demainvient | 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏.

[ He sees the determination in her, in the set of her jaw, the look in her clear pale eyes. It's not an expression he ever hoped to see on her, not for this, but he understands, all the same. ]

Don't worry about that. I'll always find you, right?

[ And here, in this strange liminal space where he is and is not the Gustave who loved her, protected her, laughed with her, comforted her, some paths are easier to find than others. Hers will always be clearly lit for him.

Gently: ]

You have to wake up sometime. Don't waste your life in a dream.

Yeah. [She knows she must wake, sometime, to do the things she promised. She blinks rapidly, eyes perpetually threatening to overflow with tears.] I only have a life at all because of you. You made me who I am.

[For better or for worse--a thing she would joke about, normally, but they haven't had normal in a very long time. Sniffling, she rallies, taking a deep breath. She can be strong in hopes of seeing him smile at her. That's what she wants to remember and carry with her.]

I think you did pretty good.

[ She wins her smile, warm and sweet and fond, layers of love and wistfulness in his dark eyes as he looks at her. ]

You made it easy. I only wish I could get to see the person you'll become.

[ They've been robbed of so much: his future, theirs together. But he hopes she can still live hers. ]

Yeah. Me too. That hurts more than I ever thought it would. Even knowing...

[Their chances of him seeing her grow into adulthood were always slim. Just as she would never see him actually become an old man. He would be ageless, stuck frozen in time for her. They didn't talk about it as much as they should have, hopes and dreams put into the expedition, but maybe they should have.]

I wish you'd taken me in sooner.

[The only way they would have had more time together is from the start. She smiles, amused by the idea of a Gustave in his early twenties, trying to manage her.]

Hey, hey.

[ They could spend hours, days mourning the what-ifs and the could-have-beens. It's a distraction she can't afford, not now. She'll have to carry her grief along with her in a pocket for a while; her focus needs to be on other things.

He sets one arm on the table, leaning toward her. ]

I wish we had longer, too. But nothing can ever take away the time we did have. Nothing. You will always have that.

[It comes with a beat of hesitation, but she nods, knowing he's right. A hundred years would have never been enough--how could their handful come close? He loved her as much as she loves him. It's only difficult, being the one left behind, with nowhere for that love to go.]

I'll tell you my favorite thing we would do together if you tell me yours.

[She thinks she knows. The smile comes with a sniffle. Maybe she shouldn't let herself sink into the past. Maybe she should only look forward, at least until their expedition is finished. But she tells herself she needs this. This will keep her going when the despair tries to choke her.]

So when we meet again, some day, we can do them right away.

Alright.

[ She steadies herself, his brave Maelle, and he knows she'll find a way to push forward, whether it's rage or pain or love or determination driving her. At that sniff, he reaches gently for the crumpled handkerchief, shaking it out to find a dry spot, then refolds it and offers it back to her. ]

You go first.

[Maelle watches him do such a simple thing that manages to squeeze her heart so tightly it hurts. She takes the handkefchief and wipes under her nose folding it over and setting it back down on the table.

She misses when he would take care of her, be it scraped knees or wiping away tears after a nightmare, but that was never her favorite thing.]

The Hanging Gardens. We could see so much of the city. Be nosy. We would just... talk. About everything. I loved spending time with you, but there, especially.

[Deep talks about that year's Gommage. But more often, just about themselves. Their lives. Silly things, too. They would so often go home smiling.]

I would do anything to sit up there with you one more time. To listen to you talk about how your apprentices are doing, or the weather. Or anything at all.

[Her eyes wander to their home, still and warm and familiar. This is as close as they can get, for now.]

[ He'd loved it up there, with her, surrounded by green and growing things, all the troubles of the city so far away that it seemed as though the wind would whip them away before they could come anywhere near. He'd been able to think up there, to breathe... to plan, as he looked out toward the Monolith as the numbers crept lower each year.

And Maelle had loved it. Though the Gardens were open to everyone, it had become their special place; had been that way since the first time he brought her there, hiked up on his back, her too-young legs not quite strong enough to make the climb. He'd brushed over her cheeks and eyes and lips with soft flowers until she giggled, and showered her with petals. They'd stuck in her hair, lending her a sweet scent all the way home, until Emma washed them out again ]

That was my favorite, too.

[ He reaches to gently brush her wet and straggling bangs back, fingers warm and solid against her forehead here in this dream. ]

So that will be our pact. The next time we meet... it'll be in the Hanging Gardens. All right?

Maybe I'll even let you challenge me again. But you'll be stronger than me by then... I'm sure you'll learn a few new tricks to take me down.

All right.

[The Hanging Gardens it is. She can't tease him for copying her answer when it only makes her heart swell with affection for him. He cherished their time together there as much as she did. She knew. She's always known.

Maelle catches his hand before she can drop it to bring it to her cheek, pressing into his palm.

She doesn't want to ever fight him, even in her dreams, even if it's a playful spar. Not after watching him fall before her very eyes.]

I think I'd just want to sit with you. If that's okay.

[ He curves his fingers carefully against her cheek, running the pad of his thumb lightly over her freckled skin. Just like always, his hand fits perfectly here, the motion so familiar, so bone-deep it's almost not a choice he makes at all. ]

More than okay, [ he promises, voice soft. ]

We'll sit as long as you want. You'll have an awful lot to tell me by then.

[ He hopes— he hopes. He'd spend an eternity waiting there among those flowers, if it meant she had a lifetime to live and love, with all the tears and joy and wonder that comes with it.

If he is a dream, he wonders how it is he can feel his heart breaking. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue; swallows. This whole time, his voice has stayed steady, gentle, but now it cracks, just a little, as a sore, sorrowful expression shifts over his face in the flickers of eyebrows pulling together, lips pressing together. ]

I have loved you so much, Maelle. Never forget that.

[Oh, she knows that look on his face. It threatens to make her break, but she simply rests her hand on his wrist, keeping his hand against her face.]

Never. I could never forget. That's... what you left me. So many memories of what it is to be loved. [And loved unconditionally. She wasn't his blood, but he never cared. She was his daughter. She was his sister. How fortunate she was to be that for him, and to have known someone so painfully good.

She is less good, she thinks, because of the hatred in her heart towards Renoir. It's a stain. The Paintress is now simply an obstacle between the old man's throat and her blade. She'll take his life as he took Gustave's.]

I'll love you forever. In this life and the ones that follow.

[ It's all he can do to keep from pressing his hand too painfully against her cheek. It's his duty, his role as her brother, her father, her guardian, her protector, to keep her from getting hurt. To keep the world from hurting her, however he can. He'd stood between her and death with nothing but a sword in his hand, her last line of defense, and now she's hurting, her heart is breaking, and not only can he not stop it, he's the reason for it. ]

In the next life, huh?

[ His voice feels thick, and his lips tug into a quick, heartbroken smile. ]

We didn't get to say goodbye, before.

[ He'd been calm, then, in the face of her despair and his own doom. A small shake of his head, slow. He'd been dying then already, his lifeblood spilling down the front of the uniform on which Sophie and the boys had worked so diligently. This, too, is a legacy. He huffs a small, sad breath that's nothing really like a laugh. ]

I still don't want to say it, even now. But I'm glad we got the chance.

Edited 2025-05-14 03:09 (UTC)

[In another life, they never went with Expedition 33. Instead, they went with everyone else to the harbor, and said their slow, painful goodbyes, just as he did with Sophie. Maelle doesn't think she could do that. The days leading up to his last day would be agony. A death march. She would be sick with grief and he wouldn't even be gone yet and she would cry and cry and never stop despite knowing for so long that the Gommage was coming.

It would hurt like this does. Losing him would always shatter her heart in a way that could never be put right. Like the Gestrals, she thinks--they can return, but not completely. Not as they were before.

They never had enough time. He could be like Verso, immortal, and a century would never be enough for her.]

Then we don't say it, because we'll see each other again.

[ Maybe he should insist on it, a farewell. How can she move forward when she's still looking for him everywhere she goes? When she's waiting to see him again? He should tell her she needs to let go.

He's always been just a little bit too selfish for that. ]

Okay.

[ He runs his thumb lightly over her cheek again, nodding. ]

We won't say goodbye.

[ His smile tugs, almost into a real curve, before it trun rueful once more. ]

Tell the others I say hi, okay?

They'll think I've gone mad with grief.

[It's said with her own wry smile. She's very much still sane, fueled by a desire to avenge the person she loves most. If she starts telling the girls she's been visited by him in her dreams, they'll look at her with those sorrowful looks that make her want to break down and weep.]

Lune and Sciel miss you, too.

[Yet they were quicker to move on. The mission still remained, and they had less time to waste. She understands. Gustave was her father, her brother. The cut is deeper for her.]

You're the reason why we have a chance. A real chance.

Don't sell them short. They've lost people they miss, too.

[ Lune might think it's nothing but a dream, but Sciel... Sciel might understand. He knows how much she wanted to see Pierre again, any way she could.

