[ Sitting here and just watching the way that pain and desperation creeps back into his eyes and the utter heartbreak that's threatening to swallow him whole -- god, it makes Verso feel awful. But distantly, he knows this is his burden to bear, his fault. This is old scars reopening, bursting apart, and he was the one who hurt him, all those years ago.
He just never stayed around to see it. Never went back, either. Coward. ]
Mon chou. [ Verso leans into his touch, covering Gustave's hand over his cheek with his own. ] I'm not leaving you. I don't want to leave you.
I'm sorry. I know I did before. There is -- a lot here that you don't yet understand.
[ Answers he can't yet give, things he can't yet explain, and thousands more truths that he knows Gustave could never, ever know. His heart sinks in his chest, his lungs starting to fill with something that feels like ink, like he's drowning with every breath he takes, every word he speaks. It doesn't matter how pretty his words are, how sweetly he kisses him, how much he means it when he says he'd left his heart with Gustave in Lumiere two years ago in that golden garden in his dreams. He's a liar. He's a liar. He's a miserable, empty shell of a person filled with the lies he needs to keep moving, and he never deserved any of Gustave's gentle adorations, might deserve some of this utter heartbreak he can feel twisting through his ribcage.
Breathe. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Gustave's. ]
But I promise. I swear. You will see me tomorrow.
I'm not leaving you again. I can't. I won't.
[ His own desperation edging in there -- please, believe him. Please. But what could he possibly say? ]
You were going to make it up to me, bring me flowers . . .
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Date: 2025-06-06 09:21 pm (UTC)He just never stayed around to see it. Never went back, either. Coward. ]
Mon chou. [ Verso leans into his touch, covering Gustave's hand over his cheek with his own. ] I'm not leaving you. I don't want to leave you.
I'm sorry. I know I did before. There is -- a lot here that you don't yet understand.
[ Answers he can't yet give, things he can't yet explain, and thousands more truths that he knows Gustave could never, ever know. His heart sinks in his chest, his lungs starting to fill with something that feels like ink, like he's drowning with every breath he takes, every word he speaks. It doesn't matter how pretty his words are, how sweetly he kisses him, how much he means it when he says he'd left his heart with Gustave in Lumiere two years ago in that golden garden in his dreams. He's a liar. He's a liar. He's a miserable, empty shell of a person filled with the lies he needs to keep moving, and he never deserved any of Gustave's gentle adorations, might deserve some of this utter heartbreak he can feel twisting through his ribcage.
Breathe. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Gustave's. ]
But I promise. I swear. You will see me tomorrow.
I'm not leaving you again. I can't. I won't.
[ His own desperation edging in there -- please, believe him. Please. But what could he possibly say? ]
You were going to make it up to me, bring me flowers . . .