[ His head is a little lowered with the excuse of watching himself do up his buttons and tuck the rumpled, stained shirt into the waistband of his trousers, but his glance shifts up from under his brows to watch as Verso retrieves the jacket, watching how he runs his fingers carefully over the flower there, and again: he doesn't understand.
He looks down again before he has to actively avoid meeting the man's eyes, unwilling to let him see any more of the confusion and disappointment and frustration and bewildered longing he needs to just... he needs to find a way to tamp down on. It's absurd to feel hurt, it's absurd to have let himself indulge this way. Passionate interludes with handsome, mysterious strangers aren't something he engages in; he has more practical matters which require his time and focus and energy.
His head dips a little more at Verso's voice, that comment. Forget me. Find someone else. ]
Yeah.
[ More just to say something, anything, than to agree. Maybe it would be best if he just... forgot all this, turned his mind back to Emma and Maelle and the lumina tech, to his apprentices and his training. He could, he supposes, see if there's someone else here in Lumiere who would like a flower from him, who would want to go to dinner and talk late into the night over glasses of wine. They might even make him feel this way, like he's come alive again for the first time since Sophie. ]
Right.
[ It's sensible, of course. Forget the man he can't have, for whatever reason that for some other mysterious reason cannot be detailed. Seek out someone else more inclined.
He thinks he probably won't. Two heartbreaks in as many years is enough for him, surely.
He gets a little stiffly to his feet, wincing slightly at the aches and soreness of every abused muscle and joint as he goes to pick up his bag of tools, forgotten on this rooftop what feels like so long ago but had to have been less than an hour. It seems deeply unfair that he should also be injured and sore right now, as well as romantically frustrated, but when has life in Lumiere ever been fair? ]
I hope...
[ But he trails off with an awkward, forlorn lift of his hand. He has no idea what to hope for, for Verso. He knows almost nothing and it seems that's as much as he'll ever know. He presses his lips together and shakes his head before finally letting his glance flicker back over to the other man. ]
I hope you'll be well.
Try not to... hurt yourself falling onto any more roofs. If possible.
[ Verso winces a bit inwardly. Just -- the tone of Gustave's voice, those flat short answers, hints at a wealth of something he simply doesn't know. A life of heartbreak, maybe, with himself at the end of it, punctuating a pattern. Or just a deeper level of hurt that he doesn't understand. Either way, with the distance he's so definitively just drawn between them and the doors sliding shut -- there's nothing he can do or say. Any offered comfort would just feel strange and hollow, from a man who doesn't know him.
He can assure him of how much this -- mattered, how much he enjoyed this, how it feels like something of Gustave has slipped through the cracks and will stay nestled in his chest, how different that is for Verso in all of his decades. But it seems like to him, the more he says, the worse this will be. Its not like he was subtle, knows that Gustave must've felt that spark and connection just as strongly as he did, but that just leads him down a path of not understanding why Verso has to leave.
So this is probably for the best. Quiet, silence, awkward and uncomfortable as it is, a unmistakable tension, empty and bitter. It feels almost unthinkable that moments before they were tangled all up in each other, that Gustave was laughing, pressing soft kisses to his neck and shoulder.
He puts fixes his shirt as he puts on his jacket -- takes a moment to check for the flower still tucked in his hair. ]
I'll take that to heart.
Stay well. [ A beat, as he just -- looks at him. Dressed back up, but his hair still mussed, shirt in disarray, kiss-bruised lips, eyes that still say too much even if all the adoring light is gone from them now. Beautiful, right in front of him, and out of reach.
He closes his eyes. ]
I'm sorry.
[ Verso's gaze goes straight to the horizon, the setting sun, the monolith beyond. He wills himself to not look back, moving forward, brushing past Gustave a little closer than he means to, their shoulders barely brushing -- the sound of chroma grappling, and he's gone. ]
[ I'm sorry. Another apology to match the one he'd left before. Now, when he looks at that note, he'll be able to hear Verso saying the words; he'll know exactly what tone he uses, how they rumble in his chest with the gravel in his voice. ]
Yeah. Me too.
[ Said low and almost only to himself as Verso brushes past him. He sees that flower, pale purple and still fresh, tucked into dark waves of hair, and sees the man silhouetted for a moment against the glowing evening sky, the setting sun, and then Verso lifts his hand and is gone in a flicker of chroma and a brief breeze that stirs the broken plants at his feet. Gustave watches for a moment, eyes following the figure as he grapples rapidly away, but he loses sight after only a few seconds, and then he really is alone again, here in this garden they'd ruined.
He looks around, taking in the broken flowerpots and crushed plants, goes to the trellis to examine the spot where he'd gripped the metal grid too hard and bent it. The place is a mess, and he's a mess, but he can at least start fixing one of those things, even if the other will... well. Be harder.
He spends some time working the bent metal back into shape, collecting shattered pieces of pottery and depositing them into a mostly-intact pot he can carry back with him for disposal, then sweeps up the scattered dirt and pebbles and tips it back into the raised beds. The grass they'd landed on is more difficult, smashed flat in places and ripped in others, and the flowers have taken a beating.
