Colliding By Design

by LilacCadenza

Summary:

After crawling out of a too-long stay in the Abyss as a hellion, Verso found his home in shambles, with nothing to return to. His baby sister was missing, his older sister was gone, his mother was institutionalized, and his father was struggling to keep it together.

His first instinct was to find his sister, but when he found her happily in the care of Gustave Aubert and his family, he realized that there was nothing in Lumiere for him anymore.

So, why can't he keep himself from coming back?

Chapter 1

Summary:

Every time he visits, it gets harder and harder to leave again.

Notes:

pov: Verso
cw: combat violence

Verso Dessendre's time spent within Lumiere's dome is few and far between nowadays, but every time he returns, he finds himself missing it more and more.

Here, there's a pulse of life that's different from the wilderness of the Continent. The bustling streets, filled with people talking and enjoying their lives. Shops and restaurants, marquees, billboards, and beautiful displays of flowers and statues; bright lights and constant activity. Music on every corner, whether it comes from speakers, buskers or professional street shows that the city has sanctioned.

It's never quiet, and there's always something new to see.

For the past hour, Verso has been watching the Autumn Festival's cavalcade of bands performing, listening as various different styles of music lilt across Rue Fleur's brightly lit streets.

One would hardly believe it was nighttime, with how brightly the promenade is lit.

Beautiful, vibrant displays of autumnal flowers surround the bases of streetlights and benches, inviting a splash of color to the gray pavement. The streetlights are wrapped in varicolored fairy lights, shaded in beautiful tints of orange and purple, as if inviting the Saints and Hallows for a dance to the dulcet tones of Lune Nocturne's guitar.

Verso feels an itch in his fingers at the sight of the grand piano on the stage. He knows the song she's playing note for note, and while it sounds wonderful on her guitar, he feels like adding a twinkle of piano would brighten the piece.

Maybe even some vocals.

Idly, he finds himself humming along and playing the chords with his fingers against his hips, imagining what it would sound like if he could just waltz up to the stage and sit at the piano. He knows he could play it. From what he's seen of Lune around town, he doesn't even think she'd mind the accompaniment. As bristly as the woman is, she's passionate about music, and appreciates talent.

He wants to join her. He wants to so badly... but he can't.

He's not keen on being spotted by any of the multitude of city guard hunters he can sense in his periphery.

Aside from the other hunters, he can also see several other nonhuman creatures in the vicinity. From the corner of his eye, he spots a vampire trying to stealthily pour a flask of blood into her fanciful goblet of wine. Lune herself, he knows is a seraph. He's seen from a distance when she unfurls her grand wings, lush with black and silver feathers.

Aside from him, he sees at least five hellions blending in with the crowd.

Of course they'd be out in force at an event like this. The town's annual Autumn Festival is something that brings people to Lumiere from all corners of the Continent. He's even seen people coming from beyond the Monolith, from areas he's never seen but always dreamed of. They'd want an array of hunters to ensure they can avoid any kind of diplomatic incident.

That's part of why he's here today.

Not on any official contract from Lumiere's government or anything, but because with all of Lumiere's official hunters stationed here at the festival, the rest of the city is completely unprotected.

He refuses to see anyone get hurt just because the city's hunters are stretched too thin.

With that in mind, he reluctantly steps away from the music, away from the lights and colorful floral garlands, from the displays with food and drinks and laughter and revelry… and heads into the darkened streets of Lumiere.

Ironic, he thinks, for a city of lights to be so dark beyond the promenade.

He lets the familiar sensation of an anchor point's rope wrap around his wrist and pull him toward the rooftops.

It'll be easier to move from place to place from up high. The anchor point's light glimmers a deep purple as it resonates with his hellion blood and lifts him from the ground, but he ignores it. He's sure no one nearby is paying enough attention to notice, and the purple will be long gone by the next time someone shows up to use the anchor point.

Landing on a metal roof with an annoyingly loud thump, Verso casts his eyes around the area to get his bearings. He thinks he's between Rue Soliel and Rue Minuit. He recognizes the red painted roof from the days when he used to walk these streets to get to his favorite pâtisserie, on the corner of Rue Minuit and Rue Mélodie.

A lifetime ago, Verso thinks, But just yesterday at the same time.

Merde, this is why he hates visiting Lumiere. Something about the city makes him more morose than usual. Inconveniently sentimental.

(Every time he visits, it gets harder and harder to leave again.)

"If it's so hard to visit, you should just stop," reasons Monoco, and each time he says it, Verso runs out of ways to argue.

But he's here for a reason today, he reminds himself. He can't just leave city protection to the guards. He's walking, breathing proof that their 'protect the masses, leave the dark corners unattended' method doesn't work.

Not that it takes a genius to figure that out.

Continuing his inconveniently morose mood, Verso finds himself casting his eyes up to the sky. From here, in the relative dark compared to the blinding brightness of the Autumn Festival, it's easy to see the deep, deep indigo sky. Stars are still few and far between, but it's so close to the celestial skyscape he recalls seeing from the observatory in Dessendre Manor as a child.

He's sure, at this time of year, he can see the vestiges of several constellations. He thinks he sees the lodestar of Euterpe overhead, a shining beacon of pale bluish yellow in a sea of similar white stars.

Would that he had the time to search the skies and pick out any other familiar stars… to update his Lumiere star charts.

But you don't, he chastises himself.

Verso blinks sharply, then whips his attention away from the sky. This is exactly what he means. Something about being within Lumiere's dome makes him feel morosely nostalgic for a life he turned his back on years ago.

With a breath of laughter at his own expense, he continues across the familiar red rooftop, toward another anchor point on a roof across the street. Once he lands on the stone roof across the way, he turns and looks down at the street. The closed parasols over the small dining tables are all too familiar, even if the color and pattern has changed through the years.

It's his favorite pâtisserie. Bergeron's always used to make the best chocolate choux pastry. If he closes his eyes and imagines, he can almost taste the crumbly, crusty chocolate dancing on his tongue. Just as quickly, he shakes his head to dispel the memory. The last thing he needs is to make himself hungry for things he can't get.

From here, if he turns to the southeast and cranes his neck just right—

He thinks… maybe…

There it is.

He can just barely make out the hillside, the silvery brass of the high fence, and the imposing architecture of the Dessendre Manor itself. Simultaneously elegant and oppressive; it always felt like a looming parent to every other building in the city. Like it was watching from its distant hill as the city grew, shifted, and changed into what it is today.

(The irony of that statement is not lost on Verso.)

