Chapter Text
Through the fog of hangover and a fresh migraine, Verso registered the mention of a new gardener for the estate. He perked up slightly and strained his brain to focus, as the smell of jam made his head swim further, and caught Aline mention a visitor from the guild coming- and promptly Verso relinquished his focus back to picking at his food like it might attack him should he move too quickly.
The family moved around him like clockwork, Aline and Renoir already delegating their plans for the week, Alicia retreating into the book in her lap, Clea diligently taking empty plates (and Verso's full one, which he found no will to argue about). Verso allowed life to move around him, feeling closer to one of the manor's sculptures than any of the other Dessendres.
Clea firmly pressed a hand into his shoulder as she passed. "Since I assume you heard every syllable of what we said," she started, dry sarcasm making him suddenly awake. "The gardener is coming in three hours. You need to meet him and make a plan for the back garden."
"Funny," he said, standing, already planning which back door to take to avoid ruining his morning anymore. Meeting strangers in the middle of a tempest-level hangover was not exactly his greatest idea of a pleasant afternoon- even if it involved the repair one of the only places in the manor that he could stand.
"No one else can do it, Verso dear." Aline's tone was firm, like she had decided his fate long before he had a chance to protest. "At least let the man in. And for goodness’ sake, change into a shirt that doesn't reek of wine."
Fuck.
"Three hours." Clea warned, tone sharp as a knife. "Get yourself together."
The silence felt like a death march- his hangover was unavoidable, he'd need to wash, get his clean clothes from the other side of the manor, and form some semblance of common politeness in that time. A sisyphean task, one that he considered avoiding with a quick trip to Pont de l'Alma station and then choosing his destination once he got there.
He considered whether or not that was worth seeing if Clea would win in a fight against a train.
…Upon careful consideration, he resigned himself to his fate. Clea would win. And have enough energy left to bury him with the train.
"…I can grab your clothes from the washroom if you wish," Alicia offered, somehow reading his mind. Hopefully she avoided the mental picture of their eldest sibling fighting a train, fuelled entirely on spite. He looked up, and she gave him a small smile. Verso remembered he loved at least one person in this room.
"Yes. Please. Thank you, sister dear." He stood, ignoring the stars in his vision from moving too fast.
He could make himself presentable. He could do that, at least.
Inventions don't fund themselves, was Gustave's mantra, one he clung to through odd jobs, favours, and nights spent training himself to be one handyman army. Gardening was a new endeavour- a lucrative one, but new nonetheless.
It leaned much more artistic than Gustave really knew how to grapple with- but everyone had ideas for their garden, so really it was like following a recipe, which Gustave thought he was decent at. Years of following blueprints and after-lecture manual labour paled in comparison to the stack of papers that heralded his newest job, though.
The contract sat on his counter like an omen. If he had any confidence in his gardening skills, it would be put to the test in the face of the Dessendres. He'd done work for men richer than God before, but there's rich families and there's the epicentre of a war that his mundane brain couldn't wrap his head around. The contract included far too many clauses in airtight legalese that forbade Gustave from even breathing in the writers' direction for the next five to ten years, lest he be buried in multiple lawsuits.
"They're just trying to cover their backs by scaring you," Sciel had said, after she reviewed the documents with her vague legal know-how. The formal handwriting looked worryingly grave next to her lecture notes. "If they had actual concerns a gardener was going to immediately rat them out to a writer, they wouldn't be hiring in the first place."
The advice didn't exactly eliminate his worries, but it did make him able to look at the thing without the pressure of extreme dread creeping into his bones. The contract had been signed either way- he had no ties to anyone to worry about beyond students at the university with loose lips, but he didn't make a habit of sharing his money-making ventures with anyone other than Sciel and Lune during their early morning gossip sessions and late nights filled with cheap wine.
He buttoned his shirt as he stood in the mirror- too formal for a consultation? He unbuttoned and re-buttoned until he landed on unbuttoning the top two buttons. Authenticity worked better than overcompensation in his experience, even if his experience decidedly did not include anything regarding one of the most influential families in France.
He sighed. It's just a garden. Inventions don't fund themselves.
Verso straightened up as he left his room, feeling somewhat human despite the throbbing pain threatening to knock him out should he move too quickly. Alicia had come through with the clothes- he certainly looked and smelt like someone with at least a modicum of dignity, even if he didn't exactly feel it.
The doorbell had rung, but he took his time. If he was going to put up with this, it would be on his own time, damn it.
His rebellious one minute and twelve seconds (yes he did count, thank you very much) paid off with another doorbell and a frustrated, indecipherable shout from Clea. He pushed down his smile and opened the door.
