tfln overflow / open post

[superniceone]

(open / overflow)

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[superniceone]

"You made them complicated?" The words come in an incredulous sort of exhale — but still soft, unconsciously very careful not to step over any music Verso might add to their exchange. "I was the who one—" Caught feelings immediately, incapable of untangling the notions of sex and emotional intimacy despite his insistence otherwise. Who had found refuge in Verso when his own fear and uncertainty about the newfound nature of their world had flung him into mental turmoil. Who was acting like an anchor to him even now, when he clearly had no interest or intention of remaining in Lumière.

Gustave cuts himself off with another sip, stalling, and doesn't say any of that.

"I wouldn't have just looked at the model train and left," he says instead. "I would have wanted to take it apart, started crushing hopelessly on the boy with the fancy gadget, and then left. It's a very important distinction."

[recreatable]

"Oh, so you'd only want me for my fancy gadgets," he shoots back, although he's clearly happy with the response, ears pink with pleasure. Gustave is so very sweet; he can hardly believe he's the recipient of it. There have to be at least fifteen people in Lumière who'd like to be in his position, and who are more deserving of it, too.

"That would have been nice," is accompanied by a few chords, idle movements of his fingers more than real music at this point. "If you'd known me before." Instead of now, after he's crossed so many lines. It had all been fake and wrong, but at least he didn't have the last 67 years weighing on his conscience.

"Although I think I'd be too embarrassed to try again, after the model train fiasco."

[superniceone]

Gustave is— well. Not surprised, really, at the idea that Verso can't even imagine a happy outcome for the two of them in their verbal game of pretend, but it does make him a little sad. Not because their own relationship is any more doomed than it's ever been; it just feels more evident than ever, in moments like this, that Verso is unable to imagine a happy life for himself at all.

"That's the sort of thing that qualified as a fiasco for you?" Gustave laughs, and then hesitates, because there's something there that doesn't sit right with him.

"Hey," he continues after a moment, putting the bottle down by his feet. He angles himself slightly on his seat, reaching to try to coax him into a quick kiss. "I'm into much older guys, remember? I prefer you the way you are now."

It's his extremely clumsy and intensely dorky way of trying to reassure him that he likes him the way he is, that he doesn't yearn for Verso-but-better.

[recreatable]

"That's on me. I forgot what a grave robber you are."

There's no way Gustave prefers him the way he is now. Or, if he does, it's only because Verso has unintentionally tricked him into it somehow. The sentiment is nice all the same even if he can't really make himself internalize it, and he slings an arm across Gustave's shoulders to pull him in for a very daring kiss on the cheek. He's never done this before, not with Gustave; despite the fact that he's had his mouth far more scandalous places, it's a little shy.

"I was just saying all of that to make you think I was appealingly moody. Did it work?"

[superniceone]

It's true that Gustave wishes that Verso lived a less burdened, but that's for Verso's sake, not for his own. Things are messy and weird and difficult between them, sure, but the world is messy and weird and difficult, too.

But it's easy not to dwell on that right now; he grins when Verso pulls him in, playfully melodramatic as he briefly tucks his face against Verso's shoulder. "Practically swooning," he says, matter-of-fact and muffled by his shirt.

[recreatable]

A squeeze to Gustave's shoulder, and then Verso lets him go, hand resting on the keys again. "All according to plan." Gustave should be swooning! "So—what kind of music do you like?"

[superniceone]

Gustave straightens up, his smile a little sheepish at his own childish-feeling affection. "Are you going to boot me out if I tell you I don't have a strong opinion? I mean—" Hastily added. "I do like music." He has that gramophone in his room, but he's always just sort of picked things to play arbitrarily. "I just, you know—"

He raises his hand to pick out a basic scale, one note at a time with his index finger. "I never really had enough time to just enjoy it for its own sake." It had only been background noise is what he'd started to say, and realised just in time how poor that phrasing was.

[recreatable]

Quelle offense! Verso absolutely reels back at 'don't have a strong opinion'. "I should boot you out." What the fuck, he accidentally got into a relationship with a guy who 'doesn't have a strong opinion' on music. This is the stuff of nightmares! He's laughing, though, clearly not actually offended although he's trying very hard to look it.

"I like nocturnes." Does Gustave even know the difference between a nocturne and an etude? Oh, this is horrible. "They're... contemplative. When you play them, it's like someone else's thoughts flowing through you."

Which, obviously, he likes. His own thoughts suck.

[superniceone]

Gustave's brow genuinely furrows at that. He's heard the word!! "Do you know any?"

Show him! He can study!!

[recreatable]

Does he know any!!! He represses the urge to kick Gustave under the piano. "Yeah, I know a few," he says with a scoff, obviously understatement. It's not like he's been playing for a hundred years or anything.

"Chopin's are probably the most famous." He presses down on the keys again, a wandering tune, dolce. "But I'm more fond of Fauré's." Not that any of the composers he used to look up to even truly exist in this world. He'll never hear a new Debussy piece. "They're more introspective. Feels like... you know him."

Like a friend. Not something he's had a lot of in the past sixty or so years.

[superniceone]

Gustave rolls his eyes at the scoff, casting a sidelong glance at him that is clearly mock-annoyed. He's never seen Verso at a piano; he has no idea what he's got in his head versus what he might need to have sheet music for. The fact that he can just start playing is deeply impressive.

"Should I be taking notes?" he asks, but it's an errant remark, lighthearted teasing. It's clear by the tilt of his head that he's really listening to the tune being played. "Who is this?"

[recreatable]

The doglike tilt of his head is cute (even if that word is apparently barred!), and so is the interest Gustave takes in the music. It's nice to feel as if someone enjoys that he's passionate about it, when for much of his life it's seemed like a disappointment.