A bittersweet smile spreads across his face as he turns his back on the sight and continues on his silent, dark patrol.

Maybe, he thinks, that's really why he does this. He's always rationalized it as a deep-seated connection to the city itself. That, despite the sights he's seen on the Continent, everything he's done has been to protect Lumiere and all the people inside. Coming back to the city, he's always reasoned, is just an extension of that.

But he thinks it's simpler than that.

No, he's not human, but hellion or not, he still desperately tries to cling to the last shreds of his humanity. He wants to reminisce about the people, places, and things he was surrounded with when he was human. Somehow, he still holds the naive hope that these memories can prevent him from completely surrendering to hellion instincts and becoming the cruel, cold monster the Abyss tried to make him into.

Or maybe he's just an idiot. Maybe he's just here to punish himself. To remind himself of a life he can never get back.

He's certainly accomplishing that in spades.

Whatever the reason is, he can't bring himself to turn away. He continues his rooftop vigil, but doesn't allow himself to look down at the streets below.

"Kind of defeats the purpose of a patrol, doesn't it?" Verso asks himself softly.

The stifling quiet of the night swallows his words, carrying them up into the sky in a puff of breath in the chilly air.

With a quiet chuckle, he replies, "Then again, so does talking to yourself." He sweeps a hand through his hair, pushing the white streak back from his face. "You can't exactly hear anything if you spend the whole time listening to your own—"

As if the universe itself is out to prove him wrong, an echoing cacophony of noise catches his attention from behind him. First, a crash. An echo of metallic clangs, followed by the sharp slashing of steel on steel.

The moment the first sound hits his ear, he's already on the move. He whirls around, speeding back toward the access point between Bergeron's and the red roof. Even as he runs, the clashing of steel on steel increases in frequency. As the access point hurtles him toward the red roof, he can barely pick up the sound of a laugh and a taunt of, "gonna fight back, Feathers?"

Yells and grunts of combat echo up from the dead end alley near the bank, just at the end of Rue Minuit.

Verso's footsteps echo on the metal roof, but they're not enough to drown out the sharp slice of blades gliding against each other. From here, he can see shadows against the bank's back wall, projected by the lights of the apartment building next door. A pair of wings—small for a seraph, but fluffy and feathered all the same—surrounded by a trio of other silhouettes, moving in an intricate dance of battle.

The seraph's shadow seems to be fighting off all three combatants with relative ease. Verso quietly jumps down to the apartment building's fire escape, taking in the scene as best he can in the relative darkness. He doesn't want to reveal himself yet. Not without a better idea of what's going on, and who he's here to defend.

All three non-winged combatants seem relatively outclassed by the seraph, whose movements are quick and precise. The seraph holds a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, but the pistol seems to exist as more of a threat than a weapon.

Interesting.

Two of the non-winged fighters whisper to each other, watching as the seraph fights off the other with practiced ease. Then, they take off in a sprint toward the bank's back door.

It's then that Verso realizes exactly what's going on. He springs into action without another second's hesitation.

Vaulting over the fire escape's railing, he plummets to the ground right in front of the wayward duo. He rolls forward when he lands, barreling into the first of the two and sending them off balance until they stumble into their partner. The remaining vampire and the seraph whip to attention, and Verso flicks his wrist, summoning his sword and dagger from the aether.

His eyes meet the seraph's across the alley—

Oh.

His breath catches, and his stomach drops.

He knows this man—this seraph, all too well—even if he knows the seraph can't say the same.

Gustave Aubert.

Wide brown eyes stare unblinking back at him in bewilderment and concern. The seraph grips his sword and pistol tighter, like he's unsure whether Verso is a friend or a foe.

Verso twirls his sword in a flourish. "Clever night to rob a bank, with the entire city guard indisposed," he challenges the strangers, spinning his dagger's hilt in his hand and catching it in a wordless challenge. "Shame the night won't end in your favor."

"Putain de merde," curses the closest of the assailants. "He had back-up!"

If the bewildered expression on Gustave's face suggests to any of these bank robbers that Verso was his back-up, then maybe they're stupider than Verso thought, and Gustave never needed his help to begin with.

"Putain de merde," curses the closest of the assailants. "He had back-up!"

If the bewildered expression on Gustave's face suggests to any of these bank robbers that Verso was his back-up, then maybe they're stupider than Verso thought, and Gustave never needed his help to begin with.

"No, no. Not just back-up…" replies the woman, followed by a dark chuckle. "Look at his hair. His eyes. That scar on his face. I think you know as well as I do who that is…" She waves dismissively at Verso.

Huffing incredulously, one of the others asks, "Didn't we kill him?"

"Or run him out of town?" asks the other.

Seemingly tiring of their antics, the woman complains, "Does it really matter? There's three of us and two of them." She turns toward Verso, her face shrouded in shadow, as she summons a whip made of pure dark magic from the aether. "We'll have this taken care of in an instant. Now let's take care of it."

Verso does his best to defend both himself and Gustave, mostly because he's not sure how capable a fighter Gustave is. Yes, he's seen Gustave more times than he can count, going about his life in Lumiere and caring for his ward.

(For Alicia.

No. No, not Alicia. For Maelle.)

But being a caretaker doesn't necessarily mean he knows how to fight.

Any chance Verso had to assess Gustave's fighting flies out the window when he sees one of the would be bank robbers snap their jaws closed in front of his face and hiss like an angry alley cat.

Ah. Fils de pute. Vampires. Hungry vampires. Maybe even Blood Bearers. This complicates things.

His original plan was to wait until Gustave left and pay them off. If they're here to rob the bank, then maybe giving them the chroma they need to buy blood would negate their need. But he can tell now that all three vampires are facing him, by the way their eyes blaze like deep red fire, that there's no chance for reason.

They're too far gone for that. If Verso had to guess, they were planning to kill Gustave for his blood before they robbed the bank.

Now he knows for sure: there's no way out of this situation but to fight.

Not that he doesn't think he can take them, but the problem with fighting vampires is that it's difficult to do without fighting to kill. Because, as the first vampire of the trio bares his fangs, eyes glowing blood-red, Verso realizes that's exactly what they plan to do. To them, Verso and Gustave are nothing but a meal. Which means—

In a flash, Verso weaves through the three vampires until he places himself squarely in front of Gustave, blocking them from a clear path.

"Get out of here," Verso rumbles over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the vampires in front of him. "Leave them to me—"

Gustave grunts. "Are you out of your mind? They'll kill you!"

With a shrug, Verso replies, "Maybe."