He does what he can to clean them up and promises himself he'll do more, making it up to whichever poor citizen of Lumiere had their garden destroyed by a man who simply... should have known better. By the time he finishes, evening has settled in, blue and clear violet, the same colors as the petals of the flower he'd tucked into Verso's lapel, into his hair, and the man is surely long gone. Gustave won't need to worry about accidentally catching up with him, seeing him, trying not to see him.
His own walk to the roof's edge is slower, less intent, and he lingers there for a long moment before finally lifting his arm and letting the chroma carry him through the air to the next building down and over.
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He looks down again before he has to actively avoid meeting the man's eyes, unwilling to let him see any more of the confusion and disappointment and frustration and bewildered longing he needs to just... he needs to find a way to tamp down on. It's absurd to feel hurt, it's absurd to have let himself indulge this way. Passionate interludes with handsome, mysterious strangers aren't something he engages in; he has more practical matters which require his time and focus and energy.
His head dips a little more at Verso's voice, that comment. Forget me. Find someone else. ]
Yeah.
[ More just to say something, anything, than to agree. Maybe it would be best if he just... forgot all this, turned his mind back to Emma and Maelle and the lumina tech, to his apprentices and his training. He could, he supposes, see if there's someone else here in Lumiere who would like a flower from him, who would want to go to dinner and talk late into the night over glasses of wine. They might even make him feel this way, like he's come alive again for the first time since Sophie. ]
Right.
[ It's sensible, of course. Forget the man he can't have, for whatever reason that for some other mysterious reason cannot be detailed. Seek out someone else more inclined.
He thinks he probably won't. Two heartbreaks in as many years is enough for him, surely.
He gets a little stiffly to his feet, wincing slightly at the aches and soreness of every abused muscle and joint as he goes to pick up his bag of tools, forgotten on this rooftop what feels like so long ago but had to have been less than an hour. It seems deeply unfair that he should also be injured and sore right now, as well as romantically frustrated, but when has life in Lumiere ever been fair? ]
I hope...
[ But he trails off with an awkward, forlorn lift of his hand. He has no idea what to hope for, for Verso. He knows almost nothing and it seems that's as much as he'll ever know. He presses his lips together and shakes his head before finally letting his glance flicker back over to the other man. ]
I hope you'll be well.
Try not to... hurt yourself falling onto any more roofs. If possible.
no subject
He can assure him of how much this -- mattered, how much he enjoyed this, how it feels like something of Gustave has slipped through the cracks and will stay nestled in his chest, how different that is for Verso in all of his decades. But it seems like to him, the more he says, the worse this will be. Its not like he was subtle, knows that Gustave must've felt that spark and connection just as strongly as he did, but that just leads him down a path of not understanding why Verso has to leave.
So this is probably for the best. Quiet, silence, awkward and uncomfortable as it is, a unmistakable tension, empty and bitter. It feels almost unthinkable that moments before they were tangled all up in each other, that Gustave was laughing, pressing soft kisses to his neck and shoulder.
He puts fixes his shirt as he puts on his jacket -- takes a moment to check for the flower still tucked in his hair. ]
I'll take that to heart.
Stay well. [ A beat, as he just -- looks at him. Dressed back up, but his hair still mussed, shirt in disarray, kiss-bruised lips, eyes that still say too much even if all the adoring light is gone from them now. Beautiful, right in front of him, and out of reach.
He closes his eyes. ]
I'm sorry.
[ Verso's gaze goes straight to the horizon, the setting sun, the monolith beyond. He wills himself to not look back, moving forward, brushing past Gustave a little closer than he means to, their shoulders barely brushing -- the sound of chroma grappling, and he's gone. ]
no subject
Yeah. Me too.
[ Said low and almost only to himself as Verso brushes past him. He sees that flower, pale purple and still fresh, tucked into dark waves of hair, and sees the man silhouetted for a moment against the glowing evening sky, the setting sun, and then Verso lifts his hand and is gone in a flicker of chroma and a brief breeze that stirs the broken plants at his feet. Gustave watches for a moment, eyes following the figure as he grapples rapidly away, but he loses sight after only a few seconds, and then he really is alone again, here in this garden they'd ruined.
He looks around, taking in the broken flowerpots and crushed plants, goes to the trellis to examine the spot where he'd gripped the metal grid too hard and bent it. The place is a mess, and he's a mess, but he can at least start fixing one of those things, even if the other will... well. Be harder.
He spends some time working the bent metal back into shape, collecting shattered pieces of pottery and depositing them into a mostly-intact pot he can carry back with him for disposal, then sweeps up the scattered dirt and pebbles and tips it back into the raised beds. The grass they'd landed on is more difficult, smashed flat in places and ripped in others, and the flowers have taken a beating.
He does what he can to clean them up and promises himself he'll do more, making it up to whichever poor citizen of Lumiere had their garden destroyed by a man who simply... should have known better. By the time he finishes, evening has settled in, blue and clear violet, the same colors as the petals of the flower he'd tucked into Verso's lapel, into his hair, and the man is surely long gone. Gustave won't need to worry about accidentally catching up with him, seeing him, trying not to see him.
His own walk to the roof's edge is slower, less intent, and he lingers there for a long moment before finally lifting his arm and letting the chroma carry him through the air to the next building down and over.
Time to let it go. Time to go home. ]