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]

[ It's not far, but just going outside and into the village proper is the furthest they've ever walked together, and Gustave glances down at the hand Verso has twined with his before looking over at him, hardly knowing how to feel. Happy? And he is, but there's an ache to it, to finally strolling through... well, a gestral village, but it's still a public place, in plain sight, hand in hand with Verso, the way he'd imagined so many times before. His daydreams had seen him shyly, awkwardly brushing Verso's knuckles as they walked before building up the courage to take his hand, or maybe they'd walk out of his workshop just like this, like they'd done it a million times before.

But they haven't, and he doesn't know if they'll ever be able to walk hand in hand along a town street again, let alone along Lumiere's. For a moment he can almost smell the salt breeze from the harbor, the flowers from the rooftop gardens, the warm scent of butter wafting from a nearby patisserie... but the stars were never so bright in Lumiere. ]

I believe you.

[ Spoken with a chuckle, as he turns his attention away from the stars and back toward Verso, ignoring the two gestrals squaring up to each other at a nearby hut. ]

I don't know why you might like watching me fiddle with cannon components so much, but I do actually believe you. Even if I don't believe you could have managed to refrain from distracting me for much longer.

[ He squeezes Verso's hand back, marveling that he can, that they're out here together where the gestrals and indeed anyone could see them, if there were anyone to see. ]

Aren't you worried we might run into one of the girls and you'll be forced to finally explain yourself?

[versorecto]

[ Verso laughs, his voice quiet, leaned in close. ]

It's less about enjoying cannon components and ignition mechanisms and more about watching mon ingénieur do something he loves, Gustave. [ Something he loves, thrives in, and clearly feels at home doing, something that has defined most of his life in Lumiere in a way that Verso can never hope to know or be a part of, something that seems so natural to his hands as breathing is to his lungs. It'd only been a few hours but he feels like he's seen so much more of Gustave than he'd ever seen before, like he could see him in every single little mechanical piece he'd so delicately fashioned. ] I imagine it's -- not unlike you watching me play music.

[ Not quite the same, he knows. One is more distinctly a performance, and he's sure to Gustave that the comparison might seem absurd. But they're both expressions of themselves, ways in which they've found to pour their souls out into world. In that, Verso thinks, when he's sitting there watching him and leaning in to peer curiously over the shoulder, the look in his eyes probably isn't too different from what he remembers of Gustave, sitting next to him on the piano bench, eyes wide and swept away.

As for the girls, well. Verso could easily make up something here: He's prepared, he's not that afraid, no one will see them. But instead he just squeezes Gustave's hand in answer, even as he guides them down a slightly quieter path. ]

I am worried, yeah. Just --

[ He glances at him, a bit sheepish, a one-shouldered shrug, giving Gustave's hand another gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over a knuckle. He is worried about it. He is aware there's a non-zero chance. He's been careful, knows where the girls have said they'd be, has even asked some favors from gestrals to make sure they're occupied, and the moment he does see them he is prepared to let go of Gustave's hand and slip away.

But it's a risk. Just one he decided he's willing to take, to hold Gustave's hand and walk quietly beside him for this short walk -- but its a much too short one. They're already winding their way somewhere a little outside of the village, past a gestral standing guard that Verso doesn't even bother acknowledging as they move past, towards a strange, ornate door. It looks entirely unlike any of the gestral architecture, though that in itself isn't unusual, with how many things are scattered across the fractured Continent. It looks almost built into the rocky cliff, a stone carved archway, an ornate wooden door within it -- and if Gustave thinks far enough back, it might look distinctly familiar, a door in a hut with weird corals. ]

[demainvient]

[ That... does make some sense, actually. He'd loved sitting there, watching Verso play the piano all those years ago now, but it hadn't been because of the music, exactly, though that had been beautiful, magical in its own right. What had swept him away was the way Verso lost himself in it, how it seemed to flow right from his fingers, speaking as clearly as he could with his voice. It had been easy to see how much he loved it: not just the performance, not just the music, but simply the act of playing. It had looked as natural as breathing, opening a door for Gustave to peer into a world about which he knows almost nothing but whose beauty charmed him effortlessly.

So perhaps he can see how Verso would be interested, especially if Gustave weren't so determined to focus. He can imagine Verso coming into the workshop — and in his mind, it's his workshop, the one he spent so much time in back in Lumiere, and this wasn't the first visit but one of many — and sliding his arms around him just like he had before, asking questions and making small suggestions, offering his perspective. It's a sweet enough image to make him ache, even walking here with Verso, hand in hand under the open sky and through the gestrals' strange little village.

He looks over at Verso, amused, as they pass a series of increasingly threatening sign. This one says TURN BACK!!! in large, jagged letters that he's not sure a gestral would even be able to paint. ]

Your work?

[ But his amusement fades as they make their way fully out of the village, past a gestral guard (no password needed, thank goodness) and along a winding little path that leads to a strangely familiar looking door. ]

Is that...

[ The last time he saw a door like this, it was tucked into Noco's hut, hidden amongst the weird corals the note at the Indigo Tree had mentioned. He shoots a bemused glance at Verso, sidelong, before frowning at the door itself. ]

How did you find this?

[versorecto]

[ Verso had been braced for this, to Gustave to have questions, to want to know where he'd found all this and what it all means. He's prepared to tell him some truths, and not others. Even knowing what it's modelled on and having clear memories of living in that home, Verso has no idea why there's a version of the manor that exists disconnected from reality itself, only has theories on how it exists and what it could be. He doesn't know why the doors are scattered throughout the world, and he generally avoided them except for when they could actively be used -- the Curator was amore than enough of a deterrent, even though he also knew relying on the Curator for Maelle was his best bet.