He deflects the first blow, as the vampires finally tire of waiting for them to finish their conversation. The vampire woman staggers, before surging forward and forcing him to deflect another swing and knock her into her companions.

As they struggle to compose themselves, he briefly flicks his eyes toward Gustave. "But you should still go. Maelle needs you."

Brown eyes shoot open like dinner plates. "How do you know Maelle—"

"Not important," Verso counters. "Get out of here! You can't die here. She's probably expecting you back at the festival, right?"

Still, Gustave doesn't move. He seems stunned into inaction.

"I'll be fine. Just… fly to safety." Verso turns his attention back to the vampires, who have mostly regained their equilibrium now. "Warn the bankers of the attempted robbery, or even the city guard. I'll take care of it."

Gustave huffs. "I'll tell the guard," he concedes. "But then I'm coming back to help."

All Verso offers in reply is a stiff nod and a gruff reply of, "Fair enough."

Hopefully, by the time Gustave warns the city guard, he'll be long gone and there will be nothing left of these vampires to take into custody, but that's neither here nor there.

He barely hears the beating of Gustave's wings over the sound of his sword clashing with one of the vampires'. He moves around them to fight off the next one, who surges toward him with a pair of daggers whirling in a dervish. Verso barely has enough time to deflect the daggers with a well-placed sword slash, before he hears a sound that stops his heart.

"You're not going anywhere!" wails the female vampire as she surges past Verso.

From the corner of Verso's eye, he sees the vampire throw out a glowing lash, which soars into the air and wraps Gustave's wings in a lariat of pure dark magic. It ties tightly around them like a noose.

Gustave's scream, sharp and piercing, rips through the alley and stops the rest of them in their tracks. He plummets from the sky like a stone, hitting the ground in a heap and skidding several feet. When he comes to a stop, he convulses, writhing and whimpering desperately as he tries to arch his back and free his wings from the dark magic lariat ensnaring them.

The vampire swirls the magic lariat in the air, until it wraps around Gustave's left forearm like rope, making his struggle all the more futile.

Something possesses Verso then.

The sight of Gustave in such agony sparks something within him that he didn't know existed. His vision falls into complete darkness, save for the three nebulous forms of vampiric aether surrounding him, and Gustave's aether on the ground, wrapped in a lariat of malevolent dark magic, which seeps into his aether like poison.

"Merde!" yelps one of the other vampires. "He's a void-eye! That explains why he's still here."

Verso sneers. He shouldn't be surprised that they're not above slurs.

The woman seethes, "Doesn't matter." She wraps the dark magic lariat tighter. "Hellions bleed just like humans. We'll finish what they started."

But Verso isn't afraid.

With strength unknown, he shoves both arms out and throws both vampires to the sides. He speeds toward the third, flicking his dagger in his hand until it's aimed directly at her throat.

He doesn't even give her the chance to beg for her life.

His dagger plunges into her throat, piercing through on the other side, covered in opalescent vampire venom. She doesn't scream. In fact, the only sound she makes at all is a sickening gurgle, as she crumples to the asphalt… dead. Her blood-red aether fades into dust and disappears into the void of his vision.

Verso doesn't bother to check on the other two vampires, but the desperate footsteps he hears clambering out of the alley tells him all he needs to hear. They ran for their lives.

Good.

He rushes toward Gustave's prone form, flicking his sword and dagger back into the aether on his way. Hitting his knees on the ground, he wastes no time before grabbing the dark magic lariat in his hands and yanking it away from Gustave's skin.

"Why didn't you leave sooner?" whispers Verso. "If you'd been quick enough, she wouldn't have had time to…"

It doesn't matter.

Gustave's whimpering and writhing have long since stopped, but Verso can clearly hear his labored, rushed breathing.

He must have passed out from the pain.

Color bleeds back into his vision, and his heart sinks. The dark magic burned a ring of black around Gustave's forearm, deep into his skin like the remnants of a tightly-wrapped rubber band. And his wings. Those… fluffy, elegant wings are burned, losing feathers like he's going through a molt. They fall rapidly to the ground in a red and ash brown rain, and the skin left behind is burned with heavy dark magic.

"Merde…" Verso curses. "Putain. Fils de pute. Okay. I'm… I'm going to get you to the hospital."

He doesn't know who he's talking to. Gustave, though his face is contorted in agony, is clearly unconscious.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

Right now, the most important thing is getting Gustave to the hospital before it's too late to save his wings… and his arm.

If it's not too late already.

Notes:

First thing's first, thanks to BrattyBoyWrites for the amazing Verso and Gustave eye banners! Their art is so amazing and I'm so lucky that they're always willing to draw stuff for me.

Second of all... HOO BOY AM I NERVOUS.

I'm always nervous when it comes to setting foot in a new fandom, but something about these two just... called me. And when a ship calls me, I bestow on it the absolute torment of being thrown headfirst into my original seraph/hellion lore.

I'm having a lot of fun writing this right now, so I hope y'all have fun reading it too! See you next chapter!

♥ Lilac

Chapter 2

Summary:

The first thing Gustave notices upon stumbling back into awareness… is an absence.

No, not just one absence, but multiple.

Notes:

pov: Gustave
cw: lots of hospital stuff, lost limb

Gustave finds himself walking through the streets of a ghastly Lumiere. It's the same city, but different. Skeletal and decayed, so empty and isolated that even the colors look gray. He thinks he's alone. There's not a single soul as far as his eyes can see. The entire city is so barren that he wonders how long he'd been asleep.

A shrill wind blows from the west, biting at his skin through his coat and chilling him to the bone.

Is this actually Lumiere, or is this some kind of exhibit? He doesn't recall anything about this in any of his visits to the museum, but nothing about this feels real. It doesn't feel like home.

As he rounds a corner, past the dilapidated remains of Bergeron's pâtisserie, his brows furrow. This can't be Lumiere. He passed Bergeron's just yesterday, and it looked nothing like this. He tries to approach the pâtisserie's window to look inside, but his body won't listen. He can't turn, can't move, can only walk through the decay of the city he calls home.

He speaks, words he can't quite hear in a voice that doesn't sound like his own.

It sounds like mumbles. Absolute nonsense. But somehow, to Gustave's subconscious mind, it feels important.

(If it's so important, why can't he understand it?)

"If you were going to create your home, why not make it accurate?" a voice next to him calls, succinct but no less concerned. "This looks like someone destroyed it."

