while flashing his chest. You didn't mention Gustave bringing him pants, but I'm going to be a godmoder here and assume he doesn't have to do the ultimate walk of shame pantsless; he sits on the edge of Gustave's mattress and tugs the trousers on, watching as he gathers up his things. Pleased that Gustave might be planning on sticking around for more than just the morning.

"Ooh, didn't know you owned one of those," he says with a grin, referring to the hairbrush (clearly). "I could give you a tutorial on how to use it, if you want."

[superniceone]

"From the man who spent ten minutes making sure his hair would dry in the most perfectly appealing way?" Gustave shoots him a teasing grin back, hiding his disappointment at the fact that Verso found some pants to put on. "I would be most honored."

Look, he plans on staying until at least the next evening. There's a little latent guilt, too; Emma had laid it on pretty thick about how badly the boys wanted to see him again, and he wants to see them, too — he just feels guilty doing so with his mind where it's at. Maybe he can convince Verso to come along.

"Ready to go?" he asks, his eyes tracking quickly down the half-buttoned shirt, before his brows climb high.

[recreatable]

Feeling a bit slutshamed, Verso does up another button. "Well, now I am."

[superniceone]

Gustave snorts, stepping in close and reaching up to thumb that button loose again. "Better if you pay it no mind when I'm being jealous," he murmurs, affectionately squeezing Verso's hip before leading them back out into the streets of Lumière.

[recreatable]

Verso decidedly doesn't point out that Gustave still sort of looks like a guy who just had ill-advised sex. It's cute, he likes it! Gustave probably would like it less, so he keeps his mouth shut, entertaining Gustave with offhanded comments about the buildings they pass—that place used to be a restaurant; worst coq au vin you've ever had—until they make it back to his place.

"Monoco," he says once they're inside. "Why don't you go hang out in the bedroom?"

If Monoco could narrow his eyes, he would. "I'm beginning to question whether this is a roommate relationship of equals."

[superniceone]

Gustave's default is a little bit rumpled, but it's true he probably could have used a solid run of said brush through his hair before presenting himself to the general public. Ignorance is bliss, however.

They will, at one point, pass two wine-drunk young women, taking a stroll arm in arm and chatting whilst they take a break from the event on the Harbor; they whisper a bit to each other, glancing their way. Gustave tells himself that he settles his hand on the small of Verso's back because Verso will like the little streak of possessiveness, and refuses to acknowledge the extremely juvenile fact that it does actually make him feel a little better.

"Sorry, Monoco," Gustave says as he pulls his boots off to tuck by the door. "Indulge us one more time?"

Monoco makes a dismissive sound as he makes his way toward the bedroom. "I know when I'm not wanted," he sighs, and shoots Verso a meaningful look — are you sure this is a good idea? It's especially impressive considering how expressionless his mask is.

[recreatable]

It's objectively a bad idea, in fact, but Verso has already gone through ten stages of brooding about this, and he's determined to not let himself ruin the night any more than he already has. He'll face the consequences when he comes to them.

So, he says, "Just one more time?" before heading over to perch on the piano bench, patting the seat beside him. Whatever happened to Gustave being at his beck and call, huh???

[superniceone]

"I never said just one more time." Gustave holds up a finger, a moment, settling his things on the couch and retrieving the wine before he takes the seat next to Verso. He bumps Verso's leg gently with his own, before plinking a soft melody — simple, like the one before.

"Strange, the way memory works," he muses, lowering his hand. "My mother taught me that. I couldn't tell you the name of it, or write the notes down, but..." It surfaces the moment his hand is on the keys.

[recreatable]

Verso could tell you the notes! He makes a mental record of them, just in case. "You have good hands for the piano," he says, canting his head. "Nice, slender fingers." This is not a come-on—Gustave does have nice hands, perfect for all that little detail work he does. "...And that metal arm of yours can probably play twice as fast."

He shifts so that the sides of their legs pressed together, as if by accident. There's just not a lot of room on this bench! An index finger presses down on the keys, a soft C ringing out, and then—

"You need to catch up." He gestures to the wine. "I'm already two glasses in." And he'd feel better if Gustave were a little tipsy while he plays.

[superniceone]

Gustave would have laughed if he'd known Verso was inventing reasons for physical contact, considering they've hooked up twice today. "No good if one hand plays at half the speed of the other," he says with a little laugh.

He bumps his shoulder into Verso's, taking a long pull directly from the bottle. "And alright. You get warmed up and I'll do the same."

[recreatable]

Verso's fingers play idly: C-D-E, then D-E-F, then E-F-G. "It's been a while since I've played," he admits. Just that time for Maelle and Esquie, and not much else. "I'm a bit rusty."