His glance slides away from her at her comment, landing on the fingers she has wrapped at his wrist. ]

The Lumina tech will help. But I...

[ He'd felt the blade of light go through his chest; he'd seen the explosion of chroma around him, and knew he'd failed. ]

I couldn't... stop him. Maelle, I'm sorry.

--no. Don't.

[The grip on his wrist tightens, keeping his hand against her face even as she shakes her head. Her eyes are clear when she meets his, unblinking in their certainty.]

You don't apologize. You were--you did everything right. Everything. With me, the expedition, the... that day. [Even if he didn't keep his promise. Even if he didn't run. So often the dead were looked upon with a kindness they may not have deserved in life, as if being dead washed away their shortcomings and sins and ugly parts. But Gustave had none of that. His only flaw was that he was mortal.

It all happened so fast. No goodbyes, as he said. Renoir took that from them. Renoir took him from her in the worst possible way.]

Nothing is your fault.

I was supposed to protect you.

[ And he tried. Even with no hope left, he'd tried, sword in his weakening hand as his eyesight failed and his legs faltered, his uniform saturated with his own blood. He'd asked questions, seeking out information even as his breath labored. He'd stood there, between her and the white-haired man who meant death, and looked his doom in the face, and tried.

But all he'd managed to do was to leave her alone with him. ]

All I wanted was for you to be safe and happy.

[Oh, Gustave. What little composure she's claws together threatens to crumble when he speaks like that. Her fingers dig into his wrist, eyes squeezing shut as she nuzzles her cheek against his palm, his pain a blade in her chest.]

You did. Please, don't think you didn't. You did.

[Verso stepped in once Gustave fell, but would he have been there in time had Gustave not challenged Renoir? She thinks about the cliff regularly. How powerless she felt and how she begged and screamed to no avail and how Gustave's corpse was left so indignantly on the rock, the light behind his eyes gone. It was so much worse than the Gommage. It was a nightmare she hoped to wake from, but couldn't.]

You've never let me down. Not ever. That's still true.

[It will remain forever true, now.]

[ Her pain cracks across her face like the lightning he used to call down from the sky, just as sharp and just as wrenching. The last thing he wants to do is hurt her.

He'd known he had no chance, but what else could he do? He couldn't leave her there. He couldn't turn away from the man who had slaughtered his friends. He'd gone to his death knowing it would give her seconds, only. He'd bought each one of them so dearly. ]

You got away. You're safe. That's all I care about.

[ The shell of him that was left behind, slowly turning to stone like all the other expeditioners who fall along the path... maybe it will stay there forever, the sea breeze tugging lightly at the waves of his hair, the hem of his uniform, the only motion now left to the body that lies crumpled there. The rest of him, the part that mattered, Maelle laid to rest there beneath the tree in that calm, peaceful valley. ]

You really are the best father.

[That part of him, that protectiveness and selflessness, is what a good father should be, she thinks. She looks at him with a watery smile. There's some morbid comedy about Verso's father taking away her father, but she can't think of that monster when she's looking at Gustave's face. Here, he seems less tired. Less burdened. Even when sad, there's a peace to him, and she hopes to remember it forever along with his goodness and love.]

I'm the luckiest person in all the world. Not everyone got you as a brother and a father.

[Sorry, Emma.]

No.

[ He laughs, ducking his head before looking back up at her. ]

That's true. Only you can boast that particular unique relationship with me.

[ Father, brother — does it matter which? In the end, he was her family when she needed one. And she was his. ]

That makes me pretty lucky, too, I think.

Yeah. [His laugh can always lighten her darkest moods.] Even if father-brother and daughter-sister sound... alarming.

[It's fine. Everyone has broken, cobbled together families. They were simply one another's family, and how special that is.]

I could tell you were happy. I never once doubted if you regretted taking me in.

Not once.

[ He had been happy, being there with Maelle as she grew up, having evenings and weekends and holidays with her and Emma, the little family he'd loved so much. It's one of the reasons he'd decided he wanted children after all, after helping her negotiate her way from childhood into teendom.

He wishes he could see the woman she'll become. ]

Do you remember when you first came to stay with us, and I would come read by your bedside to help you fall asleep?

[ His voice, as low and soothing as he could make it as he read from whatever was on hand: storybooks, sometimes; newspapers at others. Once in a while he'd even use some of his engineering texts: a surefire way to put her to sleep quickly. ]

Those were some of my favorite moments.

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alexa find the 'try not to cry' meme

just when i thought i was done crying over this thread

just weeping forever over them

i need to hydrate after threading with you, you monster 💖😭

I was put here to torment you, specifically

#blessed

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