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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[demainvient]

[ 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.

[versorecto]

[ Verso both hates ( and maybe loves ) how much Gustave clearly means that. How even here at the brink of death with a gun pressed to his own head, ready and willing to step off the edge into nothing, speaking of all the pain and heartbreak he's lived for the past two years for chasing after shadow of a man -- Gustave says it was worth it, and he's telling the truth. And Verso's heart could soar from that alone, from knowing someone really does think of him so highly, if it weren't dropping like a stone from the same revelation, from the weight of every secret that Gustave couldn't possibly know.

Gustave smiles through the dirt and blood, leans forward to just barely kiss him, and Verso just wants wants to take that smile, adoring as it is, and shield it from the world.

But then, there's what really brings Gustave back. Maelle.

He nods when he echoes her name, when he studies his face -- searching for the truth. Maybe more trying to tell if he's real rather than tell if he's lying, but Verso meets it all the same, because its true that Maelle is safe and it's truer still that she needs him. Verso is squeezing his hand tight again -- and then finally, finally. in a little shower of chroma sparks, the pistol vanishes. Verso feels something in his entire body unwind, not completely relax, there's still too much ehre at stake, but the relief is real, and --

His attempt to get his thoughts on track onto the plan at large falls away, because Gustave is touching him so gently, thumbing away dried tears. Mon beau. Verso laughs, and it sounds slightly broken, choked on tears, part genuine amusement and fondness at the term and part relief from everything now that the pistol is gone. ]

I -- I'm sorry. I never asked when you would Gommage. [ He closes his eyes, leaning into his hand. ] I was too afraid to know, then too afraid to go back and find you -- gone.

[ A little shudder runs through him. Seeing Gustave with the Expedition ship today had moved through him like a thunder crash. ]

But I'm here, mon chéri. [ A breathless smile, eyes open again. Nicknames for nicknames. And if Gustave won't believe he's real, then: ] You will see me again.

[ He will. Maybe not -- very soon. Depending on how things are. But he will see him again. ]

[demainvient]

[ His mind is being kind to him, he thinks, giving him so many reasons why Verso couldn't come find him again, giving him this vision of Verso in the first place. It's such a comfort, gazing at that face he recalls so clearly, feeling his touch again, gentle and firm and a little aggressive, just like he remembers. His glance shifts up and to the side, to the spot in Verso's dark hair where he'd slipped that second flower, and he lifts his hand to gently thread his fingers through those dark waves, tucking them back over the shell of his ear, seeing purple petals appearing there as clearly as he sees Verso himself. ]

I never did find anyone else to give flowers.

[ Except Sophie, and he thinks Verso would understand: the Gommage, a lost love, a last chance at reconciliation, a last few stolen moments together. His lifted hand curves against Verso's face, the tips of his fingers still lost in the thick soft waves of his hair. ]

None of them were you. Mon monsieur le pianiste.

[ And so he'd spent the last two years of his life working, enjoying his time with Maelle and Emma and his friends, planning for this very Expedition... his breath catches, his brow furrows, his glance tries to slide sidelong to Catherine again. Gone, all gone. They're all dead, and so is he, no matter what this vision is trying to tell him. ]

... I'll bring you flowers. When I find you again. Flowers for your music.

[ Now his hand is the one that trembles, his thumb shaking as it carefully, lightly touches the corner of Verso's mouth. ]

For your smile. For everything I've wanted to tell you since the garden.

[ There's so much he's wanted to say to this man over the last two years, all of it locked away deep inside him. Absurd, perhaps idiotic, to have let him burrow so deep on the strength of a chance meeting, a rescue, a passionate tumble in the sunlight, but Verso had stolen his heart as easily as another man might shake his hand. He'd done his best to deny it, even while Emma watched him with narrowed, suspicious eyes, but it hadn't been of any use.

He's grateful for that, now. For this last chance. ]

....Yes. I'll see you again.

I'll see you again.

[ If not in this life, then maybe the next one. ]

[versorecto]

[ Verso leans into Gustave's touch, immediately recognizes the way he tucks some locks of hair back over his ear -- wonders if Gustave is seeing that gentle flower there, in his imagination. The same one Verso has kept pressed between the pages of his journal, still a little wilted and faded but kept preserved the only way he knew how.

Gustave has clearly thought about him so much, in these years past, so much of it just falling from his lips now, eager to tell what he thinks is someone in his mind's eye, and. It all hurts to hear, but Verso can listen, wants to listen, can at least do so much for him after hurting him so deeply.

For everything he wants to tell him, Gustave says. And Verso wants to stay. He wants to stay here with him the way he didn't at that garden, at the opera house, protect him as he comes back to his senses, see the look in his eyes ( hopefully more amazement than horror but -- who can tell ) as he slowly realizes the man in front of him is real, after all. But just like before, he can't stay. He shouldn't stay.

At least now he'll always be near. And that promise -- that promise will be a true one.

