𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒆𝒕 𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆 —𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑜

[demainvient]

 
𝐔𝐧 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐣𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐢 𝐝𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞̀𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐢
𝑈𝑛 𝑗𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑗𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑖 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑡, 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒̂𝑡𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑐 𝑡𝑜𝑖
 

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[versorecto]

[ Gustave's voice trails off, a slightly faraway and confused look coming across his eyes, and Verso takes a moment to register why. But once he does -- they're there. In the cave. He can smell the blood and the stench of lingering death, feel it lapping at his feet. Gustave is smiling and he'd look almost at peace except for how Verso remembers his smiles so well from the garden, remembers how they light up his face, how they'd crinkle his eyes -- but there, in that awful place, his eyes were still hollow and sunken. Looking out at him from behind splattered blood caked across his skin. Nestled neatly in his hair amongst all those gentle curls, gleaming cold metal, the barrel of a gun.

Verso remembers the taste of salt of his own tears, mingling with the warm-copper blood in the air. the sound of his voice, so achingly gentle, like he was the one trying to reassure him. He remembers going from a quieter voice, calm and soothing, to realizing there was no convincing him, to pleading, begging, anything he could think of.

He leans in to catch Gustave's mouth in a kiss even as he shakes off that almost-memory. Its better forgotten, surely. Gustave has enough to worry about already. The kiss is light, for a moment, until he leans in and deepens it for a few moments more -- a soft sound at the back of his throat, low and just a bit wanting, before he breaks away. ]

You can keep me.

[ Verso might still have to leave, for the night -- or Gustave does. But tomorrow. He will see him tomorrow. And Gustave has him, whether he believes it or not, whether he knows it or not: he's never far, has stayed close by his side ever since he arrived on the Continent, has saved his life more than once without him even knowing. And he won't leave. He'll not be leaving him again. ]

[demainvient]

[ He leans into the kiss, shifting Verso's hand in his so he can press the back of that hand to his chest, over his beating heart, Verso's knuckles warm against his bared skin. You can keep me, he murmurs, and despite the cold of the wind that flutters around them, Gustave warms again. ]

All of you?

[ Lightly teased, as he presses another kiss to those lips, bites lightly at the bottom one. He's still not... quite right in the head, he thinks, from the shock of everything that's happened, but right now all he wants is to give into the warm, giddy gladness of having Verso here in his arms once again; Verso promising to see him tomorrow, Verso swearing he won't leave.

If it is a dream, he doesn't want to wake up, not for a long time. ]

So you've come to join your heart, which you left in my safekeeping?

[ And which he has no intention of giving back, now that he knows he's had it all this time. But this, too, only makes him think of how lonely he'd been, surrounded by people in Lumière, his family and friends around him, and how much worse it must have been for Verso. What friends does he have here, aside from Esquie? Has he been alone all this time?

His next kiss is a little gentler, his hand pressing Verso's to his heart, a cage built of adoring touches and caresses. ]

I let you go too many times before. I won't again, mon cher. I don't know how it's even possible we've found each other again, it's like some kind of miracle.

[versorecto]

[ It is a miracle. Its a bit less of a cosmic coincidence when Verso is aware of what he's done and what he's been doing, that he's been keeping tabs on Maelle this whole time, following all of them from afar. But it'd still been chance that had led Gustave to the opera house that night, that had Verso in Lumiere at all when he'd fallen from the rooftop nine months after. Some kind of miracle that the Alicia has managed to find the life she has, that her newfound brother does so much for her, and that that happens to be the same man who has so thoroughly captured his attention, and his heart.

More lies than he'd like. But still enough that he feels fortunate in a way he can't possibly deserve, especially with the way Gustave looks at him, with how sweet his kisses are, how achingly romantic his words are. He has no doubt that if he'd stayed in Lumiere, Gustave really would have plied him with wine and roses and anything he thought his heart desired, maybe while tripping over his own words all along the way.

He curves a hand gently through Gustave's hair, the softest sigh falling from his lips just from that alone -- he loves the way the strands part between his fingers, how the curls fall around his touch. His other arm winds around him, just to feel him, fingers tracing the line of his spine under his shirt as he kisses him back. ]

-- All of me.

[ Come to join the piece of him he left in Gustave's care without even understanding. Verso has been so desperately lonely -- the past two Expeditions have been difficult for him to interact with, to keep his distance from, especially when he knows he heard the name Gustave from the 34th at least once -- and they're always fleeting. Monoco is at his station, and Esquie he'd pulled away from for months at a time. His company had been the mountains, the fields of flowers, the wistful memories he carried with him, and the aching emptiness in his heart, touched with the hollow pang of regret.

He leans in a little to that hand against his chest. His heart beats, slow, powerful, strong -- and fluttering just a little under his kisses, enough to be noticeable. ]

It's a miracle I won't question and will be happy to just enjoy, mon chou.

[ In the terrible, fleeting time that Gustave has left . . . God, he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve any of this. He's so sweet, so loving, so willing to trust and adore him for how little he knows. Verso's been too cowardly to leave him, so maybe the only mercy he has left to give is -- to hope that he dies or reaches his Gommage before he learns too much of the truth.

Something stirs in his stomach. Guilt and pain and regret for even thinking it. ]

-- But I think you've been letting yourself go. Off of the edges of perilous cliffs and buildings. [ A bit of a laugh, his hand stroking fondly through his hair. ] I'm going to have to ask you to stop doing that.

[demainvient]

[ Verso runs his fingers through his hair, and he can feel it all the way through his body, rippling down his spine like he's stepping under a stream of warm water. He makes a small sound, his hand warm on Verso's chest, and kisses him again, a little more deeply. ]

I needed some way to bring you out quickly.