Another mumbled reply, in a voice that doesn't sound like his own. Deeper. Gentle, but rough in places, even if the words he's saying aren't clear. It's… familiar, despite not sounding like him. He's heard it before, even though he can't remember where. He can't understand what they're saying, but their tone is… bittersweet. Multi-layered.

Above all, it sounds sad.

The second voice, more compact and gruff, but clear, replies, "Then why do you seem so disappointed?"

Gustave's vision focuses on his hands—or the hands of the person he's seeing through—and were he in any semblance of control of the situation, he'd gasp. It looks like they've been dunked in deep purple-black ink. Like a thick layer of obsidian paint crept into every single crevice and fused with the skin. Either that's exactly what happened…

Or the skin itself is that shade. It fades into a pale peach color just beyond the wrists, but Gustave can't see anything beyond that.

He hears a quiet sound akin to a sigh, and then another soft rumble in that deep, gentle, rough tone.

"You're sad," reasons the second voice, plainly and clearly.

A low, soft hum of confirmation is the only reply they get.

Several seconds of silence follow. Then, when Gustave's vision turns, he just barely catches the sight of a pair of odd, wooden, cloth-wrapped legs. They stop, but the host keeps moving, then turns, until all Gustave can see is ashen gray ground.

"You could go back," the wooden man tells him. "It's clear that you want to. Especially when you look at where we ended up."

This seems to rattle the host, who hesitates for a few seconds, then turns around to do as the wooden man suggested. Gustave's vision focuses, just in time to see…

A perfect image of that mysterious manor, sitting up on the top of Painter's Hill.

Except, rather than the near-abandoned, overgrown ruins of the old mansion, this version resembles what Gustave has heard the house looked like in its heyday. A grand, beautiful, three-story mansion, made of stone and trimmed in gold. Every window is brightly lit, like there's life in every room.

It's a beautiful sight to behold—

But the moment Gustave's vision focuses, one of the unfamiliar inky hands rises into the air and waves around like it's brushing away a cloud of smoke.

In a blink, the house is gone, as is the ashen wasteland of Lumiere. The host and the wooden man are standing in the middle of a vast, lush forest, next to a babbling river. Moving water is the only sound for several seconds, and all Gustave can see around him is the ambiance of the forest at night.

When the first voice speaks, Gustave can hear it clearly this time.

"I can't," they reply. "Not the way things are. I'll only break things even further."

That voice tickles something in the back of Gustave's subconscious mind. Prods sharply at something he can't quite reach and peels at the edge of a curtain like it's trying to get a look at what's inside… but it's not enough. As familiar as it sounds, he can't find a name or a face to attach to it.

With a sigh, the wooden man asks, "For who? For you? Or for them?"

"For him," replies the solemn voice. "For Papa. For Alicia."

Silence, thick and oppressive, blankets the area, but only for a moment.

The solemn voice speaks again. "Trust me, Monoco, it's better this way," they insist. "Now come. We should rest. We have to be up early if there's any hope of catching that hellion gang before they reach Lumiere."

In a flash, Gustave is hurled back into his subconscious like a rock into the river.

Slowly, one by one, his senses awaken, completely overpowering the wildness of what he saw. It casts the dream from his mind like a distant memory. The first thing to return to him… is his sense of smell. He picks up the pungent aroma of cleaning chemicals, mixed with a few alchemical reagents and too-clean linens. Cleaned but not perfumed. The type of smell he can taste, which is exactly what awakens his sense of taste.

Hearing comes next. A rhythmic beeping, huffing and puffing, and the sounds of hushed voices nearby. Sight follows close behind. Even with his eyes closed, the bright lights overhead pierce through his eyelids. He closes them tighter against his volition.

The first thing Gustave notices upon stumbling back into awareness… is an absence.

No, not just one absence, but multiple.

Physical absence, certainly, but there's something more. Something intangible that he can't quite explain. An absence of feeling. Of sensation. A strange absence of purpose that he can't even begin to unpack with all the other glaring absences he feels.

He's not in his own bed. The surface is much firmer, the blankets much rougher than his own thick, downy, fluffy blankets. The pillow feels like lying on the ground, and the pillowcase is rough beneath his head.

Most alarming of all? He's lying on his back.

On his back.

With no awkward, uncomfortable crunch in his wing bones. He doesn't even feel the compression of the glamour holding them back. All he feels is a strange stretch of his skin. A pinch and uncomfortable pressure where his shoulder blades rest on the rough, papery bedsheets. His eyes close tighter, his lips twitching in discomfort as he hears the sheets crinkle.

"Maelle! Réveiller!" an all-too-familiar voice calls, cracking the silence like shattering ice. "He's awake!"

Emma's voice is as clear as a bell, but Gustave doesn't let himself focus on it yet. He feels a headache brewing in his forehead, creeping across his scalp to the base of his skull, down his neck to his shoulders. The entirety of his head is one massive ache, and even though he's just waking up, he feels like he didn't sleep a wink.

Another familiar voice gasps to his left. "I'll get the nurse!" replies Maelle.

"No, you stay," counters Emma. "I'll get the nurse."

As he raises his hands to rub the tension out of his temples, he's vaguely aware of commotion and movement around him. Hushed voices—familiar, if more distant than they should be—permeate the fog around his brain.

They're almost enough to distract him from the frantic realization that he can only feel the touch of one hand against his scalp. It's that realization that makes his eyes shoot open, honing directly on his left hand.

Or… where his left hand used to be.

Instead of his skin, he sees a black-scarred stump, clearly healed, even though it looks like it was cauterized or burned off somehow. Black scarring spirals up to his elbow like an intricate tattoo, or like someone wrapped his arm in a burning rope. A massive scar that looks like it's made entirely of dark magic spans across the stump of his elbow.

But his hand is gone! His hand, half of his forearm, and if the way he's able to lie on his back in bed is any indication, his wings are all gone!

At first, Gustave tries to recall exactly what happened. To recall exactly when, why, how this could have happened. But, the more he thinks, the more he realizes that thinking is only going to make it worse. His mind is a cacophonous swirl of absences and dark magic and panic, and he's already getting lost in it.

Pressure constricts in his chest, pulling his muscles tight and pushing the breath from his lungs faster than he can pull it back. He gasps sharply once, twice, then three times as he feels the sheets crinkle in the tight fist of his right hand. A hand, tentative but familiar, closes around his fist. Every single instinct within him wants to demand not to be touched, but he manages to keep some semblance of composure. Enough to recognize where the touch is coming from.

Maelle is probably just as scared as he is right now. The last thing he wants is to make it worse.