Carefully, he covers Gustave's hand over his face with his own, curving callused fingers over Gustave's where he's touching delicately at the corner of his mouth. Taking hold of his hand, gentle and affectionate, pulling it more fully towards his mouth so he can press a kiss over his knuckles, lips brushing over cuts and scrapes. ]

You will.

[ Just a murmured affirmation. This is a promise, Gustave. He will keep it. ]

Listen to me, mon chou. You aren't alone. [ There has to be other survivors nearby. He will find them, and guide their path here. This awful pit of death is -- not a pleasant place to be, but the nevrons don't tend to come in here, either, and it's a safe enough spot for him to sit a while and try to regain his senses, easy enough for Verso to keep some tabs on him while he does his best to find someone, anyone else that lived. ] Rest a while, but not for too long. Once someone finds you, you should press on.

Keep pressing on, and you'll find Maelle. You'll find me.

[ He squeezes over Gustave's hand, looking back at him. He doesn't think he can do what Gustave does, just show a thousand things in his eyes alone, open up his heart and soul to show him everything he feels -- but he hopes Gustave can see this. That he means it. That they will see each other again. That he's so, so sorry for everything, for every hurt he's caused -- but that never forgot him, either, these past two years, and that just seeing him again is making something ache so painfully and so sweetly he doesn't know how to put words to it at all. His monsieur le fleuriste. ]

Promise me? [ A quiet murmur. He knows what he has to do, but he's still a little afraid to leave him, again, again, again. ] That you will do this, for me.

That you will continue.

[ The way of the Expedition, the mission he himself helped form, all those decades ago. ]

[demainvient]

[ This vision of Verso keeps talking, murmuring to him, telling him he isn't alone — he is, he is, he's never been so alone in his whole life — telling him to keep going, brushing kisses he can barely feel over his battered hand. Everything still feels so distant, even as he gazes into those intent eyes, clear and full of so many things he can only barely begin to interpret. An apology, he thinks. That desperation still, trying to pull a promise Gustave isn't sure he can make out of him.

His own eyes close and squeeze, brows dragging together as his lips press, exhausted misery etching itself over his face. He doesn't... want to continue, to press on. Without the others, without Maelle, he doesn't know how he fits into this world anymore.

And even this dream of a man who hasn't seen in years is leaving him, again. He can hear it in his voice, feel it in his touches, the kisses he presses onto Gustave's limp hand. If it were really Verso asking, could he do it? If not for himself, then for him? For the possibility of Maelle, somewhere further along?

His eyes are still closed, he's still so tired, he feels like his body belongs to someone else, but he nods once, jerkily, before a fresh sting of tears trickle slowly from the corner of his eye. He doesn't want to. He wants to stay here and join Catherine, all the others. His hand twitches, remembering the feel of his pistol in his palm.

But he nods all the same, miserable and clinging to the low, murmured words of whatever part of him is left that wants to save himself. ]

.... I promise.

[versorecto]

[ Verso's fingers card through his hair, so gentle its like he thinks Gustave isn't real and could vanish into thin air if he touches him the wrong way. Even something like this, the feel of those curls parting through his fingers, is something that he missed, something that makes him ache. He's leaving again, he has to, and and he can see that Gustave understands that, believes that the shadow of the man he's so desperately yearned for all these years is going to disappear, just like he always has.

And he can see it. Gustave is tired. Everyone is gone. Even with the pistol dissipated from his hand, he could call it again -- it wasn't just the moment before, in a crushing fleeting breath of despair. The despair is still here, suffocating him down. and he thinks that even if Gustave is making him that promise -- promising himself, as he must believe -- he might not keep it.

Verso sees himself in it. He tried drowning himself, once. The water was everywhere, filled his lungs, everything ached and he couldn't breathe. His entire world was on fire as his body screamed for air, as his limbs struggled against the pressure of the ocean around him. And something awful, something deep, something loving and kind with her claws dug straight into his heart, would never let him go. It hurts. It always does. And to see even a faint mirror of what that feels like in someone else, in someone like Gustave --

He takes a deep breath. This is for the best. He may not have known Gustave for very long, but he's watched him for years. He knows how much Maelle means to him, knows how much he means to her. She is alive, she will need him, and Verso has to trust that this is the right thing to do. He thumbs away the freshly fallen tears, leans close to kiss him again. ]

Thank you.

Just hold on a little longer, Gustave. I want you to hear me play, again.

[ And with that, like he has before, and with no less pain -- he slowly stands up, and pulls away. He doesn't go too far, at first, too afraid to leave, watching Gustave from the shadows just to make sure he doesn't immediately call the pistol to his hand again -- but when enough time has passed. He'll do his best. Checking through the woods and field outside, swinging back to check on Gustave again, leaving to expand his search a little wider.

Surprisingly, it doesnt take him too long to find someone -- a woman, floating a good few inches of the ground, no wonder he'd lost her damn trail. The rush of relief ( that he isn't lying to Gustave after all, that he isn't alone, there's someone left aside from Maelle, that Gustave has a reason to continue -- ) is palpable, and with some noise and sound and deliberately laid tracks, he directs her towards that desperately lonely cave, echoing with the loss of a thousand Expeditioners before them. ]