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."
"Yeah?" Verso asks, corner of his mouth quirking slightly. Yes, his feelings on what happened on the Stone Wave Cliffs are— complicated. But what isn't complicated is that he also happens to think Gustave is really cute!!! (This is not at all exclusive to him, because he's pretty sure everyone in the world thinks this.) "Will I be allowed to visit, at least?"
"I'm sure we can work something out. By appointment, maybe." It's naive to pretend that things are fine, but it's probably naive to let himself fall in love in the first place, circumstances being what they are -- so, fine. He reaches out, moving to catch Verso's waist like he might gather him a little closer. "Je t'aime," he says again, because he's allowed to now, and then follows up with an almost embarrassed: "Do you've got anything I can write on? Later, I mean."
He needs to start planning out what he needs to plan!!!!
It's an incredible relief that Gustave pretends things are fine, actually. Whatever doubts they have, they can both just shove them down and be happy. It's a perfect system.
"Ooh," he teases, reaching out to affectionately arrange a few wild strands of hair, "you're sexy when you're planning." Unfortunately, there really is nothing hotter than when Gustave is being dorky. ...Also, it might be beneficial to actually put some thought into this rather than figuring it out as they go, the way Verso has been doing for decades.
"I'll get you a notebook and paper." He's instantly brought back to images of Gustave writing in that journal of his. "Provided you don't mind me watching and sighing dreamily at appropriate intervals."
Gustave idly thinks that he'll need to retrieve that journal eventually. He'd passed it over to his Gustavlings as promised on return, though with edits made - and several of the most recent entries removed entirely, just for the sake of Maelle's privacy as much as anything else. It had been such an extension of himself at times that it would be strange to return to the Continent without it.
"Oh, you like it when I plan, do you," he deadpans back, but there's a quiet laugh in the undercurrent of his breath. He leans his head slightly into Verso's touch, the casual affection still new enough to be distractingly novel. "Don't worry- I'll do all the hard work."
Maybe he does like it when Gustave plans, so what!! It's a very Gustave thing to do, and it turns out that he's actually pretty fond of Gustave. "Ass," he says affectionately. "But if that's what you want, sure. I'll just sit around and be— what was it you called me? The most handsome man you've ever seen, bar none?"
This is perhaps a slight exaggeration of the things Gustave has said to him. Slight!!
"That pretty much sums it up," Gustave says agreeably, and he watches the ceiling for a moment with unfocused eyes, his mind clearly clicking along. "Hey," he says when the gears slow down a bit, "I think we need to be up front with Lune about Maelle's— condition. If I'm to actually get any input from her."
Eugh. Not a big fan of being upfront, but: "All right." If it's for Maelle's sake, he'll suffer through the interrogation this will likely lead to. Besides, he does trust Lune, even if that trust only seems to go one way these days. (Understandably.) "Then I'll tell her what I know."
Which is remarkably little, honestly, but unfortunately no one thought to ask Renoir more questions before he left the Canvas.
And, because he's incapable of not being a sadsack, he adds, "She might suggest you two take on the project without me. No real brainpower lost."
Gustave had been prepared for a little resistance, and he's relieved when it doesn't come. Maybe Verso is more willing to capitulate while sitting on the knowledge that he'll be gone from Lumière soon — he doesn't want to question it.
"Mmm," he hums instead, "maybe so. But morale would be at an all time low." He glances sideways at him. "Verso, she's not going to kick you off your own project."
"I know." He's, like, 40% sure, at least. The thought of having a frank and honest discussion with Lune about Maelle's condition makes him feel a little nauseated, so he falls back on flippancy instead. "I was hoping you'd fall to your knees in protest before that happened."
"No, I think Lune would like that too much," Gustave says dryly, but he's still watching him with a distant sort of concern. "I don't mind being the one to fill her in. I just wanted to make sure you were alright it with before I went and spilled any beans."
"Would it have changed anything if I said no?" he asks, and although the question itself is perhaps sharp, his tone isn't. The most important thing in the world to Gustave is Maelle—her well-being obviously takes priority over Verso's discomfort. He's not delusional enough to ever believe he could whine his way out of Gustave taking care of her as best he can.
Which is fine. If their situations were reversed, he'd gladly let Gustave endure any amount of discomfort if it meant keeping Maelle safe. He's not mad about it—the opposite, really—and he runs a quick but affectionate thumb across Gustave's cheek to express that, just in case.
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"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.
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He hesitates, then, and shakes his head. "No, ignore me— focusing on the present."
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"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.
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"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."
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"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!!!
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"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.
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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.
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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."
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He sinks a little further into the pillows. "Yeah, you're right. She wouldn't have wanted to live without your eggs."
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"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."
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He needs to start planning out what he needs to plan!!!!
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"Ooh," he teases, reaching out to affectionately arrange a few wild strands of hair, "you're sexy when you're planning." Unfortunately, there really is nothing hotter than when Gustave is being dorky. ...Also, it might be beneficial to actually put some thought into this rather than figuring it out as they go, the way Verso has been doing for decades.
"I'll get you a notebook and paper." He's instantly brought back to images of Gustave writing in that journal of his. "Provided you don't mind me watching and sighing dreamily at appropriate intervals."
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"Oh, you like it when I plan, do you," he deadpans back, but there's a quiet laugh in the undercurrent of his breath. He leans his head slightly into Verso's touch, the casual affection still new enough to be distractingly novel. "Don't worry- I'll do all the hard work."
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This is perhaps a slight exaggeration of the things Gustave has said to him. Slight!!
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Which is remarkably little, honestly, but unfortunately no one thought to ask Renoir more questions before he left the Canvas.
And, because he's incapable of not being a sadsack, he adds, "She might suggest you two take on the project without me. No real brainpower lost."
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"Mmm," he hums instead, "maybe so. But morale would be at an all time low." He glances sideways at him. "Verso, she's not going to kick you off your own project."
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Which is fine. If their situations were reversed, he'd gladly let Gustave endure any amount of discomfort if it meant keeping Maelle safe. He's not mad about it—the opposite, really—and he runs a quick but affectionate thumb across Gustave's cheek to express that, just in case.
"Gentlemanly of you to ask anyway."
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