The pounding of his heart is deafening in his ears, so despite the fact that he can hear Maelle speaking, he can't make out what she's saying or even begin to think of what to say in reply. No matter how deeply his gasps, his lungs can't seem to fill.

Almost involuntarily, his right hand comes up and pounds against his chest, to remind his heart of the right rhythm.

It doesn't work. His heart thrums faster.

Something is missing, and he doesn't mean an appendage.

He feels the phantom sensation of his left-hand fingers flexing to grip Maelle's hand as he flicks his eyes around the room as if he'll see his severed hand somewhere, waiting to be returned to place.

All he sees is Maelle, standing over him with ice blue eyes glassy with tears and wide with worry.

"It-it's okay…" Maelle tries to say, her voice as shaky as Gustave has ever heard it. "It's okay, Gustave. You're safe. I'm with you, okay?"

Gustave is sure she's trying her best, but he feels anything but okay right now. His wings are gone. He's missing half an arm. He may be safe, but "okay" doesn't feel like it belongs in the same radius.

He swallows thickly, his dry mouth unable to properly form the words he wants.

What happened? he wants to ask.

Before he even has a chance, the door flies open and a trio of nurses come in, followed by Emma, who hurries to Maelle's side and eases her away. The sudden shift in demeanor does nothing to help his building anxiety. Neither does the way each nurse pokes and prods at him, takes his vitals, flashes lights in his eyes, and throws medical jargon back and forth at each other.

He feels the panic growing as they lift his left arm to examine the stump, and he jerks it in their hands, desperately trying to pull it away.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur Aubert," apologizes the nurse, briefly flicking her eyes to Gustave in the middle of looking over the injury. "I need to make sure the healing magic took effect."

Finally, he manages to croak, "Magic?"

The reply comes not from any of the nurses, but from Emma, who stands with Maelle at the window. "Your injuries were fairly severe, Gustave. And enhanced by dark magic, which slowed any traditional healing they tried." She pauses to tuck Maelle's hair behind her ear. "After that, they tried alchemy, but you'd lost so much blood by the time you got here that they needed to save you with magic."

All Gustave can do is stare at his sister in bewilderment.

The doctors silence the conversation briefly when they gently warn Gustave that they're going to flip him over to check the wounds on his back. Fortunately, the magic used to heal him took most of the pain, so he can easily roll over himself. Or… relatively easily, without the use of his dominant hand.

If nothing else, the examination gives him time to compose his thoughts.

To remember what happened.

He remembers having to hurry back home in the middle of the festival because he forgot his camera. The fireworks were about to start, and Maelle wanted pictures better than what they could get on any disposable camera from the corner store. When he was at their apartment digging through his storage boxes looking for the camera, he heard a commotion in the alley behind their building, near the locked back entrance to the Lumiere bank.

Then, when he looked over the ledge, he heard the trio of vampires planning to rob it to pay for a trip to the underground blood vendor.

When he announced his presence on the fire escape, his plan was to offer them chroma so they didn't feel the need to rob the bank, but the lead vampire, the woman with the sharp, shrill voice, fired a magic blast at him on sight.

He had no choice but to defend himself.

It was fine at first. They fought fiercely, even as Gustave tried to land nonfatal blows. He's sure they were trying to kill him, but even so, he was trying not to kill them at first.

Then, a pair of them broke away from the trio and headed for the door.

And then—

Gustave's eyes shoot open. "Oh!" he gasps.

"Are you in pain?" interjects the nurse checking his shoulders. "Do you need more healing—"

"No, no," Gustave quickly amends. "No, I'm… I'm fine. It's not that."

Not exactly true. Not true in the slightest, in fact. He's still reeling from waking up in the hospital without his wings and half of one of his arms. But he has a far more pressing issue on his mind right now.

Maelle questions, "Gustave?"

"What is it?" Emma urges.

Gustave turns his head toward them. It's awkward at this angle, but he ignores it. "The man who helped me." He pauses, then asks, "Is he okay?"

"Monsieur Aubert, please calm down," implores the nurse. "Your pulse is very high, and even though your wounds are closed, you are still at high risk for an anxiety attack—"

But Gustave shakes his head.

She may be right. He can feel the muscles constricting in his chest and the way his breath feels frantic and labored. How his body somehow feels both floaty and weighted. How vacant he feels. Absent. Hollow. Missing something. Missing so much more than something. So much more than he can even begin to identify.

But…

"Please. I need to know."

Brows furrowing, Emma turns her attention from Gustave to the nurses. "I'm afraid we weren't here when he got here…" she explains, then asks, "Do you know what he means?"

"I'm afraid I don't," the nurse tells them. "The man who dropped you off here left you in the waiting room, but when we told him you had no identification, he told us to call your sister Maelle, and then left."

Maelle blinks. "Me?"

Maelle needs you, Gustave recalls the stranger saying.

Brows furrowing, Gustave starts to say, "He knew you—" He pauses, his words catching in his throat with his breath, then takes a few seconds to gasp for air before he tries again. "He knew who you were, Maelle."

"Please," interjects the nurse. "If you don't calm down, we may have to sedate you."

History will always show that telling someone to calm down rarely has that effect, and Gustave is no exception. He wishes he could turn his head in her direction so she could see the full sharpness of his glare, but the best he can do is turn his head in the other direction and show it to one of the nurse's assistants.

Maybe they're just doing their jobs, but all they're doing is making him feel more anxious.

He has no real idea why he's so desperate to know more about the stranger who saved his life, beyond wanting to thank him and make sure he got out of the situation okay. All he does know is that not knowing and being told that he can't ask isn't helping anything.

"I need to know—"

"You need to rest," the nurse's voice overpowers his.

Frustration mounts, and Gustave rolls back over in a movement far too swift for a man in a hospital bed in his condition. "Not knowing isn't helping me—"

To his surprise, Emma pushes to the front of the crowd and leans down to the bed. She reaches out and smooths a hand through his hair, her expression more fraught than he thinks he's ever seen it. She smooths a gentle thumb along his jaw, and then, her tone no less gentle, tells him, "I'm certain that my logical, intelligent brother knows that we'll be more inclined to get answers once he's calmed down."

She urges Maelle to step up beside her.

"No, not knowing isn't helping you, but striving for answers when your head is clouded is a surefire way to lose yourself in panic." Emma turns to Maelle, her smile soft and soothing, then turns back to Gustave with worry in her eyes. "I know you don't want to frighten Maelle, n'est-ce pas?"

