superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

There's a quiet, anxious part of Gustave that worries the hope that he's giving Verso is a massive lie. He's seen those glimpses of bone-deep despair, heard the weariness in his voice, and as desperate as he is to fix it — what if he can't? And does it make him cruel, to offer him a lifeline out of the sinkhole if he's not sure it's going to hold long enough for him to escape?

The fear is ever-present but quiet, lives tucked away in his head alongside the concern for Maelle's life, for the future of everyone living now in the canvas. It doesn't make him resistant to Verso's confession; it just makes him feel a little greedy, a little selfish.

Gustave brushes that off after a moment, up quick and shifting to pin Verso's shoulder back to the bed in a show of boyish roughhousing. It's all so he can lean over him when he says, scolding: "No, say it correctly."

"Ooh," is Verso's immediate response, "so stern."

Très sexy, as he'd said!! He's visibly delighted by the horseplay, grinning widely. It's fun being manhandled by a scrawny little beanpole with dainty wrists.

He has half a mind to be difficult about this, since Gustave was such an asshole for friendzoning him at the party like that, but he's never been very good at saying 'no'. Besides, he does want to say it, even though it doesn't quite feel like he deserves to. There's a split-second of hesitation wherein he wishes he weren't in his pajamas right now and that he didn't have bedhead before he says, "I love you."

Verso's grin alone is enough to make Gustave decide to continue just enjoying this moment for what it is. There's always time for second-guessing later. Besides, it's hard to doubt Verso's sincerity specifically because of the rumpled hair and bunched up sleep clothes. It's an awful lot of vulnerability on all fronts.

"Je t'aime," he says, his voice and expression soft. He dips down enough to press a fond kiss against the bridge of his nose, before releasing him and rolling back to his side. "I could make some eggs, if you really did want breakfast in bed." Gustave's mood had been good when they'd awoken; it's almost buoyant now.

"I'm not inclined to let you leave," Verso admits, still smiling. He could keep Gustave here for at least 24 more hours. Maybe more. Maybe forever. If Gustave needs something to do, Verso can just set him up with a notebook and watch him doodle blueprints in bed all day.

"—But I could make an exception for eggs." Eggs sound good, actually. For once, he has an appetite.

Gustave is tempted for a split second to double back, to confirm. You're saying this because you mean it, right? Not because you think it'll make me happy before you up and disappear without a trace? Except that insecurity is uncharitable enough to be outright hurtful, and besides: he's not sure he's seen Verso smiling this way before.

"I'll be quick," he promises, "unless Monoco buries me for usurping his place, and then I might need a little time to dig myself out." He leans in to kiss him again, quick, and wonders in amusement if Verso's hair is going to be combed when he returns.

"Just shout. I'll come dig you out."

Monoco doesn't bury him, but he does give Gustave shit when he emerges (and the entire time he's cooking the eggs), primarily complaints about how he spent all this time getting the indent in the mattress just right and now it's going to be a Gustave-shaped indentation instead. It's good-natured for the most part, though; Gustave's presence has kept Verso from lying around pathetically all day, which has been very annoying for Monoco to deal with in the past. Giving up his cozy sleeping spot is a small price to pay for not having to physically drag Verso out of bed anymore.

Verso, of course, does brush his hair while Gustave is away. If pressed, he'd deny it to the end of his days, but his collar is rumpled more artfully, too, going for sexy-tousled instead of the actually-tousled he was before. When he hears Gustave's footsteps nearing the room, he scrambles back under the covers, reclining casually.

"Oh, you're back already," he says nonchalantly.

As much as Gustave enjoys bitching about gestrals in general, he's quite fond of Monoco. He'd never go as far to say that they're particularly close in any capacity, but Monoco is likeable. And—even he hadn't been—fighting shoulder to shoulder against genuinely deadly Nevrons would have been more than enough for Gustave to foster an earnest respect there.

All of that to say: he's relieved when he doesn't sense any genuine malice there. (Monoco, too, is relieved in his own much more subtle way, that Gustave seems to be in such a good mood, if only because that means Verso probably won't return to being a sadsack on this specific day.)

Gustave clocks the change in hair and grins to himself, failing to notice pretty much any other difference as he returns with two plates. "Am I interrupting something?" he asks, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed and passing one over. "I could head back out if you need."

This is how you get ants, but considering how Verso lives on the Continent, that's not even a thought in his mind—there's always a nonzero chance of finding an insect in his bedroll, given that there's not really a proper floor. He absolutely is going to have to get into carpentry or Gustave will dump him instantly.

"Nah," Verso lies, like he wasn't just staring at himself in the mirror. "Just... lounging." Handsomely!! He takes a bite of the eggs, convinced that he can taste the love they're made with, although that might just be butter. Pointing with his fork: "You're going to be in charge of food on the Continent."

Yeah, Gustave had decided that the moment he'd tried to struggle through the yellow rubber Verso had so kindly decided to feed him. He hums in quiet agreement, expression shifting to slightly wistful. "Guess coffee wouldn't actually keep as well as wine, would it." Inside Esquie, he means.

"We could take some beans along," he offers, genuine, remembering Gustave's complaints about missing coffee. It won't be the thing that sends him running back to Lumière—he's too devoted to Maelle for that—but Verso would still prefer him not to be miserable out there on the Continent. He's spent almost a century living the most pathetic, minimalistic life one can live, but Gustave's presence is going to be the thing that makes him decide to live like an actually civilized person. "And a mortar and pestle. Put that mechanical arm of yours to work."

"I couldn't just bring a grinder? You're going to make me do it all by hand?" Gustave isn't actually sure coffee beans are going to make the cut over more practical things, but— maybe, eventually. He shifts over slightly on the bed, idly bumping his leg against Verso's through the covers. "Have you done any gardening?"

