[ Gustave's heart is shattering to pieces right in front of his eyes, and Verso doesn't know what he can do about it. He feels so helpless for something that also feels like its entirely his fault, and all he can do is hold onto him like he's trying to keep the pieces from scattering too far, watch the desperation play across his face. His voice, too, those words ( the more space between us, the less I -- ) -- they lance straight through him just as hard and sharp as a sword pressed between his ribs, aimed straight at his miserable beating heart.
He's a liar. He's a liar. He doesn't deserve any of this. Maybe what's best would be to break his heart here just to he can save them both from it later. But he doesn't want to, he wants to stay, he so desperately wants to hold onto him, wants to show him that he means it, that he's here, that he's -- trying, he's really trying, there's just so much, mon chou, so much about the world and his family, and.
As much as Gustave's emotion is threatens to sweep him away and pull him under the tide, there are parts of it that seize onto his heart and lungs so tightly that it feels like it might hurt, that ground him against it, somehow. How clearly he means every single word he says, how even in his desperation once he lands on the idea that Verso might be in trouble he seems to latch onto it with such clear, obvious worry, to want to do nothing other than help. His voice on those words. When he calls him mon cher.
Verso shivers, his mouth falls open, and he's speaking before he's even realized what he's decided to say; ]
-- The Gommage doesn't reach me, Gustave.
[ His voice is so, so quiet, almost fragile. That's what he lands on. Of all the lies: This one he can let go of. It's a truth he's told before and would've told again: He's an Expeditioner, he always has been, he was one of the first. Holding off here was just selfish, wanting to stay a little longer in that space where Gustave could only ever know him as his Monsieur le pianiste.
But he needs something to hold onto, right? And Verso wants to give it to him. One hand twists through Gustave's hair, holding onto him a little too tightly for a moment before he forces himself to relax, his other arm winding around Gustave's waist, holding him close as much as he is anchoring himself against the other man. ]
It doesn't affect me. I don't know why.
[ A lie. But a familiar one that he knows how to tell. ]
I've been alive a very long time.
[ And in that truth, another quiet truth he doesn't actually mean to share is there, in his voice: it hurts. It hurts him to have been alive this long. He's so very, very lonely, and it hurts so much. ]
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Date: 2025-06-06 10:14 pm (UTC)He's a liar. He's a liar. He doesn't deserve any of this. Maybe what's best would be to break his heart here just to he can save them both from it later. But he doesn't want to, he wants to stay, he so desperately wants to hold onto him, wants to show him that he means it, that he's here, that he's -- trying, he's really trying, there's just so much, mon chou, so much about the world and his family, and.
As much as Gustave's emotion is threatens to sweep him away and pull him under the tide, there are parts of it that seize onto his heart and lungs so tightly that it feels like it might hurt, that ground him against it, somehow. How clearly he means every single word he says, how even in his desperation once he lands on the idea that Verso might be in trouble he seems to latch onto it with such clear, obvious worry, to want to do nothing other than help. His voice on those words. When he calls him mon cher.
Verso shivers, his mouth falls open, and he's speaking before he's even realized what he's decided to say; ]
-- The Gommage doesn't reach me, Gustave.
[ His voice is so, so quiet, almost fragile. That's what he lands on. Of all the lies: This one he can let go of. It's a truth he's told before and would've told again: He's an Expeditioner, he always has been, he was one of the first. Holding off here was just selfish, wanting to stay a little longer in that space where Gustave could only ever know him as his Monsieur le pianiste.
But he needs something to hold onto, right? And Verso wants to give it to him. One hand twists through Gustave's hair, holding onto him a little too tightly for a moment before he forces himself to relax, his other arm winding around Gustave's waist, holding him close as much as he is anchoring himself against the other man. ]
It doesn't affect me. I don't know why.
[ A lie. But a familiar one that he knows how to tell. ]
I've been alive a very long time.
[ And in that truth, another quiet truth he doesn't actually mean to share is there, in his voice: it hurts. It hurts him to have been alive this long. He's so very, very lonely, and it hurts so much. ]