[ He's a little embarrassed, and more than a little awkward, and it strikes him that if Verso had been there that night at the opera house, he'd probably have felt a little like this, offering out that bouquet that he hadn't been sure was such a good idea. What if it had been too much, what if Verso had found it silly instead of endearing...?
But that was almost three years ago now, and this is hardly a bouquet, just a little collection of wildflowers that he'd thought were pretty, that he'd hoped Verso would like, more symbolism than anything else. They're long past the point, or a place, where flowers are something they can indulge in, aren't they?
Well, maybe not. Maybe the real audacity of this, of meeting, of deciding to be together for as long as they can in the time Gustave has left, is that he stubbornly thinks Verso still deserves flowers, even if he has no vase to put them in, no place to keep them, even though Gustave can't follow them up with a lingering date over a bottle of wine and some good food. Maybe it's enough just to cling to this with every ounce of stubborn determination he has, after three years of not being able to let go, after four years since he allowed circumstances to sever him from the only other person he's felt this way about.
Verso tugs a single bloom out from the others, delicate and sunny yellow, and comes close. Gustave feels himself grow still as he lifts his hand, as he tucks that flower behind Gustave's own ear, settling it among the fine soft curls of his hair. If he breathes deep, he thinks he can catch the scent of it. ]
I'd give you more than flowers, if I could.
[ Another wistful wish, thinking of what could have been... but what he has right now, here in front of him, is a man he's spent so long yearning for, and he has no intention of wasting anymore time. His hands come up, cradling Verso's between them, and he leans to press a kiss to that mouth, slow and warm and savoring. ]
no subject
But that was almost three years ago now, and this is hardly a bouquet, just a little collection of wildflowers that he'd thought were pretty, that he'd hoped Verso would like, more symbolism than anything else. They're long past the point, or a place, where flowers are something they can indulge in, aren't they?
Well, maybe not. Maybe the real audacity of this, of meeting, of deciding to be together for as long as they can in the time Gustave has left, is that he stubbornly thinks Verso still deserves flowers, even if he has no vase to put them in, no place to keep them, even though Gustave can't follow them up with a lingering date over a bottle of wine and some good food. Maybe it's enough just to cling to this with every ounce of stubborn determination he has, after three years of not being able to let go, after four years since he allowed circumstances to sever him from the only other person he's felt this way about.
Verso tugs a single bloom out from the others, delicate and sunny yellow, and comes close. Gustave feels himself grow still as he lifts his hand, as he tucks that flower behind Gustave's own ear, settling it among the fine soft curls of his hair. If he breathes deep, he thinks he can catch the scent of it. ]
I'd give you more than flowers, if I could.
[ Another wistful wish, thinking of what could have been... but what he has right now, here in front of him, is a man he's spent so long yearning for, and he has no intention of wasting anymore time. His hands come up, cradling Verso's between them, and he leans to press a kiss to that mouth, slow and warm and savoring. ]
I'm glad you like them.