He's looking forward to testing the soil, but he really doesn't feel like getting roasted harder than Verso's awful eggs, so he keeps that to himself.

Verso lived on the Continent for decades without 'practical things', it's fine. Personally, his bags are just going to be filled with alcohol and hair products.

"A little," he says, although clearly homesteading is not his forte, or he'd have gotten his shit together a long time ago. "You'd look charming in some gardening gloves."

Which is his nice way of saying that that's going to be Gustave's job, too.

Some people have to avoid the weird poisonous mushrooms, Verso! "I do, actually," Gustave says, holding out his hand to take Verso's plate if he's finished. "I'd like to go back to the cliffs, too— check out that old farm a little more." He's more curious about that place than maybe anywhere else.

He hesitates, then, and shakes his head. "No, ignore me— focusing on the present."

Eugh. Returning to the Cliffs with Gustave isn't exactly his idea of a good time. Verso hands his plate over—actually cleared for once—as he thinks about it, grinding his teeth a little.

"It's all right," he says, because it's not like he's going to stop Gustave from planning for a future he never thought he'd have. "But are you sure you want to go back there? There could be... bad memories." You know, of the guy who tried to kill him.

It's a good thing he's not real, and that his death wouldn't have mattered, anyway— at least, that's the first thought he has, and he's ashamed of it. Reality is a much more complicated subject than he ever thought it might be.

"Managed the harbor just fine last night, didn't I?" he said instead, trying to chase off the existential stress as he sets their plates to the side. "Though the Gommage was much less painful than what Renoir nearly finished, I'll give you that much."

Wow. It's very impressive how quickly Gustave manages to tank his mood with that comment. Verso is certainly not at the point where he feels able to lightheartedly joke about it in bed. "Uh," he fumbles, before backtracking away from that horrifically uncomfortable topic altogether. "Yeah. Sure. We can check out that farm."

Okay, yeah, even Gustave can sense the way he's just assassinated the mood — though he's genuinely unsure if it's because of the topic in general or because of the mention of Verso's father. He cringes.

"Sorry," he says, "I just thought things were going too well this morning. I can't properly bask in the glow of contentment unless I make things weird." He's really hoping this makes it better and not worse!!!

Ugh!!! It does make it worse, because Gustave is so sweet and innocent and thinks that somehow this is his fault, and Verso is reminded yet again of what a shitty person he is. He doesn't want Gustave to feel guilty for the turn the mood has taken, so he reaches out to take Gustave's flesh hand, pressing the knuckles of it against his mouth.

"You didn't do anything wrong," is far more true than it should be. "I just... wish I'd been more heroic in that moment, is all."

This is also true. He hadn't even wanted to step in. In the immediate aftermath, watching Maelle fret over him, Verso had even half-hoped that Gustave would still succumb to his injuries. He's pretty sure he wouldn't be the recipient of any more je t'aimes if Gustave ever learned that.

"I was a stranger, and your priority was Maelle. Standing between me and your father at all was heroic enough, trust me." Not the exact words Gustave would use if he knew exactly what Verso was grappling with, and maybe not the exact attitude he'd take if he knew exactly how close to death he actually came—

But he doesn't. So he's just grateful instead of scornful, and well aware that the existence of the scar on Verso's face speaks more about the complicated nature of his relationship with Renoir than words ever will.

He turns his hand to squeeze Verso's fingers with his own. "Suppose it's just difficult to be too bothered by a close call when I just think that Maelle would have just put me back together again."

It's a hard thing to chew on, the question of identity it quietly implies. Had Maelle actually put them together again, or had she painted new copies of what she'd had before? Did it matter? He's not sure he can allow it to.

"Maybe she wouldn't have," Verso can't help saying before his mind catches up to his mouth. "Maybe—" And then he stops himself, before it becomes too shockingly clear that he's thought—maybe too much—about this, what it would have been like if Gustave had died there on the Cliffs after all. If it would have changed anything.

He kisses Gustave's hand again, perhaps a little overaffectionate because he knows he has something to feel guilty for. "I would have missed you, if so."

The aborted thought draws his curiosity, not his ire, and gently he pulls his hand free. "No, finish your sentence," he says, a little amused. "She brought one of her old bullies from the academy back, but you think she might have left me out?"

Maybe, Verso thinks, if she'd spent enough time without Gustave before learning the truth, she wouldn't have wanted to stay anymore. Maybe it would never have crossed her mind to bring anyone back at all. Maybe she'd be in the real world right now, instead of living in Gustave's house.

He sinks a little further into the pillows. "Yeah, you're right. She wouldn't have wanted to live without your eggs."

Gustave watches him for a moment, lingering in thoughtful silence a little longer than he means to. Why wouldn't Maelle bring him back? Maybe if she'd come to rely on Verso — on her actual brother, not just the guardian who couldn't even keep her from going on an Expedition nine years too early. For the very first time, he wonders if Verso actually regrets saving him, and decides then that's a question he's never going to ask.

"Yeah," he says, realizing that he's let that quiet go on too long, and he flops down next to Verso a little dramatically. "They are worth keeping me around for."

They'd just hit a record, he's pretty sure. Longest they'd gone without mucking things up. Verso turns onto his side to face Gustave, desperate to get that feeling of carefree contentment back somehow— "Hey. I'm open to hearing some critique on the hut."

He's not staying there until it's got a door and a floor that won't murder him!! ... is what he wants to say, but he doesn't want to hurt his feelings (again.) "I was actually thinking I might build my own hut next door," he says, so serious he hopes it's obvious he's making a joke. "Keep some of the mystery alive."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject