[ He huffs a breath that's almost a laugh and slides the probe out from within his wrist, turning his hand to test the feeling. Better. ]
I think an old grapple point is more to blame for that than my desire to see you.
[ Which... does it still exist? He looks at the man, taking in details he hadn't been able to easily see that night in the dim, empty opera house: the scar over his eye, the way the waves of his hair flow together, the lazy grace in every movement. Even his self-conscious wince at a joke that's a little darker and a little more blunt than might be considered polite is fascinating to watch; the way his expression shifts and smooths.
He isn't surprised to feel that same tug, deep in his gut, that had prompted him to ask for more of Verso's time all those months ago. The man is just as beautiful as he remembered, and just as distant, and just as impossible to read. ]
But I guess it did.
[ And now here they are, standing a few feet from one another with a fresh wind from the harbor tugging at Verso's hair, at the hem of his jacket, at the collar of Gustave's shirt. Is this what he had wanted? What had he imagined might happen, if he ever saw this man again? ]
Why?
[ His voice is quieter now, his head lifted and his gaze steady on the other man. There's a question here, too, but at least he'll be brave — or stupid — enough to voice it aloud. ]
Why didn't you stay, that night? Why'd you leave?
Did I...
[ His hand lifts, helpless, palm up in the air, and falls back to his side. ]
Did I do something wrong? Or was it not about me at all?
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Date: 2025-05-24 02:23 am (UTC)I think an old grapple point is more to blame for that than my desire to see you.
[ Which... does it still exist? He looks at the man, taking in details he hadn't been able to easily see that night in the dim, empty opera house: the scar over his eye, the way the waves of his hair flow together, the lazy grace in every movement. Even his self-conscious wince at a joke that's a little darker and a little more blunt than might be considered polite is fascinating to watch; the way his expression shifts and smooths.
He isn't surprised to feel that same tug, deep in his gut, that had prompted him to ask for more of Verso's time all those months ago. The man is just as beautiful as he remembered, and just as distant, and just as impossible to read. ]
But I guess it did.
[ And now here they are, standing a few feet from one another with a fresh wind from the harbor tugging at Verso's hair, at the hem of his jacket, at the collar of Gustave's shirt. Is this what he had wanted? What had he imagined might happen, if he ever saw this man again? ]
Why?
[ His voice is quieter now, his head lifted and his gaze steady on the other man. There's a question here, too, but at least he'll be brave — or stupid — enough to voice it aloud. ]
Why didn't you stay, that night? Why'd you leave?
Did I...
[ His hand lifts, helpless, palm up in the air, and falls back to his side. ]
Did I do something wrong? Or was it not about me at all?