[ They're gone, all of them, all his friends, all his teammates, Alan and Margot and Lune and Catherine and Lucien and Sciel and so many others. All of them. He doesn't quite manage to turn his head enough to see Catherine again, but he gets a glimpse of dark blonde hair and glazed blue eyes and remembers her drinking wine and laughing before that hand at his chin redirects him, pulls him to face forward again. Verso โ his dream of Verso โ brushes kisses over his mouth, his cheek, his jaw, and he feels them in a daze, because he's lying, of course. ]
It's only me left.
[ It's only him left, because everyone else is gone. And... ]
And you aren't really here.
[ Even if he were conscious of it, he wouldn't be able to hide the heartbreak in those words. Verso is gone, gone, gone, probably Gommaged years ago, maybe even the year after the last time they saw each other. His monsieur le pianiste, so vibrant and alive and so enchantingly, heartbreakingly beautiful, has been gone for so long. Gustave's lashes flutter as his lids lower, flickering, before he looks back up at Verso with naked longing etched across his face. His voice comes quickly, words tumbling over themselves, broken. ]
If you were... if you were... I could tell you I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just wanted to keep you a little longer. I know it was selfish.
[ Selfish and desperate, chasing that feeling that he hadn't felt in so long... but it had been clear from the start that Verso couldn't, or wouldn't stay. The guilt from that, from knowing he'd made it that much harder for Verso to go, has been quietly eating at him for months on end. They'd had something beautiful, and it hadn't lasted, and maybe it couldn't last, he doesn't know, but he knows... he knows he regrets the way he said goodbye.
His arm hasn't totally lowered, his hand hasn't completely relaxed, but he feels โ or thinks he feels โ Verso's forehead pressing against his; feels the puff of his breath against his lips. Is this dream a boon or a curse? Maybe he's decided to be cruel to himself, to send him this particular ghost.
And yet his hand stills, lowers another few inches at the words he thinks he hears. ]
Maelle?
[ Maelleโ he'd lost track of her on the beach. She's gone, too, they're all gone, and it's with an almost pathetic hopefulness that he parrots the name back now, his limping heart lurching into life again. ]
I... I'm just telling myself that. All of this. Please, I just, I... I failed her. I know I did. And youโ
[ His metal left hand lifts, palms the face he's seen so often in his dreams, gentle despite his despair. ]
Mon cher, have you come to return my heart? Do you forgive me?
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It's only me left.
[ It's only him left, because everyone else is gone. And... ]
And you aren't really here.
[ Even if he were conscious of it, he wouldn't be able to hide the heartbreak in those words. Verso is gone, gone, gone, probably Gommaged years ago, maybe even the year after the last time they saw each other. His monsieur le pianiste, so vibrant and alive and so enchantingly, heartbreakingly beautiful, has been gone for so long. Gustave's lashes flutter as his lids lower, flickering, before he looks back up at Verso with naked longing etched across his face. His voice comes quickly, words tumbling over themselves, broken. ]
If you were... if you were... I could tell you I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just wanted to keep you a little longer. I know it was selfish.
[ Selfish and desperate, chasing that feeling that he hadn't felt in so long... but it had been clear from the start that Verso couldn't, or wouldn't stay. The guilt from that, from knowing he'd made it that much harder for Verso to go, has been quietly eating at him for months on end. They'd had something beautiful, and it hadn't lasted, and maybe it couldn't last, he doesn't know, but he knows... he knows he regrets the way he said goodbye.
His arm hasn't totally lowered, his hand hasn't completely relaxed, but he feels โ or thinks he feels โ Verso's forehead pressing against his; feels the puff of his breath against his lips. Is this dream a boon or a curse? Maybe he's decided to be cruel to himself, to send him this particular ghost.
And yet his hand stills, lowers another few inches at the words he thinks he hears. ]
Maelle?
[ Maelleโ he'd lost track of her on the beach. She's gone, too, they're all gone, and it's with an almost pathetic hopefulness that he parrots the name back now, his limping heart lurching into life again. ]
I... I'm just telling myself that. All of this. Please, I just, I... I failed her. I know I did. And youโ
[ His metal left hand lifts, palms the face he's seen so often in his dreams, gentle despite his despair. ]
Mon cher, have you come to return my heart? Do you forgive me?