But there's a lot he also he knows that he can't tell him, or would really rather not have to. Briefly he considers playing at surprise that Gustave might recognize the door, but -- no. It's probably okay. And sometimes, especially with Gustave, he just wants to let go of some of the damn lies. He's so tired. He just wants to be with him.

He shoots him a smile. ]

I've been around the Continent for a long time, Gustave.

[ Sixty-seven years. He's scoured just about every corner of the place just in time. ]

What's past here is a little weird, but . . . [ He turns to face Gustave fully, lifting their hands, pressing a kiss to the back of Gustave's, brushing over his knuckles. ] I don't know if we're gonna get another chance.

So just -- trust me?

[ His lips curve into a slightly more lopsided smile where they're still pressed against the back of Gustave's hand. Verso glances a bit at the gestral guard nearby, still staring off towards the village -- the gestrals are used to him, at least, know generally to leave him alone. And then he takes a step back, backing himself into the door, reaching for the handle. He pushes it open, stepping back into it, pulling Gustave with him --

-- Into a kitchen. A large one, of the size that it could almost be the kitchen of a sizable restaurant, rows of counters and sinks. There's pots and pans scattered everywhere, tableware and cutlery, and it would seem lived in and well-used if it wasn't also distinctly empty. Yet there's no real settling of dust. It's a little like this was a busy kitchen, bustling with staff, and everyone in it simply suddenly Gommaged, leaving their work behind, frozen in time.

And while this is all clearly incredibly strange, Verso seems utterly unfazed, more focused on their clasped hands, his gaze trained on Gustave's. ]

[demainvient]

[ The last time he'd stood hand in hand with anybody, it was with Sophie, there at the end of the pier, his heart in his throat as he looked out to the horizon and the Monolith beyond. This, thank god, is nothing like that terrible day, but he still feels grateful for Verso's hand in his, for the grounding warmth and strength of it. ]

It's not that I don't trust you, I just...

[ He frowns again at the door, bewildered. If Verso knows about this door — if it should be obvious that Verso knows about it, the way he implies, because he's been here for so long — then he must know about the door in Flying Waters too, surely?

(And something else, a little niggling thought worming its way into the back of his mind: a note left on the Indigo Tree. Verso telling him by the time I reached the beach, there was no one to save. A mysterious door in the middle of nowhere, behind which he'd finally found Maelle safe and whole and alive.)

But this door doesn't open into the wide empty hall he remembers. Instead, Verso backs up and Gustave follows him, steps slow and uncertain, into a polished, empty kitchen. Just like the room they'd found Maelle in, it looks perfectly kept up, as clean as if it had just been wiped down for the night. But there are no pots or pans out, no stocks simmering on the stove. The air is scented with bunches of dried herbs, but there's no... life to the place at all.

The door swings quietly shut behind him as he lets Verso coax him further into the strange room, his steps sounding strangely against the clean, polished floor. ]

...We found Maelle in a place like this.

[ Or is it the same place, and just a different room? They hadn't been able to open any of the other doors, before. The manor, enormous, empty, had seemed to simply be... waiting for something. Or someone. ]

With the Curator. Is it the same place? That strange, empty manor?

[versorecto]

[ Anticipating the questions and confusion and being braced to answer them is not quite the same as actually being ready. It doesn't help that while Verso does have a set of lies he falls back on, he still just doesn't like to think them out particularly well or thoroughly, prefers to just -- skate by, distract them, there's always something else to think about with everything that the Expeditions are often dealing with. But of course, Verso realizes, with a flicker in his eyes, that Gustave might be much less willing to let go when the last thing he associates with the manor is Maelle.

There's a quiet tension in Verso's body, noticeable now. It does lessen when the door falls shut behind Gustave with a quiet thud, and Verso knows now they can't be easily followed, but some of that tension just remains. It's subtle, but present, and Gustave has gotten a real knack for noticing whenever he's holding something of himself back, and Verso works his jaw slightly, a nervous gesture, as he continues stepping back through the kitchen, gently pulling Gustave with him. ]

This connects to a manor, yeah.

[ Still not willing to fully engage with acknowledging why he knows that Gustave might recognize the place. ]

I really can't tell you -- what the place is, or why it's here. I've been finding doors to it since the Fracture happened.

[ A definite truth. ]

But it's safe here. [ Maelle would've been safe here, under the Curator's care. He doesn't want to acknowledge that directly, doesn't want to give Gustave enough to pin him down, but he can acknowledge some of the facts around it, maybe. ] We can even have something to drink, some of the food. I've done that before.

[ Do you want some water, Gustave. ]

[demainvient]

[ Tension threads through Verso's shoulders, along the line of his neck and into the corners of his eyes, the angle of his jaw. It's subtle, but there, and Gustave thinks he'd be able to feel it sliding into his muscles, the way he holds himself, if his hands were on Verso himself. His brows flicker into a frown, uncertain.

It could be that Verso is simply nervous about bringing him here, about staying the night together. It could be something else, though, and he doesn't like not knowing. ]

You're sure it's safe?

[ Maelle had been safe enough here — from Nevrons, at least — but as Gustave looks around, as Verso tells him a little about this strange place, his stomach clenches with misgiving. ]

The man from the beach — Renoir — does he know about it? About the doors?

Can you get into this same place from any of those doors?

