[ I'm here. The cruelest lie of them all, and it would be crueler still of it were true, wouldn't it? He's just seen all of his friends cut down, he's lost Sophie again, the Expedition is over before it could even really begin. If Verso truly were here... he would be dead, too.
He goes on, speaking haltingly in that voice Gustave could never manage to rip from his dreams, his memory, saying impossible things... Gustave can't follow them all, but does he need to? They aren't real, and yet he's made this dream of Verso weep, tears collecting at the corners of his mouth. When Gustave leans to gently kiss them away, Verso tastes like the sea. ]
Verso. You made me come alive again.
[ He loved Sophie. He loves Sophie still, is still mourning her death even now, deep beneath the shock of the last day. He had wanted a life, a family with Sophie, and that dream had died. And then there had been Verso.
You barely know me, the man had said, and that had been true, but it hadn't mattered, he hadn't cared at all; he'd simply known. He could have loved Verso, too. Maybe already had started to, swayed by his smiles and teasing and the heat in his eyes and the warmth of his touch... he'd filled a place inside him Gustave hadn't even known was empty.
Now he cradles Verso's face in his metal hand and tries to find a smile for him, small and adoring as he brushes his lips over the mouth that tastes and feels so real that for a moment he almost could believe his own lie. ]
The hurt was worth it, to have had you for even a moment.
[ But Verso won't simply let him say goodbye, won't kiss him and drift away into nothingness. He keeps arguing, keeps talking, his hand firm on Gustave's, and for the first time, a tiny frown appears between Gustave's brows, the smallest flickering of doubt. Maelle, again; it hits center mass, hard as a Nevron punch. ]
Maelle.
[ If she... if she really is safe somewhere, alive, then he can't, he can't, he can't abandon her. He searches the face before him, Verso's face, this face he's somehow lovingly crafted out of memory and pure want, and for the first time wonders a little at the desperation in that voice. Is it really only his own mind trying to absolve him? Or is something here really at work trying to save him?
His hand twitches under Verso's, then opens, fingers falling loose, the pistol fluttering away in sparks of chroma. As if in a dream, he reaches his now empty hand to cradle the other side of Verso's face, thumb wiping at a damp tear-track that runs down his cheek. It's not real. It couldn't be real. And yet he reaches for the man anyway, his own heart breaking at the desperation in that voice. His own desperation; it has to be. ]
I've wanted to see you again for so long, mon beau Verso.
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He goes on, speaking haltingly in that voice Gustave could never manage to rip from his dreams, his memory, saying impossible things... Gustave can't follow them all, but does he need to? They aren't real, and yet he's made this dream of Verso weep, tears collecting at the corners of his mouth. When Gustave leans to gently kiss them away, Verso tastes like the sea. ]
Verso. You made me come alive again.
[ He loved Sophie. He loves Sophie still, is still mourning her death even now, deep beneath the shock of the last day. He had wanted a life, a family with Sophie, and that dream had died. And then there had been Verso.
You barely know me, the man had said, and that had been true, but it hadn't mattered, he hadn't cared at all; he'd simply known. He could have loved Verso, too. Maybe already had started to, swayed by his smiles and teasing and the heat in his eyes and the warmth of his touch... he'd filled a place inside him Gustave hadn't even known was empty.
Now he cradles Verso's face in his metal hand and tries to find a smile for him, small and adoring as he brushes his lips over the mouth that tastes and feels so real that for a moment he almost could believe his own lie. ]
The hurt was worth it, to have had you for even a moment.
[ But Verso won't simply let him say goodbye, won't kiss him and drift away into nothingness. He keeps arguing, keeps talking, his hand firm on Gustave's, and for the first time, a tiny frown appears between Gustave's brows, the smallest flickering of doubt. Maelle, again; it hits center mass, hard as a Nevron punch. ]
Maelle.
[ If she... if she really is safe somewhere, alive, then he can't, he can't, he can't abandon her. He searches the face before him, Verso's face, this face he's somehow lovingly crafted out of memory and pure want, and for the first time wonders a little at the desperation in that voice. Is it really only his own mind trying to absolve him? Or is something here really at work trying to save him?
His hand twitches under Verso's, then opens, fingers falling loose, the pistol fluttering away in sparks of chroma. As if in a dream, he reaches his now empty hand to cradle the other side of Verso's face, thumb wiping at a damp tear-track that runs down his cheek. It's not real. It couldn't be real. And yet he reaches for the man anyway, his own heart breaking at the desperation in that voice. His own desperation; it has to be. ]
I've wanted to see you again for so long, mon beau Verso.