Gustave's eyes turn to Maelle, who looks beside herself with worry. He glances down at their hands, watching as Emma lifts hers from atop Maelle's, and leaves Maelle's hand in Gustave's grip.

That, he decides, she's right about.

While the raging tempest in Gustave's mind shows no sign of slowing, if nothing else, he can calm himself down for Maelle's sake. The last thing he wants is to make her feel any worse. If he knows her at all, he suspects that she's burying herself in guilt under some twisted logic involving her being the one to ask for the camera.

Nothing is quite so good at calming him as needing to keep his head up to soothe her.

He squeezes her hand. "Maelle."

"Gustave… I'm sorry, I–"

Gustave shakes his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he promises.

She stares down at the bedsheets, eyes shimmering with tears as they roll down her cheeks. "But your arm." She pauses. "Your wings. And you wouldn't have even been there if I hadn't begged you to go back for the camera—"

"Look at me," Gustave urges.

Every piece of him wants to lift his other arm. To place his left hand on top of hers and soothe her. But, with nothing there, all he can do is meet her eye head on when she lifts her head. Despite his own simmering anxiety, he manages a gentle smile.

Easing his hand from between hers, he lifts it and gently brushes a tear from her cheek. "It's not your fault." He tucks her hair behind her ear, then flicks his gaze back to her eyes. "If it wasn't me, it might've been someone else."

Someone else, like that stranger who seemed to appear from nowhere.

Just thinking about that stranger makes the vacuous space in Gustave's chest feel like it's growing, so he blinks the thought away and gently takes Maelle's chin between his thumb and forefinger. Now that the nurses have finished with their poking, prodding, questions, and tests, and Gustave feels like he can breathe easier, he manages a smile.

"I don't blame you for anything, Maelle," he promises her. "You had no way of knowing. Right?"

She nods.

"So how could it be your fault?"

It seems like she finally exhales. Like she'd spent the last… however long he's been asleep, beating herself up for wanting a camera for a fireworks show.

As she wipes her cheeks and faces him with a bittersweet smile, he can't help but notice her eyes.

Strange. It feels like he's seen them before.

Well, of course he's seen Maelle's eyes before; he's been caring for her since she was ten years old. But… he feels like he's seen them on someone other than her.

Who? Where? Why can't he remember?

Blinking sharply, Gustave forces the thoughts from his mind and focuses on the present. On Maelle. He has to keep himself calm. If not for his sake, then for hers.

Gustave's friends often tell him that Maelle toes the balance between absorbing Emma's confidence and Gustave's anxiety. Never has it been more true than right now. Then again, it's something she's done for ages. He thinks it started even before she came into their care, but he has no real way of knowing.

After all, there's a lot about her life before that she doesn't like to talk about. He doesn't know where she came from before she ended up in their lives, or even what her given name is… but none of that really matters to him. He still loves her, and if she doesn't want to talk about it, he'll never make her.

Notes:

That certainly was a dream, wasn't it? ;)

Wow, Verso. Way to just drop him off at the hospital and bail. Silly man, so determined not to let himself be seen that he's completely self-isolated.

At least he has Monoco. And at least Gustave has Emma and Maelle!

(Side note: I made some edits to chapter one to work with some things that get established later in the story! They're pretty subtle, and mostly in the vampires' dialogue and taunts, but they're there!)

Thanks for reading! ♥

Chapter 3

Summary:

Gustave scoffs, then lets out a shaky laugh and shakes his head. "No, no. Point taken," he offers. "Fils de pute, you have the bedside manner of Frankenstein's monster trying to do ballet."

Completely deadpan, Lune replies, "Yeah, sorry. I can't really control myself when I see my friends being idiots."

Notes:

POV: Gustave
cw: none

Maelle's frustrated vocalizations catch Gustave's attention from his bedroom as he finishes getting dressed in the morning.

He clips his sleeve into a pleat at the end of the stump of his arm, then lifts his right hand to adjust the collar of his burgundy-red button-down shirt.

He hums.

Once he got home from the hospital, a week after waking up, one of the first things he needed to do was shop for a whole closet worth of new shirts. All of his old shirts had wing holes cut out, and while he could easily cast glamours to give himself fake wings, he doesn't think that's necessary.

Especially not when it's much, much less expensive to get regular shirts than special ones tailored for wings.

That's not to say Gustave doesn't miss his wings. He does, more than he allows himself to admit. Over the past few weeks, he's had to remind himself that he can't quickly fly to the store or to his garage anymore. He's had to walk, and he's been in serious discussion with Maelle about whether it's time to finally suck it up and buy a car.

Not to mention the constant reminder that something is missing. That he's barely a seraph anymore.

But as far as clothing goes, his life is a lot easier.

Casting a glance in his mirror, he lets out a quiet huff of laughter. It's warm for late autumn in Lumiere, but ever since the incident with the vampire bank robbers, Gustave has taken to wearing no less than three-quarter sleeves, so he can safely hide the dark magic burn scars at the end of his severed forearm.

It's been almost a month, and he still gets no shortage of questions from people who haven't seen him since then. He suspects the questions will only grow in frequency with Solstice right around the corner, and all the friends and family visits he has lined up.

Then again, he has no shortage of questions himself.

No matter where he's looked, he's found no sign of the stranger who helped him chase away the bank robber vampires.

Everything happened so fast that night that he can barely remember anything of import. He has nothing to help him, other than the fact that he had pale, ice blue eyes—not too different from Maelle's—and long dark hair with streaks of white in the front. He remembers a black sheepskin jacket with sherpa lining, but beyond that, it feels like it all blurs together.

With so little to go on, it's no wonder no one knows who he's talking about with that description.

Still, it's… frustrating.

Something in the depths of his soul feels like he needs to see the stranger. Whether it's to say thank you for saving his life, or something else that he can't even begin to understand… he doesn't know.

At the very least, things are about to get easier. He got a message this morning from the combination arcanist and alchemist's atelier in town that his prosthetic arm is finally finished. Emma placed the order for him the moment she learned that the doctors were going to have to sever the lower half of his arm, and while he's grateful, he wishes she'd let him have some say in the design choices.

He's sure Emma got him something sleek and modern; something that looks like his flesh and blood hand. Gustave… would have wanted something metal. Something… cool. If he has to have a battle scar, he wants his prosthetic to be a war trophy. Something he can brag about when he tells the story.

Maybe he can install a flashlight into it, or make it shoot lasers. Or throw off electricity!

(In the back of his mind, he can already hear Maelle calling him a nerd for the suggestion. Even though he knows she'll secretly think it's cool.)