[ And what does that mean for safety, if someone wandering in those strange corals might find that door in the hut could come in and find them here?

Verso's coaxing him further into the kitchen, and he goes, but he only barely hears what Verso's saying about food and drink, even with his throat so dry. ]

Can anyone get in?

[versorecto]

[ These are all good questions, and Verso does want to answer what he can, but it's a lot all at once. He tries, though, still tense and unsure, guiding Gustave with him further through the kitchen. He stops at some point, letting go, breaking eye contact with him like he can't quite bear up under the weight of his gaze and all those questions at once, glancing through the nearby shelves.

Water. Right? Gustave seems thirsty. In those long hours watching him work, Verso had considered slipping away a few times just to bring him food or water. He reaches for a glass, strangely nervous. Is it just all the questions? Is it because they're more than he bargained for? Is it just because it really does feel a bit like bringing Gustave home, and that's just a little nerve-wracking? ]

I don't know what Renoir knows. but he's never been here. [ And he won't be, Verso is quite sure. It's mostly the Curator's influence that would've kept Renoir at bay, and there is a greater risk now that the Curator isn't simply here. This place seems to be more of the canvas itself than something maman has painted, as far as Verso understands. Why else would she and the rest of his family have a manor of their own, instead of using this? ] Something about this place keeps him away, and the nevrons, too.

[ An oversimplification, more than a lie, but. He goes to a nearby sink, reaching for the tap, turning it, testing the water with his hands. Gently cool to the touch. He doesn't know what keeps everything in the manor working, knows only that it does, and he rinses out the glass he's picked out, eyes still away from Gustave. ]

I've stayed here myself sometimes over the years, even for days at a time. [ Also not untrue. The Curator was always the main force that kept him uneasy, but sometimes the Curator wasn't here, and other times over the years he'd just been desperate for something that resembled an actual bed. But the memories that linger here are strange and disjointed, and whatever comfort he got from a physical bed would often be outweighed by the strange discomfort after too long. ] I've never been in any danger, and no one else has come here.

But there are quite a few doors spread throughout the Continent. You can't just leave from the Manor to any of those doors, and leaving the Manor always puts you back where you entered it from.

[ So it might, technically, open them up to more vectors of attack, but Verso isn't sure if the space could even be accessed from more than one door at a time. It's never really been an issue to find out, before now. He fills the glass with some water, turns and hesitantly offers it to Gustave, his expression a little cowed but with something genuinely gentle and affectionate in it. ]

Here. Please, mon chou, you've been working for hours and hours. I feared you'd forget to eat or drink if I let you kept going.

[demainvient]

[ What about it keeps him away, Gustave would like to know, but if Verso really doesn't know — and why would he lie about that, when he knows how crucial it is to the Expedition's survival that they stay as far away from Renoir as is possible — then he's doomed to frustration on that point, and probably others.

Almost as intriguing, though, is the fact that Verso turns the faucet on at the sink and water comes out, readily and without any of the spurting and recalcitrance he'd have expected from a pipe that hasn't been used lately. It's clear, too, and apparently temperature-controlled, considering the way Verso runs his hand under it to test the coolness, and Gustave is in motion before he can stop himself, crouching down to open the cabinet doors beneath the sink and reaching to touch the pipes there. They're cool to the touch, water flowing easily, and — ]

How is it doing that?

[ For a moment, this new mystery — one he could solve easily if this were a normal house, he's not a plumber but he understands the basic ideas of how systems like this work — takes precedence over the other, and he's still puzzling over it when Verso turns to offer him a glass of the mysteriously available water. Gustave straightens to take it, almost reflexive, and peers at both glass and water for a moment with undisguised curiosity. ]

There's no system out here for it to hook up to, and it's not like the gestrals have indoor plumbing...

[versorecto]

[ Of all things, he really didn't expect Gustave to lighten the pressure of his insistent questions by being distracted by -- plumbing. He disappears so quickly into a crouch to peer through the cabinet that Verso is for a moment just caught off guard, still a bit thrown off by the time Gustave straightens to take the glass from his hand. He blinks, glancing between Gustave and the sink -- and he just laughs.

It's warm and achingly fond, his sweet ingénieur, inquisitive and bright and relentless in chasing down answers -- at least until he's distracted by other questions. Just like that he finds that tension he's carrying with him melting out of his shoulders, and he moves closer to settle his hand against Gustave's side, leaning in to brush a kiss to his cheek. ]

-- You're really cute.

[ The softest murmur, gentle against his skin, and he lingers there for a few moments before he pulls away. ]

I'm gonna be honest, it's never occurred to me to find out. A lot of things on the Continent don't seem to operate by any real logic, and I've gotten used to it. [ Maman's chroma, what's left of the canvas' original painter, all of it seems to blend into something chaotic and dreamlike in so many places. Lumiere itself made more sense. The further they get from it, the less things hold. Verso's been out here so long that he's used to it, by now, especially when he understands the truth of what the world really is. ] We can investigate it together, if you'd like, but it's not really what I had in mind for the evening.

[ But maybe his imagined romantic evening being derailed into a detailed investigation of the Manor's systems would really only be fitting, for someone like Gustave. Verso honestly wouldn't even entirely mind, if only he still succeeds at pulling him into bed later, gets to lay him out and show him just how much he appreciates his adorable little engineer and all of his bright-eyed curiosity.

He nods at the glass of water. ]

-- But I kind of have to insist that you drink at least something.