"Hello, can I- " Verso stopped as he took in the presumed gardener's face. He was younger than he expected- clearly same sort of age as him- with neat facial hair and a smile that clearly hid nerves. His stomach did a weird thing as he took in the man. He was no stranger to being attracted to any man who looked his way, but good god he could not handle this today.
(He ignored a pang of dread when he realised he could have theoretically slept with this man- his streak of forgetting the names and faces men he grabbed from his pub streaks to fuck senseless was really coming back to bite him.)
"Monsieur Dessendre? I'm the gardener your mother hired." The gardener outstretched a hand, kindly ignoring Verso's obvious staring. Verso snapped out of it and automatically shook his hand, practised pleasantry taking over. "Gustave."
"Ah, yes. Gustave. Come in." Verso moved out the way and let the man into the manor. "Can I get you anything, water?"
"Uh, no, don't worry. I'm only here for a consultation, I'll be out of your hair soon enough." Gustave politely smiled, and Verso nodded, hoping that his relief wasn't obvious. "I've heard stories about the Dessendre manor, but this…" Amazement laced his words, and Verso smiled despite himself.
Verso couldn't exactly see the appeal anymore, but he supposed that came with overexposure and trauma. He had Gustave's reactions to older houses- loved ones that showed age and flaws, so he conceded. The woes of the rich and lucky. He wondered if he'd ever find himself something that could amaze him in the way that Gustave was with the manor.
"It is a wonder, isn't it?" he eventually landed on, discarding his melancholic yearning to watch Gustave's eyes light up as he traced the ceiling with his eyes. The gardener nodded. "Let's move to the garden, and we can make a plan there."
As Gustave said something in agreement, Verso realised his inital plan on ignoring the man once he entered was gone in the wind. It seemed the universe was messing with him by sending someone he doubted he could say no to. He wanted to blame it on the hangover, but he knew it was his inability to deny a man with beautiful eyes.
He sighed. Bad Verso. Bad.
The large rear garden had seen better days, Verso would admit. He had loved the place as a child, playing and running with Clea, finding inspiration for his painting classes with his parents, showing Alicia his little discoveries, but its glory was long gone by now.
Bushes had gotten overgrown and prickly, flowers replaced with nettles and weeds. The pergola was rusted and its white paint was chipping in a way that should be shameful for the head of the Painter's Guild. It was a sad sight, but Verso thought it still had its own charm.
"Right," Gustave said, jogging to meet up with Verso after taking his own walk around the garden, getting the lay of the land. "It's a gorgeous layout, but we've got work to do."
"What's the damage?" he asked, gesturing to the central pergola to sit on the old metal picnic table.
They sat opposite each other before Gustave spoke again, the man evaluating the state closely. Verso noticed how he would furrow his brows while thinking.
"It's not as bad as you would think." Gustave started, pulling out a well-worn journal and an equally tortured pencil. "All of the bushes need to be trimmed down, the grass cut, and the weeds uprooted.
"The issue comes in the fact that all of the flower beds are completely neglected. We need to basically redo everything if we want flowers. Alternatively, we could simply plant grass for the space to be more usable?"
He had sketched the garden quickly- the symmetrical design done justice by what Verso recognised to be a skilled hand. Was he an artist? He holds the pencil with his flesh hand and not his prothetic. What medium does he prefer? Given his quick, confident strokes: likely painting, but perhaps more realism focussed. Would explain why Aline chose him and why they've never met before. I wonder if he would paint me-
You just met the man and you're not even having a dry spell, Verso. Get a grip.
Each corner surrounding the pergola was nearly perfectly equal, the individual issues written legibly but quickly, reminding him of notes written by teachers or colleagues. He'd noted small things- weeds through the brickwork flooring, disused and rusted fences, even discarded objects. He had noticed all of that from one walk around?
"Uh. Right. Would you mind writing this all down, so that I could ask Maman about this? The garden is her darling, really." Verso swallowed, the fact being that he adored the garden, but revealing anything about himself wasn't exactly his idea of something to do in front of an attractive stranger.
Gustave paused and looked at him, expression frustratingly unreadable- but it shifted to something honest. He smiled as he said, "Of course. Anything the lady Dessendre can provide will be great help."
Verso nodded. He felt himself shift on the seat uncomfortably. Gustave seemed to notice and added, "And maybe new furniture out here? I'm not a designer, of course, but I doubt staying in this garden is that comfortable. Perhaps a new set?"
"I'll add it to the list- Maman has the aesthetic sensibilities for the furniture so she will have to make the decision on that."
Verso squirmed again under the gardener's analytical stare. He coughed awkwardly and looked away, feeling the need to crawl under the table only slightly. Kind, brown eyes seeing through his carefully built walls was obviously a punishment for the last few nights of wine and escape.