He chuckles to himself, then turns away from the mirror and steps out of his bedroom, following the sound of Maelle's increasing agitation to her closed bedroom door.

"Come on, you can't be serious," Maelle complains on the other side. "I'm only sixteen. I'm way, way too young for this."

Gustave's brows rise. There are about two dozen places his mind goes to fill in the blanks here, but he quickly dismisses several of the worst ones as impossible.

As far as he knows, Maelle doesn't have a boyfriend, so she's probably not pregnant. Not that it's an absolute certainty, which is concerning in and of itself, but he thinks if she was having sex, she'd have mentioned something to Emma.

Would Emma have told Gustave? That's up for debate, but that's neither here nor there.

She's not pregnant, so that's not a worry.

After cycling through a dozen different options and listening to Maelle quietly scoff about the problem to herself, Gustave decides to take the initiative and properly ask. He lifts his hand and gently raps on Maelle's door, then clears his throat as her muttering suddenly stops short, and she makes a small squeaking sound.

"Gustave?" Maelle questions.

Chuckling softly, Gustave replies, "That or your door gained sentience and knocked on itself. Can I come in?"

Maelle seems hesitant. He hears her approach the door, and sees the knob twist slightly, but she doesn't open it. "One condition," she finally says.

"Which is?" Gustave presses.

A soft sigh rings out from the other side of the oak door, and he hears a quiet thump against it like Maelle leaning her entire weight into the door. "You have to promise not to laugh."

While Gustave usually knows better than to promise not to laugh at something he hasn't seen, if it's causing Maelle this much stress, he decides it's an easy promise to make. "I promise I won't laugh, Maelle," he reassures her. "Anything causing you this much distress isn't something to laugh about, I'm sure."

Another short silence carries between them, before he sees the doorknob twist again, and this time, it opens. Only a crack at first, from which he sees one of Maelle's ice blue eyes peer through, lined with worry and agitation. "Promise-promise?"

Lifting his hand, Gustave draws an 'X' over his heart. "Cross my heart."

Then, Maelle fully opens the door.

It doesn't take Gustave long to see what's bothering her. Maelle's hair, usually a bright, coppery red beacon to easily find her in any given crowd, looks like someone came into her room overnight and streaked it with pure white dye. The white is far more striking than the red, standing out brightly against the rest of her features.

Strange. It wasn't like this yesterday. It was fully red, not a speck of white in sight.

Did it all fade at once? That isn't how dye works, is it?

She runs a hand through it, pushing some of the white-streaked red from her face, and purses her lips. "My dye faded," she explains, averting her gaze to the floor. "I always dye it, because I hate the white. It makes me look older than you."

"Oh, thanks for that," Gustave deadpans.

Maelle manages a tiny smile. "I'm just saying. I'm sixteen. I'm not supposed to have white hair," she complains.

With a gentle smile, Gustave reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear. "Well, I think you look pretty regardless," he tells her, and feels a swell of satisfaction when her tiny smile gets slightly bigger. "But if you want, you can come with me to town today, and I'll pay for a full salon visit. Cut, dye, style… whatever you want. Amandine's place is right across the street from the atelier I'm headed to."

Eyes brightening, Maelle perks. "Really?"

Gustave nods, sliding his hand into the pocket of his black denim slacks. "Would I lie about something so important?"

The bright smile on Maelle's face is more reward than anything else. She raises her index finger, then whirls around and hurries into her room. He watches as she grabs a hair clip and a loose, slouchy beanie, then comes out of her room with all but the very roots of her hair concealed. She pulls her coat from the door and quickly puts it on.

"Merci, Gustave," Maelle says as she closes the door behind her. Then she turns to Gustave with a warm smile and places a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Gustave doesn't say anything aloud, but he hopes she realizes that he feels the same way about her.

It's been six years since Maelle came into his life. Since he found her hiding out in an abandoned building near the mysterious manor overlooking Lumiere. Strange to say that the day he agreed to take her in was the first time in a long, long time that he felt some kind of purpose. Meeting a ten-year-old Maelle cleared up a lot of the fog he felt since the day he decided to leave Elysium and come back home.

He puts his hand into his pants pocket and turns to her with a soft chuckle. "I'm sure you could manage," he remarks offhandedly.

She doesn't say anything, but he can tell by the way she looks at the floor that she didn't like that answer.

So, he's quick to change the subject.

They while away the walk to the train station talking about everything and nothing. Maelle tells him how excited she is for her upcoming Solstice vacation, spending time with her friends, and going to her high school's annual Solstice party. She talks eagerly about finishing up her Solstice shopping, and how she has the perfect gift for Gustave in mind.

Then, the fifteen minute train ride is spent with her trying to figure out what he bought her.

A brand-new laptop might seem impersonal, but Gustave knows how much Maelle loves to write, and doing so on her old laptop has been more trouble than he thinks she realizes. The laptop was a hand-me-down from Emma a few years ago, and even before his sister passed it down, it was on its way out.

Gustave spent an obscene amount of time cleaning and fixing it for her, trying to make something workable.

He succeeded, for the most part.

Even so, he doesn't want Maelle to lose the stories she's started. She has what it takes to be the biggest writer in Lumiere, and if that old laptop Emma gave her dies… it might just sap her motivation before she even really begins.

So, hidden between the pages of a leather-bound journal is a gift certificate to the tech store, with enough to afford a good laptop that's hers and hers alone. Something for her to write her heart out on, to fill with all her stories and then share them with the world.

It was something he always wished for when he was young, but his parents were always more content to push him into their preferred path. They wanted him to be an engineer and an alchemist, so rather than encourage his stories, they bought him alchemy texts and schematics for little things even a child could build.

He doesn't want her to lose her dreams for anything.

None of Maelle's guesses even come close to the truth, which is good. It means she'll be surprised when the time comes.

"Is it a pony?" Maelle presses as they head down Main Street in the shopping district, her smile playful as she stuffs her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. "I've always wanted a pony."

With a sharp laugh, Gustave shakes his head. "I don't think we could fit a corral into the apartment," he quips in return as he stops in front of Amandine's and turns to Maelle. "Wow, none of those guesses are even close. Guess it'll just have to be a big surprise."

Smirking, Maelle leans against a light pole and murmurs, "I bet it's a pony. And you're just not telling me because you think misleading me is enough to make it a surprise."

Gustave's laughter is much more subdued this time. He awkwardly reaches across his middle to pull his wallet from his pants and takes a large chroma bill from the fold. He passes it over to Maelle. "Get yourself the works," he tells her. "Styled and dyed however you want."