[ please gustave ]

[demainvient]

[ Verso laughs, and he blinks, then relaxes into a chuckle of his own, as self-conscious as it is amused. When Verso leans in to kiss his cheek, Gustave's free hand goes to his side, a touch that's almost reflexive now, finding a spot there at his waist just above the sash tied there that's starting to feel familiar in a way that sends a little thrill through him each time he realizes his hand has landed there again. ]

You've never been curious about it?

[ But why would he be? So much about the Continent is utterly bewildering, for so many reasons, and the manor itself has many more mysteries than simply where the water comes from and yet...

But Verso reminds him, delicately, that he had in fact had plans for this evening that don't include searching out the source of the working plumbing, and for a moment Gustave is wholly aware of how close he is, how cool the glass feels against his palm, how alone they are in this enormous, empty place. We have a chance, Verso seems to be trying to tell him. A chance to finally realize some of the many dreams they'd both indulged in over the last two years. They're alone, and they have the whole night.

His smile softens, and he dutifully lifts the glass of water to his lips, only to realize mid-sip how thirsty he really is. A moment later, he's drunk the whole thing, the water sloshing strange and cool as it slides into his stomach, and giving Verso a slightly abashed look. ]

Step one, complete.

[ He sets the glass down on the counter and glances around the kitchen again, then reaches for Verso's hand once more to thread their fingers together, pressing palm to palm, warm and affectionate. ]

I'm sorry, mon cher. Go on, show me what you had in mind.

[ He's smiling, eyes crinkled, curiosity and uncertainty still alight in his eyes but tempered now with sweet, steady fondness, and — underneath that — just a little bit of heat, like the first instant of a match striking and flaring into life. ]

I'm sure it wasn't just staying in the kitchen, was it?

[versorecto]

[ Verso can only shrug a bit helplessly -- no, he's never been curious. He may have wondered and tried to figure things out for himself, the first time he stumbled onto the Manor all those decades ago, but even then it'd mostly been in shock about why there would be another one and how much of it matches his memories and if anything would be different. He also simply isn't quite like Gustave, chasing down answers and explanations and specifics, as much as he does appreciate that about him.

He can see a quiet realization shifting across Gustave's expression. Something soft and affectionate, not quite enough to ease all of the uncertainty from him, but enough to put it aside. This time Gustave's the one to reach for his hand, and Verso feels a little flutter in his stomach and a quiet thrill, just to feel him close, just to have him reach out for him, his heart skipping a beat as their hands easily together. The touch doesn't feel quite mundane, yet, but it's starting to feel -- a little familiar, the slide of the calluses of Gustave's palms against his own, where his thumb settles just over his knuckle. Gustave's voice calling him mon cher just rolls over him like a warm blanket, and the sound of his voice, that sweet fondness and that first lights of a spark of heat, just draws him deeper into that warmth.

Maybe there'll be more questions to field. And really, Gustave probably does deserve more answers -- but it seems they're on the same page, with this, with what it could mean for them and the daydreams and fantasies they've shared with each other over the past days, with their desperate yearning in the past years of something they thought they'd never have. Verso feels something start to swell in his chest, some emotion he doesn't quite know how to give name to, and he smiles, warm, lifting their entangled hands, this time stepping back and dipping into a bit of a half-bow to lean down and kiss at the back of Gustave's hand. ]

Definitely not.

[ His fantasies had them going all around the house in all manner of ways, and certainly the kitchen wasn't left out, whether it was sharing a meal or some wine or him pushing Gustave down over the counter and pushing some of the tableware haphazardly to the floor. But most of it had involved other places, and so again he starts stepping backwards as he straightens, leading Gustave towards the door. ]

I'd just like to imagine -- [ a small smile, his shoulder catching the door behind him ] -- That after a long, hard day of watching you work, I could take you by the hand . . . And take you home.

[ He pushes the door open, pulling them both through it, and there's the Manor in all its splendor, high ceilings, polished floors, ornate and beautiful. It's always been a little uncanny, an empty echo of the home he knows, but this is also a whole lot closer to taking him home than Gustave could ever possibly know. Verso can almost imagine it, in the echoes of his older memories when his family still hadn't been quite literally fractured apart, memories that aren't quite actually his own. Clea moving past them, rolling her eyes but still giving Gustave a curious glance. Maman and papa, somewhere on the upper floor, calling out their welcome to their son's guest. Alicia, curious but shy, her scarred face just barely peeking through a gap in the library door.

So for this once, as eerie as the Manor is. He can imagine it warm and welcoming. A home enough for him to bring a sweetheart to, a home enough for them to share for one night they can have together. ]

[demainvient]

[ His stomach tightens as Verso smiles at him, as Verso steps back and bows to press a kiss to the back of his hand, the faint unbalanced feeling of deja vu washing over him. It's been almost three years since that evening in the opera house, but he can still remember the way that barely-there kiss on his knuckles unmoored him, how it felt like he had to ask Verso to meet him the next day or he might die.

He curls his fingers a little more securely into Verso's and lets him lead the way, backing into the door and holding it open as Gustave comes through, as the strange manor opens around them. He looks up, around, feeling again that faint, wary tingling at the back of his neck, like this space somehow doesn't want him in it. It's not malice, exactly, it's...

Well, it's like going into someone's home when they aren't there. It feels like trespassing.

His laugh is little more than a chuckle, but he squeezes Verso's hand in his, looking over with faint bewildered amusement. ]

In this dream, we're rich, are we?

[ Or Verso is, anyway. He reaches out to run the fingers of his metal hand lightly over the banister of the stair, looking around at the silent luxury surrounding them. ]

There's nothing like this in Lumière anymore. Everything in the city is smaller, shabbier. This place is...

