[ It's so easy to imagine that its dangerous. Gustave kisses at his palm, affectionate, lazy, and he can just imagine this moment stretched out into forever. Into more mornings where their kisses are languid lazy with the simple satisfaction of being near each others, into evenings or stolen moments where instead they're all-consuming flames. More nights at the opera house, alone or otherwise, playing to him even in the middle of a crowd. Walks up here, in the gardens littered across Lumiere's rooftops. Maybe a little more careful about whose flowers they might be rolling into.
But that, well. None of that is real, and none of it can be. Slowly, inevitably, Verso can feel himself -- waking up, and hating himself for it.
He lets his fingers slip up to cradle his cheek against his palm, tender and affectionate, thumb sweeping Gustave's lower lip. ]
Just makes it hard to believe.
[ Someone that beautiful, someone that perfect -- and especially in that smile. Earnest and open in the same way that'd utterly captivated him nine months ago, that draw him in now but also remind him of what he is, and what he isn't. His gaze drops briefly, his other hand moving to settle against Gustave's waist. Gentle, cautious, remembering where he'd been hurt before. ]
Almost like a dream.
[ Maybe he doesn't have to go just yet. Maybe they can just -- spend some time. What for? To invite questions that would only make everything worse? Knowing that if there will ever be a time when this man learns more of the truth, that it'd likely come with him hating everything he stands for -- is it cruel or kind, to keep it away?
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But that, well. None of that is real, and none of it can be. Slowly, inevitably, Verso can feel himself -- waking up, and hating himself for it.
He lets his fingers slip up to cradle his cheek against his palm, tender and affectionate, thumb sweeping Gustave's lower lip. ]
Just makes it hard to believe.
[ Someone that beautiful, someone that perfect -- and especially in that smile. Earnest and open in the same way that'd utterly captivated him nine months ago, that draw him in now but also remind him of what he is, and what he isn't. His gaze drops briefly, his other hand moving to settle against Gustave's waist. Gentle, cautious, remembering where he'd been hurt before. ]
Almost like a dream.
[ Maybe he doesn't have to go just yet. Maybe they can just -- spend some time. What for? To invite questions that would only make everything worse? Knowing that if there will ever be a time when this man learns more of the truth, that it'd likely come with him hating everything he stands for -- is it cruel or kind, to keep it away?
It's about time to wake up. ]