"This one's Dessendre, actually. Little known Lumièran composer." A nudge of his knee against Gustave's as he presses down on the pedal. "And yes, there will be a test after."

[superniceone]

Gustave seems first a little surprised, and then visibly pleased. It's sometime he probably won't be able to hear on record, then, so he'd best pay attention. "An exclusive showcase," he murmurs. "I'm flattered."

But he lapses into a silence that will last as long as Verso's playing does, closing his eyes like that will help him hear it better, understand it more. Understand Verso more, even. Music is nice, but Verso's explanation of the feelings it can elicit in him really does make Gustave feel like a philistine, but he's trying.

[recreatable]

The music is exactly what one might expect from Verso: very melancholic, perhaps to an overdramatic degree. Wistful, a little bit. As one would also expect, it's also full of opportunities to show off. Complex rhythms, wide leaps. Things inserted not for the sake of musicality, but because they're impressive. Somewhat inauthentic even in his own private compositions.

It ends softly. "And here's where the crowd would applaud," he points out.

[superniceone]

Gustave claps his hands politely at Verso's remark, wishing he had Lune nearby so he could lean in and ask her the perfect thing to say. "That was excellent. I thought you said you were rusty." He's impressed because it really is impressive; he might not listen deeply to music often, but he's still able to recognise the technical skill.

He thinks it sounds more like something he'd expect to hear in a grand concert hall than on a record, but he's got no idea if that's a compliment or an insult, so he doesn't say it.

"It is starting to feel a little unfair. You've got to be bad at something." Besides home assembly.

[recreatable]

Verso hums, contemplative, trying to figure out what to say.

"I'm bad at lots of things," he lands on. He's good at lots of things, too, but every one of those took considerable effort. He's bad at being a natural. Bad at existing without hurting people. And, it turns out, he's really bad at letting Gustave go when he should; he feels such misery at the thought that Gustave might never sit next to him and listen to him play again that he could burst with it.

"Like... cooking."

[superniceone]

"Oh, yeah. That's a good point, actually. Those eggs— yikes." Gustave is dramatically somber about the memory, bringing his hand back to the keys to try the first few measures of the song from before again.

Ultimately, his coping mechanism of living only in the present isn't any healthier than way Verso gets stuck on the impending future.

"I'm glad," he says, pausing a few bars into the melody, "that we went out tonight."

[recreatable]

I'm glad I didn't let my father kill you, Verso doesn't say, because that would be insane.

"Yeah," he agrees, although he has that classic Sad Dog™ look on his face. He is glad. It made him happy. It's just that he's incapable of feeling happiness without fearing the moment it inevitably turns to dust in his hands, and knowing that this is all temporary does make him feel a bit as if he can already see it crumbling.

"Me, too." He presses a hand between Gustave's shoulder blades, soft and warm. "Mon beau." The touch lingers for a moment before he says, "I should probably go change those sheets, unless you want both of us and Monoco to sleep on the divan."

[superniceone]

Gustave leans back just slightly into the hand on him, doing his very best to commit the sweetness of the moment to memory. He's not sure what the cause is for the Look on Verso's face, if it's sadness behind them or if it's for sadness yet to come, and he isn't brave enough to ask.

"One more song, before you do? Wouldn't be right to leave me without a proper encore." He just wants to let this peace live a moment longer.

[recreatable]

If Verso ever doesn't perform for someone else's benefit, he's dead. And, unfortunately, he isn't dead, so of course he puts his hands back on the keys for Gustave, playing another soft melody. Something close to a lullaby, considering the time of night.

"You just want to delay being little spoon," he snarks, good-natured.

[superniceone]

Gustave's hand returns to Verso's leg, touching him just for the sake of feeling a connection there. It's a peaceful little song; he likes it, and he's smiling subtly when it comes to an end.

"Nah. Sounds cozy," Gustave says (though he really will be surprised if Verso actually tries to cuddle with him.) "Do you need help with the sheets?"

[recreatable]

"I'm good at everything, remember?" Except making eggs and erecting huts. He squeezes Gustave's hand with his own for a split-second, then says, "You can finish off your wine."

The sheet-changing does take longer than one might expect, both due to the fact that Verso hasn't changed sheets in 67 years and because Monoco is there being unhelpful. When they finally emerge, Verso looks like he's been to war with the sheets (he has) and Monoco has his arms crossed, displeased at being relegated to the living room again.

"Well," Verso is saying, "you're going to have to take the divan unless you want to share with Gustave."

A long pause, wherein Monoco stares at Gustave (as much as someone without eyes can stare). Considering. "Hmm."

"He snores," Verso says. "And kicks in his sleep. Don't you, Gustave?"

[superniceone]

Gustave does genuinely feel bad for displacing Monoco. It feels a bit - well. Not unliking kicking a dog out of bed when there just isn't enough space. Not bad enough to crash with Monoco, necessarily - he could just go home in that case, it's not like it's far - but. Still.

"I am a snorer," he says, perched on the edge of the piano bench, and he holds up the now empty bottle of wine. "Especially when I've been drinking. You probably want at least one door between me and you, just for your own sanity."

Monoco!! You get custody of Verso when he goes back to the Continent!!

[recreatable]

Another long moment of contemplation, then: "That's true. And your knobby knees might dent my wood if you kick me."

"Very true, they're sharp," Verso says, nodding sagely before tugging at Gustave's arm. Better get moving before Monoco changes his mind and Verso ends up the one sleeping on the couch. "Come on."

[superniceone]

Gustave will hold his complaints until he's halfway through changing back into the borrowed pajama pants. "My knees aren't knobby." Are they? He's never paid much attention to his own knees. Should he be?? He's certainly comparing his own to Verso's now.