[ Wholly unfamiliar to him, mysteries within mysteries. He studies the art hung on the walls, the depictions of the Crooked Tower, of Lumière, of places he's never seen and can only imagine were a part of the world one time long ago, before the Fracture. ]

I wonder who lived here. Maybe this house shattered in the Fracture, and that's why all the doors are so scattered...

[ Which still wouldn't explain many other aspects of it, but it could be a start. After all, there are chunks of land, entire ships, and other strange things floating in the air above Lumière itself, all at one time part of a whole. Physics ceased having any kind of real meaning when the Fracture tore their world apart. ]

You said no one else ever comes here?

[versorecto]

[ Verso shrugs a little helplessly, lingering a little by the stairwell as Gustave runs his fingers along the bannister. He could imagine this conversation happening in some shades in his dreams, too, after some careful courting and back-and-forth, Gustave letting himself be taken to Verso's home, only to be surprised he's being led through gardens and a courtyard to a massive mansion. Even in his not-memories and distant recollections, the Manor is decadent compared to everything around it. There must've been other families more like theirs, especially in Old Lumiere, but maman had never mad them real. Perhaps she had little reason to.

The luxury is a distant memory, anyway. ]

That's my best guess, yeah. Old Lumière must've had more houses like these, and this one was caught in the Fracture in some strange way that made it -- like this. [ He gestures around them with his free hand. ] That in some reality the whole place has been torn apart with the doors scattered everywhere, and yet when you open one.

[ You end up here. Gently, he starts to lead Gustave upstairs, and he nods. ]

I've used this place for myself every now and then throughout the decades, and I've never seen anyone else. Only the Curator, who sometimes just seemed to come and go for his own reasons.

[ Whom Gustave is now acquainted with. The easiest way he can sell this lie is that the Curator had somehow rescued Maelle himself, taken her into his care. He lingers a little on the landing of the staircase before gently moving on -- its clear he has a specific room in mind. ]

I know it feels -- strange. [ Their words, their every footstep, echoes a little too loudly and too clearly through all the wood and polished marble. Something in the air is simply too still. This place does feel like as much of home as Verso can remember, but it doesn't feel right. Too empty, too silent. ] But I just thought . . .

[ It's nice. It's comfortable. It's real bed, among other things. ]

[demainvient]

[ His boots feel strange and awkward on the polished wood, the fine carpet runner that pads the stairs, and he nods as Verso goes on. It is strange, and Gustave certainly doesn't have any idea what to make of the Curator, other than that he had protected Maelle (and for that he owes the strange creature everything), nor does he know what to think of this weird, empty space. It must be safe enough if Verso has spent time here in the past, but... ]

Yeah.

[ I just thought, Verso starts, and trails off, and Gustave tears his focus from the manor itself to look over at Verso, taking him in. He looks... anxious, a little, or maybe just nervous, and Gustave presses his hand, his smile crooking. He's done so much, his monsieur le pianiste, who can be so sweet and so generous that it makes Gustave's heart stumble all over itself in his chest, threatening to crack.

Probably they could have found a private enough space in the village, or camped just outside it, but Verso had remembered this space and thought it was better, more comfortable, and Gustave does remember the luxuriously appointed room they'd found Maelle in. The bathroom. The closet full of clothes. The bed.

And, well, if no one else is making use of it...

He pushes his eyebrows up, an expression that on his face tends to skew more mischievous than sly, but there's clear interest in his eyes. ]

If the water was running down in the kitchen, do you think it's possible to draw a bath?

[ A real bath, hot water and soap and a smooth tub to soak in, would be nothing short of sinful right now. They've all largely been bathing in cold rivers and lakes, unless they come across a small enough spring that Lune can warm the water with her pictos, and he doesn't mind it, exactly, but merde, he's missed real baths. ]

The last chance I had for a good wash was that river, the first night we met. Remember?

[versorecto]

[ Verso is definitely anxious. He thinks this is a good gesture, at the end of the day, or he's quite sure it is: a genuine intent to give them somewhere special. Their first ( and maybe only, for all he knows the rest of their time together might go ) night together, anything would've been memorable, and would've been in its own way perfect. A night under the stars, by a quiet, makeshift camp . . . But once this had come to mind, especially when some part of Verso can't help but think of the Manor as at least some version of his home, he couldn't shake it from his thoughts.

But it's strange, a little eerie, filled with mysteries and questions. He wouldn't have blamed Gustave for maybe preferring to only stay a while and then to step away elsewhere to rest, or for agreeing to go along with him but end up feeling -- off, uncomfortble. But as always, Gustave seems to know whenever he wanders off into his mind into quiet spirals and anxieties, even if he doesn't always know exactly where they come from ( there's so much truth in these walls that Verso can't afford for him to find out about, this is awful and risky for his own ambitions, and yet ). Gustave is squeezing his hand, smiling at him, sweet and kind -- and then shifting into something a little mischievous.

Verso regards that look with some curiosity, and then Gustave mentions a bath, and. Oh. There's a flicker of something across his eyes, and Gustave might be able to see it, how he's immediately picturing it in his mind's eye: two of them sharing a bath, all tangled up in each other, with nothing between them but skin and the water. Standing next to a made and ready bath, Verso slowly peeling off all of Gustave's clothes, piece by piece, finally seeing him completely naked and bare, leaning into kiss everything he can reach. His own hands running over him, lathering soap, following the lean muscle of his shoulders, his chest . . . ]

-- Yes. [ Said almost too quickly, eagerly. He laughs, a bit at himself, sheepish, but the look in his eyes is definitely warm and heated and definitely sly, the corner of his mouth quirking up. ] Yeah. Definitely. The bath would work.