"Right." Gustave scribbled down his notes and continued. "Can I ask a potentially sensitive question- no need to answer me if you don't need to, but something is gnawing at me."
Verso braced. "Shoot."
"This manor is extremely impressive. The architecture is a work of art, every floor I've seen is cleaned obviously religiously- you or your people must take incredible care in its appearance. So, what happened here? Why is this garden…" He trailed off and Verso felt the ugly part of him rear up from his chest to scoff.
"Why is this garden uncared for? Ugly? Why does no one give a shit?" His tone was bitter, and his gaze piercing. Gustave's eyes widened and Verso cursed himself.
Truly, he had no answer. He didn't know. He loved this garden to pieces, he spent hours out here thinking about his world and spending time with Clea and Alicia. When did it become like this? When did everyone stop looking at it- when it stopped being interesting, or when it was too much work to fix?
He swallowed a sob that bubbled in his throat.
"Sorry. I- sorry." Verso stood. This was a mistake, Alicia should have done this, this was all too much-
He felt his heart drop when Gustave reached out to grab his arm, anchoring his back into the real world and out of his rapidly spiralling thoughts.
"No, no, you're okay. Sit down, we can figure this out," Gustave started, voice gentle. "Gardens are personal. This is your childhood home, right? Of course it means something to you."
Verso nodded and mentally grasped at his stoic mask which had shattered like porecelain under the gardener's kind words.
"Gustave, I do appreciate it but I'm- I'm not in a good state right now. I'm extremely hungover and the sun is making a migraine worse." Gustave nodded and when Verso paused, he gestured for him to continue. He couldn't catch the second sob racked his body, as the wall finally crumbled. "I- I don't know. Sorry. Maman wants to fix this up for appearances for the Painter's Guild but I just-" He breathed, found some composure, and continued, "This whole place is fake. There's no life to it anymore. This isn't the home I was raised in, anymore. "
Gustave nodded sympathetically. "Are you okay, Verso?"
Verso laughed an ugly sob- sure, spilling his guts and crying in front of a stranger was part of his weekly routine now. "No."
Silence pushed between them, Verso feeling all too vulnerable under the all too bright sun.
"What would you want for this garden, Verso? Not for your family- you." Gustave tilted his head and Verso looked up at him like he'd just asked him an impossible question. He felt the trained need to argue, that his word was moot in the face of the family name, but something about Gustave's devastatingly honest smile left Verso spilling his guts again.
"Flowers. I want the flowers. I want it to be something we can actually be proud of instead of a talking piece. I just- " he breathed. "I want it to be normal again."
"Well," Gustave raised a conspiratorial eyebrow. "Funnily enough- I'm actually only a self-taught gardener, so I won't produce the perfection of the rest of the manor. We can do normal."
Verso choked on a laugh through the tears and gave him a genuine smile. "What's the plan, then?"
Gustave arrived home late, hands marked by charcoal pencil and fading imprints of thorns. Fatigue grasped him but he shrugged off his coat and placed his bag on the side. His nerves from when he left the house had been replaced entirely by satisfaction. He was eating his words about not being creative enough for gardening, he was swimming in inspiration about that garden, each of its large plots an opportunity for something new. Something meaningful. Something the family could enjoy- or, well, Verso at the least. The jury's still out whether or not this will end with him hunted for the rest of his life by the elder Dessendre's. He discarded his worry to focus on Verso. That was much more pleasant.
He smiled at the thought; Verso in that garden, able to look at it again with something akin to happiness. Verso being able to tend to flowers that he could enjoy, Verso looking out upon Paris with a genuine smile on his face, one that shone through when Gustave mention his plan- the family's favourite flowers. One flower bed for each person, with the pergola being repaired and surrounded by a mixture of the parents. Verso had loved that idea so much he wanted to run to the flower shop five minutes away before Gustave pointed out the beds weren't even ready yet.
His smile was still radiant, Gustave wanted to do nothing more than to give him more reasons to keep smiling like that.
Okay, pack it in, lover boy. Sciel's face floated into view, Emma's disapproving glare and Lune's analytical concern following close behind. As they always did when he had his flights of fancy with love.
But regardless, he might have been a bit fixated on Verso. And his smile. And his sad eyes; the way that fucking shirt hung off his body like it was asking Gustave to rip it off-
The judgemental Sciel in his brain might have a point.
He did need to meet the rest of the family for his plan, but if his intuition served him right, he would just pull this off yet. Daydreaming about the middle Dessendre was only going to end in disaster- but attraction was a drug and it spurred on his work ethic like nothing else. His courting of Sophie was marked with acts of service and one frustrating night of putting together her furniture, after all. He knew what was happening, and he could revel in its simplicity before it hurt him again.
This would only end in heartbreak if he got lost in Verso Dessendre. It could be fun while it lasted, though.