He still has nearly a century of experience behind him, so 'rusty' is relative, but he can still feel it all the same. The muscle memory is there, but it feels like coming back home after a long vacation elsewhere. Everything is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

"I haven't even done any finger exercises." A pause. "Traditional finger exercises, anyway."

[superniceone]

Gustave taps the same notes an octave down, an echo in staccato while he sips at his drink. "I'm a philistine, remember? I won't notice a little rustiness."

The quip does earn him a light jab to the ribs with his elbow. "Merde. You can't help yourself, can you?"

[recreatable]

"Nope." He's incorrigible, actually. "But I'm hoping you find it endearing."

A moment, and then he plays the little melody Gustave had played, glancing down at the other end of the piano to see if Gustave will echo that, too. It's easy enough to recreate after a near-century of practice identifying notes. He doesn't usually like someone else touching his piano, but he'll make an exception here.

[superniceone]

"I do, actually," Gustave says, his tone long-suffering as he raises a hand to carefully mimic that, too. "It's actually quite annoying. Fairly certain there's some sort of mind control at play."

He hits the wrong key, a result of poor playing form more than actual mistake, and he grimaces slightly. "See. A lost cause."

[recreatable]

Verso does his best not to think about whether that's true, although it's something he's considered before. Maybe all of the friends he had back in Lumière only liked him because they were created to like him. Maybe Gustave only feels attached to him because the creator of this world did, too. Tonight is not for existentialism and rumination, though, so he just smiles and gently reaches for Gustave's hand, rearranging its position on the keys so that he barely needs to move to play the melody.

"I don't know." A lingering moment with his hand over Gustave's, and then he places his own back on the keys. "I made an excellent dancer of you. Maybe you'll be a brilliant pianist, too."

[superniceone]

"Best to keep your dreams realistic, mon chéri. I only danced with you to make sure no one else did." He shoots him a subtle and crooked smile, then tries the notes again — admittedly with more success this time.

"No good," he says, lowering his hand. "I can't drink, inspire your creativity, and practice a new skill. One of them's gonna have to be put on hold."

Fuck, he's happy. Hiccups aside, it's been the sort of day he's going to hold onto when things inevitably get hard again. He ducks his head down, kissing Verso's shoulder. "I'll learn by osmosis."

[recreatable]

With a matching crooked smile, turned up on the opposite side from Gustave's: "Fair. The drinking is the most important part."

He plucks at the keys for a few more moments, getting his hands comfortable being on them again, before improvising a wandering melody, something soft and bittersweet. Major and minor chords, high and tinkly like a bell.

"You know," he says quietly so as not to talk over the music, "I have half a mind to play you Chopsticks right now."

[superniceone]

Gustave seems to consider something for a moment — he was going to pass the bottle to his real hand to sip while he listened — but seems to decide against that. Instead, he just rests his hand gently on Verso's thigh. There's no attempt to be provocative here; he's just touching for the sake of touch.

"Well, it's a classic for a reason, I guess," he murmurs. "But I like this. Reminds me of..." Gustave hums low in his throat in thought. "The trains in the snow."

[recreatable]

It's so objectively stupid when he's gotten Gustave's pants off twice today, but it's the warmth of his hand through the fabric of Verso's borrowed trousers that makes him glance shyly from the piano keys to Gustave's face, like an adolescent on his first date. "Yeah," he muses, eyes flicking back to his own fingers as he plays a little arpeggio. Then, confessional: "I really miss those trains."

He wonders if Verso—the actual one—would, too, or if he only feels this way because a mother remembers the sort of things her son liked when he was nine.

[superniceone]

There's something sweet in the shyness of that look, in his small but sincere admission about the trains. It squeezes at his heart, makes him wish he could give Verso the things he actually wants for himself, instead of just the things everyone else wants for him. Gustave squeezes his leg, a fond acknowledgment of his words as he listens to the broken chord.

"Couldn't be too hard to get one up and running," he murmurs after a long moment. It's a logistical nightmare; they're monstrously heavy, they need working, unbroken track to go somewhere at all. Between the Station and Old Lumière, maybe? If the Grandis—and Esquie, definitely—were willing to help out, too—

He realises he's distracting himself and shakes it away. "I like the set in your room. It's well-crafted."

[recreatable]

Verso laughs down at the keys. "You were thinking about the logistics," he accuses, not unkindly. He likes that Gustave has an engineer's mind, always moving, always planning. Figuring out how things tick, and then making them tick even better. Creativity comes in many forms, and that's Gustave's.

"Thanks, though." About the train set. It's from Maelle, as everything he has in this world currently is, but he doesn't mention that. "I used to have an even better one." In his family home. A finger slips, playing a discordant note before he recovers. "A long time ago."

[superniceone]

Gustave wonders, for just a moment, how difficult it might be to build one. Maybe he could call it practice for repairing the actual trains.

"What made it better?" He won't ask about the long time ago; it feels too much like a landmine.