[ He's used it himself from time to time, but has gotten a bit used to the rivers and lakes around the Continent -- it's been at least months, probably longer. And with company . . . He squeezes Gustave's hand, taking a turn across the landing. He knows the place well and where the rooms all are, it seems. ]

I remember. [ A little petulant, playfully so, leaning in to press a light kiss to his jaw. ] Even if you only decided to wash up after we had to part ways, for the night . . . More than a little unfair, if you ask me.

[ How dare Gustave, honestly, it was a slight that Verso still remembers. He's walking a little faster now, tugging Gustave with him across to a certain door. ]

[demainvient]

Unfair?

[ He's laughing now, a real laugh, not just an amused chuckle, as Verso presses a kiss to his jaw, tickling him with the scruff of his beard. ]

If I hadn't waited until you were gone, I'd never have made it back to camp. It'd be more dangerous than swimming with sharks. I'm honestly surprised you didn't smell blood in the water and come right back.

[ This is good, this is better, Verso sparking into life, understanding followed by clear desire lighting in his eyes. His questions can wait for a while, surely, or he can ask them as they go, but it's clear Verso wanted to share this with him, wanted something special, something nice to offer his fleuriste, and though Gustave might have started out with too practical an assessment of things, he's more than willing to let himself be swept away.

They have a whole night. Why not dream together?

And he's glad Verso catches on quickly to his meaning. A bath would be heavenly, but he's under no illusions he'd be allowed to enjoy it alone, nor does he especially want to. He wants to finally see Verso bare, completely, wants to feel his skin warm from water and slick with soap. He wants to run his hands along every part of him, memorize each and every curve of muscle and angle of bone.

Verso's thoughts are taking the same path, he can tell, a thought that jolts through him like lightning. The anxiety vanishes, replaced by clear determination, and he's laughing again as Verso almost drags him down the hall once they've reached the top of the stairs. ]

But I'll be more than happy to share this one with you, mon pianiste. You've been so patient tonight, you deserve some time and attention.

[versorecto]

[ He's been very patient. Genuinely enjoying watching Gustave work, but also very, very patient, resisting every temptation he had to slip closer and interrupt him even though he knew it probably wouldn't be too difficult to do so, even though he could just picture wrapping an arm around him by the waist and picking him up, parking him on the edge of the workbench and pulling his legs around him. He had to resist, because if he was going to get Gustave away from the workshop at all he'd need to have at least most of the work done, and with the time they finally had tonight, he wasn't about to waste it.

Verso laughs, again turning around so he can look at Gustave as he steps backwards and leads him, clearly familiar enough with the space to do so. His eyes are lidded as he leans back against a door, catching it with his shoulder, squeezing Gustave's hand tightly in his own. ]

I think I deserve all of your time and attention tonight, mon fleuriste.

[ And Gustave, of course, would deserve nothing less in turn.

He shifts his free hand to open the door, pushing it open with his back and shoulder, stepping inside. It's a nice bathroom, ornate and tiled, a small vanity off to the side, a sink with a massive mirror, and a long, spacious bathtub. It's warmly lit like everything else in the manor, amber-toned lamps and gentle light from the windows, and its also decorated, vases full of flowers, paintings hanging on the walls. There's towels hanging from the racks, soap, candles. All strangely untouched and unused, again a place that feels -- empty, but.

It's not empty anymore, as Verso steps inside, pulling Gustave with him to the middle of the room, across the tile and carpet and wrapping him up in his arms to pull him into a kiss. ]

[demainvient]

[ It's been a long time since he felt like he was able to give all his time and attention to any one person, and longer still since that one person was Maelle. There had been those stolen moments in the garden, maybe the closest thing he'd had in a long while, but that was all.

And now Verso is laughing, tell him he expects nothing less than Gustave's complete focus, and, putain, he's almost desperate to grant that request. This place, this continent, is so hard and unforgiving; he's known so much grief in such a short time. And then Verso appeared, like a miracle, out of the blue, and reminded him what it's like to live again, not just for Maelle but for himself, for the way his blood rushes and heats when Verso touches him, for the sounds Verso makes when Gustave kisses him.

The door gives way behind Verso, opening into a luxurious tiled room, as elegantly appointed as the rest of this strange place, but he barely has a moment to look before Verso's dragging him into his arms and meeting his mouth with a kiss, firm and wanting. Gustave groans into it, dropping his coat and the pack from his shoulder without hesitation just so he can bring his hands to the sides of Verso's head, kissing him back with all the passion that had been banked in him for so long, for hours and hours. ]

You can have it. All my time and attention, I'll... je te donnerai tout ce que tu veux, anything.

[ Anything at all that Verso wants, whatever he can give, he'll give it. Verso's made this happen for him, Verso sometimes feels like the only thing keeping him sane in this insane place, Verso feels like the air in his lungs even as this kiss steals that same air from him without mercy, leaving him burning and breathless.

His hands go to work at the fastenings of Verso's coat, a little more familiar now with the buckles and tassels, working them loose a little more quickly. ]

Shall I draw us a bath, mon cher?