[ Before he left again. Before Gustave lost his chance. And he hadn't even been sure it would work, hadn't be certain Verso had been watching, where he was. It had been a complete gamble, much too risky.

He'd do it again in a heartbeat, he knows. ]

I would have caught myself if you hadn't shown up, you know.

[ Probably. Almost certainly. His reflexes are good and he'd been planning on utilizing this very same grapple point. It's not like... not like back in the cave, when he'd thought there was no other path to take, of course it isn't. It had simply been a means to an end.

He arches up lightly against the fingers that run along his spine, and it's bewildering, really, the fact that Verso is still here, that he hasn't tried to pull himself away, to make excuses. Maybe he really does mean it, that he'll stay, that Gustave can keep him, maybe—

Gustave stiffens, pulling away a little as his glance goes over Verso's shoulder and to the side, his hands stilling on Verso's body. ]

...Do you hear something?

[versorecto]

[ There is something maybe a little charming in there that the first thing that Gustave could think of was also what he'd immediately thrown himself into. Just based on memory, maybe of how his Monsieur le pianiste had saved him from crashing from the rooftops two years ago, but it also has to come from some belief that Verso cared enough to save him, that keeping him safe would matter more than whatever it was that was keeping him hidden. He was right, of course. But that Gustave would think that so immediately, and be willing to stake himself on it . . . ]

I thought you might try something like calling my name, first.

[ It wouldn't have worked. But the determination that Gustave had climbing up this entire way -- he'd known what he was going to do before he started getting up here. Verso would like to think that at the end of the day, Gustave just believed that he would save him.

Its nice, almost as much as it breaks his heart. He doesn't deserve any of this. ]

I know you're not incapable, but -- It was a risk, a gamble, and all just to try and get my attention. [ That anger he'd had in that moment was genuine, white-hot and blazing. Gustave is a good man, beautiful and lovely, with people who love him, and the idea that he would even chance at throwing it all away just to get his eye -- it isn't worth it, he wasn't worth it. The anger has dissipated a little in everything they've done since, but some of it slides back here, if in a more teasing tone, chiding. ] Just -- please don't.

[ Even if Gustave had always thought he'd catch himself, always planned on it -- Verso can't know that. Verso can't help the way his heart leapt into his throat and how he'd dived for him like nothing else mattered, the fear that ran through him, the awful dread. He can't help the shadow of a memory of Gustave pressing a pistol to his own temple, smiling, his fingers on the trigger.

It feels a little too vulnerable to admit just how much that scared him. So he won't. ]

Next time I see you hurtle yourself off something, I'm letting you fall.

[ A blatant lie, but an obvious one, just a joke. Of course he wouldn't. He never could.

His fingers keep running up over Gustave's spine, counting every notch he can feel through his skin -- until the other man stiffens, glancing up. He pauses, turning his head slightly to the side, listening out: He's lived all these years out here, is well-tuned to the environment, its usual sounds, the calls and shifts of nevrons.

That's something different. Distant. A voice. Maybe even the ripple of chroma that he can sense, if he tries hard enough, echoes from a fight, or, no. Just a light in the dark. ]

-- I think we're out of time for tonight, Gustave.

[ He doesn't know each of your friends enough to exactly put a name to the voice, but that sure sounds like someone looking for you. It's unlikely they're coming up this way right now, but. They sure are looking. ]

[demainvient]

[ What he'd prefer not to admit to Verso — what he doesn't even want to admit to himself — is that there had been a moment, maybe a few, when he'd looked out over that height and thought: it would work.

Thoughts he's kept to himself, since those terrible moments in the cave when Lune berated him, bullied him into surviving. They found Maelle, they found Sciel, the mission continues, he has something to live for, even moments of real happiness, but sometimes... sometimes the weight of it all slips back over him, slow and insidious, and his heart stutters, it gets hard to breathe. Everyone they've lost, how far they still have to go, and there's only four of them now, what happens if they lose somebody?

(When they lose somebody. It'll happen. They all know it. They just don't know who, or how, or when.)

He doesn't think he wants to die, exactly, but there have been moments — not many, since the cave, but a few — where he's caught himself looking at a cliff, or feeling the weight of his pistol or considering the depth of some river or lake with a little too much quiet focus. He tries not to think about what more he might do than consider if Maelle weren't here, if they hadn't found her.

Verso... Verso doesn't need to know any of that. He's worried enough already, had been furious with it before, and they only just found one another. It's something else to live for, isn't it? The way it feels when he slowly runs his fingers up Gustave's spine, the warmth of him tucked against his chest, the way Gustave wants to hold on and never let go.

But, as usual, the choice is taken from him, never really his to begin with. Verso might not recognize that voice, but he does: it's Lune, by far the most awkward of the team to potentially find him entangled with a mysterious man who says he's over a hundred years old. He leans his head back against the rock, eyes closing with a sigh, then pushes forward to kiss Verso, long and deep. ]

For tonight.

[ He'd promised, and maybe... maybe it's a promise Gustave can actually hold onto. It turns out, in the end, he never had been all that good at protecting his heart. Not from Sophie, not from Verso.

It's with deep reluctance that he finally gets up, disentangling them, and puts himself back together as hurriedly as he can without accidentally slowing himself down by buttoning or buckling things wrong. He runs his hands through his hair, knowing it must be an impossible mess, and looks back at Verso. It feels strange to be the one leaving this time: like he had back at the opera house. And just like then, there had been a promise of tomorrow.

He doesn't know if he can trust it. All he can do is trust it, and hope that this time, his heart will go unbruised a little longer. ]

See you soon.