[versorecto]

[ All his anxiety and uncertainty about how all this would be received, how he wants the night for them to be perfect, all of it vanishes once he kisses him and Gustave kisses him back. It doesn't matter where they go from here, he thinks. Its already perfect, already everything he could want to just have Gustave here with him, to have hours and hours ahead of them instead of the precious few that they've been able to steal with each other so far. Still not enough time, but an utter luxury compared to before. He'd have savored every minute of it even if they were still in that workshop smelling of dust and sweat, and here with the whole manor to themselves, he'll be all but basking in it.

Gustave literally drops everything else he was holding just to lift his hands to his head, and Verso leans into it as much as he can, his arms wrapped tight around his waist to haul him as close to his body as he can, fitting them together so closely and perfectly, feeling the heat of Gustave's body thrum against his own. He loves the sound of his voice, aching and wanting, the stream of heated French pouring right into his heart and soul and setting the very core of him alight.

The only thing that forces him to eventually just barely pull away and get a little bit of space between them is the fact that it's necessary to start to work at their clothes. It's reluctant, but he does unwind from him slightly, his eyes dark with want even as they crinkle slightly with a breathless smile as he looks at him. He's spent all so many hours in that workshop undressing him with his eyes, and now. ]

Anything? [ A bit of a growl, teasing, his hands running up and down Gustave's sides -- not having to fuss with the jacket and those straps is, too, a luxury, and how he looks in just the shirt and waistcoat is something that, do Verso at least, borders on sinful, with how close it fits to his body, how it clings to his skin from sweat. He leans forward for another kiss, brief but wanting and sharp, teeth tugging at his lower lip. ] Thankfully, Gustave, all I want is you --

-- Vous tous.

[ Everything. All of him. Nothing more. Nothing less. He pulls at the buttons of Gustave's waistcoat, and its clear that part of him wants to go slowly, wants to really savor this and take his time to sensually peel his fleuriste apart, but the rest of him is impatient, desperate, only barely being held back. He manages a somewhat measured pace, even as he licks his lower lip, helping to shrug off his coat once Gustave is done with the buckles. ]

Please do.

[ Start the water, run it slow, and then they can take their time with this, maybe -- or as much time as they can stand to take. He's undressed Gustave before, of course, but stripping him down completely bare still remains a quiet fantasy, and one that he wants to enjoy coming true. ]

[demainvient]

[ He leans to kiss Verso again, deep, tongue sliding warmly against his, like he might possibly be able to say everything he's feeling with one kiss alone. How all he wants is all of Verso, right back. How happy he is to finally steal a whole night together. How he already wishes it would never end. ]

Alright.

[ One more kiss, and then he pulls himself reluctantly away, face flushed, his breath already coming harder. His eyes are noticeably darker now, as they trace their way from Verso's face down along his body, to the shirt now revealed, the way it clings to his shoulders and chest, how it follows the trim lines of his waist. He's so beautiful it hurts to look at him; Gustave feels the need to have his hands back on him like a physical ache, a hunger far greater than anything his empty stomach might complain about.

He swallows, throat moving, and takes another step back, far enough that he can take a breath, let a little sanity return. The tub is nearby, surrounded by unlit candles and vases of fresh flowers, and for a moment he wishes he had Lune's skill with the elements, to light the candles with a touch. There must be matches around here somewhere, surely?

But they can wait. First things first: he goes to the tub and finds the stopper, then turns the metal knobs until he can hear water running, until it starts splashing out of the faucet. He leans down, bracing himself with his left hand so he can hold his right hand under the stream, testing the temperature, and glances over his shoulder at Verso. ]

... is there a piano in this place?

[ He almost had decided not to ask, not wanting to put Verso on the spot, to demand a song or two when Verso clearly has other plans, but...

But it's been so long since he heard him play, and Esquie had even said that Verso hadn't played as much in a while, the frequency of it fading over the last two years, since the garden. And maybe, after they've had their bath and sated themselves for a while, Verso might be willing to be coaxed into playing just a little something. His monsieur le pianiste, who had stolen his heart with a song. ]

[versorecto]

[ That kiss like every other kiss is perfect, all this emotion crashing into each other along with the heat of Gustave's lips and tongue against his own, but it has to stop, much like everything else has to. Gustave pulls away with the same aching reluctance that Verso himself feels, and he takes quiet solace and satisfaction in how he can hear the breathlessness in his voice, in how Gustave's eyes shamelessly trail down over his body, how plainly he wishes they didn't have to be apart even for these few moments.

But finally, Gustave takes a step away, and there's a bit more space between them, a bit more time for his own breath to return and for his mind to clear, even if it's still filled with heady fog and want, how he can't think much past getting Gustave back in his arms again. He looks around, briefly catching his own reflection in the mirror, considering how mussed he is, if he could just shrug off his own shirt, and -- no. Why would he do that? Better to let Gustave do it, to feel his fingers work at every part of his clothing, better to let himself be quietly unraveled just like he wants to pull at Gustave with his own hands.

He's already moving closer to Gustave, and the question, unexpected, causes him to stop.

The answer is, simply: Yes. There is a piano. In his room, or the empty echo of it, whatever this strange place is, there's a door that leads to old forgotten things that he was meant to put aside as he grew. Old toys and playthings, trainsets and books, and a piano. Its a memory of the piano he had in his youth, different from the one he'd taken away from the manor that he actually remembers living in, that he has stored away in pictos pressed into his bare skin. This piano is older, a different character, he can still remember the notes. Not as clear and sweet as the one he used later in life, but its the one he fell in love with, as a child. He misses it.

He does want to take him to his bedroom. He'd been quite sure he didn't want to take him into that room. Surely there being a piano next to a room like that, with enough small touches that Gustave might be able to connect them to him, would be a step too incriminating. Surely the toys scattered around that room would only invite more questions and vulnerability than he's actually willing to have. Surely its too much of a risk, one step too far when all of this is already several steps too far, when he's already plunged so many of his plans into the abyss just from wanting to be close to him.

And Gustave asks, so haltingly but with clear earnestness, and -- ]

-- Yeah. [ He answers before he realizes it. He hears the word falling from his lips, and he can't help but laugh at himself. Putain de merde, Gustave doesn't even understand the hold he has on him, how tightly he has a grip over his will and his heart. ] I think there is.

[ Maybe he can just -- take them somewhere else, summon his piano from pictos there. Maybe they can go into that room. He'll . . . Have to think about it. Or more likely, given how thought seems to slip from his mind whenever Gustave is near, he must just have to see where his heart carries them. ]

[demainvient]

[ Verso seems so taken aback by the question that Gustave almost winces, wishing he'd never said it— but then he answers, and it sounds more like reflex than a considered response, though Gustave could hardly believe he's really surprised by it. Three years since he's gotten to see, to hear his Monsieur le pianiste play; of course he would leap at the chance as soon as he can. ]

I'm sure it's not as well kept up here as the one in the opera house was, but...

[ He turns the flow of water down, judging the volume of the tub and the rate of flow with a critical eye, then straightens, shaking droplets from his hand as he turns to Verso. His smile now could almost be the very same one he'd given Verso that first evening, warm and kind, a hint of curiosity in the curve of his lips, in his eyes. ]

But I would love to hear you play again. Mon monsieur le pianiste. After so long only hearing your music in my dreams.

[ But not, unlike the night in the opera house, his glance wanders away from Verso's face to the loose button at his collar, the way his shirt is already rucked up and mussed, just begging for hands to come and unbutton it, tug it fully out of those trousers, push it off Verso's strong, smoothly rounded shoulders. The water continues pouring behind him, slowly filling the tub, but he'd slowed it enough; he should have plenty of time to savor this, to enjoy the simple pleasure of finally stripping every piece of clothing and armor from Verso's body.

He comes close, steps slow, and reaches with both hands for the material of that shirt, where it's loose at Verso's waist, and tugs gently on it, drawing it slowly, so slowly, out of the waist band it's tucked into. ]

We can look for it together, maybe. Later.

[ Much later, if he has any say in the matter, because as much as he wants to hear Verso play again, he wants this more: leaning in to set his mouth against Verso's neck, lazily pressing kisses to the warm skin there as he begins slipping button after button from their holes, loosening the shirt that's between him and Verso's skin. ]

[versorecto]

[ Of course Gustave would want to hear it, but it's just been -- so long. Even if Gustave calls him his Monsieur le pianiste, its a name warm with memories of the opera house, and the simple step it'd take from there to remember the piano in the manor simply hadn't been one Verso had taken. Even that night at the opera house itself, it'd been one of the first times he'd played in -- months at least, a year or more just likely. He so rarely played for himself anymore, for the simple pleasure of it, his mind too much a haze with the burdens he'd come to bear. Usually it'd be Alicia who jarred him out of it, who would immediately have his heart leaping to play her a song.

And after the opera house? After the garden? He'd thrown himself back into it with such fervor. Yearning and heartbreak that could find nowhere else to go, where words in a journal like Alicia had taught him to simply weren't enough, where he knew the only thing that would be able to give any shape to what he was feeling was the feeling of those ebony and ivory keys under his fingers. He'd played until his fingers blistered, until softened calluses on those fingertips started to reform, he played until nevrons would arrive from the noise. And when just pouring his heart out over the keys wasn't enough, he started to try and write, to write something to give shape to what he was feeling. Un jour je serai de retour près de toi, aching, wistful, hope and regret, written out over months and months of attempts between a thousand different scattered papers and ink, to the memory of Gustave sitting next to him on the piano bench, swaying with the notes.

That fervor had run dry, after a while. Given away to more melancholy and sadness. The piano-playing went with it. But now, Gustave is here again, in his arms, right in front of him, standing with kindness and curiosity in his eyes. He looks like an angel even here, Verso thinks, framed in warm amber light from the room's lamps and the gentle moonlight from the open window, swathed in swirls of steam rising gently from the bath. He's finally here, they finally have time, and of course. Of course he should've thought to play for him. Of course Gustave would want to hear.

Gustave steps close, and Verso's hands move automatically to his side, making some soft, appreciative sound and tipping his head back to allow him more access to his neck, his eyes sliding shut as he savors that feeling, as Gustave starts to work open each button one by one. ]

-- Yeah. Of course. I just didn't think -- I wasn't thinking about it.

[ Breathless, honest. It wasn't that Gustave said anything wrong, just that somehow it wasn't really to mind, but now that Gustave has mentioned it, and now that they have time. It warms him to know how much Gustave really has dreamed of his music, of his playing. Again, one of those things that underscores the reality that they both know is true but they both have trouble believing of the other: How much they both desperately missed each other. ]

Later.

[ Definitely later. They can both agree on that, as Verso's hands roam up over his sides and start pulling at the remaining buttons of his waistcoat again, gently pulling it from Gustave's shoulders. He turns to tuck his face against his hair, breathing him in warm and deep as he works at his shirt underneath, his fingers trembling slightly just from some instinctive anticipation, from the considerable effort of keeping a measured pace and not simply ripping the shirt from his body. ]