"That might take a long time…" Maelle replies, staring down at the money in her hand. She flicks her eyes back to Gustave. "You're sure?"

Nodding, Gustave tucks his wallet back into his pocket, then points over his shoulder to the atelier. "I'll be a bit in the atelier. I'm sure Lune will want to talk," he tells her. "And then I can just come over and show off my new hand to the salon ladies while we wait."

Maelle rolls her eyes, but pockets the chroma all the same. "It must be hard to be such a nerd," she teases as she heads for the door.

Once the door closes, Gustave is left alone with his thoughts again, and his mind immediately starts wandering.

As he turns toward the alchemist's atelier, his eyes fall to the end of his sleeve, clipped to cover the stubbed end of his arm. He knows that dark magic can have long-lasting, even permanent effects on seraphim, but he never would've expected anything like the ink-black scars left behind on his arm and his shoulder blades.

The wounds have healed, and the magic they used to heal him took away most of the pain too, but the doctors and healers didn't tell him when the scarring would go away. Or even what was causing it.

Is it just the dark magic, or is it something else entirely?

In the end, it doesn't matter. Beyond the aesthetic effects, there's nothing really wrong with him… weird dreams notwithstanding.

When he reaches the door of Lune's atelier, he feels a chill walk down his spine. He pauses, his hand on the knob, and casts his eyes around the area. It feels like someone is watching him. A malice, the likes of which he's only felt once, that night in the alley by the bank, pierces his skin and tingles his blood.

Look as he might, he can't see anyone. No vampires, no mysterious savior, just people going about their day to day.

No one is even looking at him.

Must have been my imagination, he thinks as he pushes the door open and steps inside.

As he waits in the alchemy atelier's waiting room, he finds his mind wandering back to that night again. More specifically, his stranger savior. Where the hell did he come from? Where did he disappear to? It shouldn't be hard to find one person in Lumiere. Sure, the city is big, but Gustave has a lot of connections. Either someone isn't being truthful with him, or the stranger isn't from the city at all.

But if he's not from the city… where is he from?

Gustave can't say he's ever been beyond the border. He knows there's a whole world out there, but the closest he's ever come to leaving is going to the harbor when the ships show up to drop off imports from beyond the Monolith. He knows of the existence of other countries, other continents, but…

He's never even seen the rest of their continent.

As a child, he wanted to explore. He wanted to venture out onto the Continent and see the sights, traverse the world outside and see if he could find fodder for his stories, but it never came to be. The more his parents pushed him into engineering and alchemy, the less time he had for creative pursuits like writing. Or even art, beyond the mechanical drawing he had to do for schematics.

What he wouldn't give to explore.

Maelle often asks him what's stopping him, and the truth of the matter is… he's running out of good answers.

The only real one he has is that he doesn't want to leave Maelle behind. But Maelle doesn't seem to mind. If he could explore—

Even for a short trip—

"—stave…" a familiar voice snaps him from his thoughts. "Gustave! Earth to Gustave!"

Lune Nocturne stands in front of him, voice and eyes rife with exasperation, as she taps her foot on the ground and holds a large elegant leather case in her hands. She presses her lips into a thin line, then holds the case out to Gustave.

Smiling sheepishly, Gustave takes the box from Lune's hand and murmurs, "Desole, Lune." He glances down at the leather case. "This is it?"

Nodding, Lune takes a seat in the chair next to him. "I'm actually somewhat appalled at the design," she admits with a sigh. "I wanted to make you something sleek and modern. Something enchanted to look like your hand, but Emma was so certain that you'd hate that. She seemed to think you'd want to look like something out of a cheesy sci-fi novel."

Gustave perks. "She did?!" he exclaims, trying but failing to keep the excitement from his voice as he pulls the case open.

"And clearly she was right," Lune deadpans.

When he looks down into the box, he immediately feels his lips curl up into a smirk. Sure enough, the prosthetic Emma had designed is exactly what he imagined. It looks more like a gauntlet than a prosthetic, made of a black, marbled titanium with golden trim. The wrist appears to be an intricate ball joint, as do the fingers, and he can see the alchemical myomer tendons inside.

It looks… cool.

Gustave wastes no time. He pulls the prosthetic out of the box and sets it on his lap, then reaches up to unclip his sleeve.

"I'll need a second when we slide it into place," Lune tells him. "I want to make sure the tendon myomers respond well to your nerves, and that the arcanist got the runes right."

Casting a sidelong glance at her, Gustave sees that there's more to her words than what she's saying, and it doesn't take long for him to realize what it is.

Lune Nocturne is many things.

She's a musician. Highly intelligent. Sarcastic. Witty. Annoyed with people more often than not. A world-class friend, and loyal to a fault once someone earns her trust. Above all, though? She's a scientist. The moment Emma told her about his scars, Lune wanted more than anything to see them for herself.

Gustave manages a chuckle. "If you wanted to see the scarring, you could've just asked."

"Ever willing to show off battle scars," Lune quips, even as she leans forward in her seat in anticipation.

With a huff, Gustave rolls his sleeve up. "Ever the scientist," he teases. "I'm not letting you get a skin sample this time, though."

Undaunted by his teasing, Lune counters, "Bold of you to assume I need skin." She gestures to Gustave's hair. "All I need is to pluck a hair, and I'll know everything I ever wanted to know and more."

"Let's just stick with the scar for now," he insists as he finally folds his sleeve back to reveal the blackened scarring on the stub of his arm.

The way her brows rise makes Gustave uneasy. Lune isn't typically one to wear her emotions on her sleeve. She's more the type to wear a poker face until either her scientific curiosity or her nosiness overwhelms her. Her girlfriend, Sciel Lecteur, is more the impulsive type. The one who pulls Lune out of research mode and shifts her focus to the present.

Seeing Lune react so strongly brings Gustave's eyes to his arm. It still looks the same as it has since he woke up in the hospital. The same spiral scarring from the vampire's dark magic noose, stained black like someone filled the divot with ink.

Exactly the same as the scars on his back where his wings were removed.

"Interesting," Lune lilts, climbing to her feet and leaning over him to take a closer look. She reaches out to touch the spot, but hesitates as she flicks her eyes up to Gustave's face. "Can I touch it?"

Gustave huffs and nods. "At least you asked this time."

As Lune prods at the scarring, she hums to herself. She follows the spiral with her eyes, then turns to look at Gustave. "So, who's the hellion?"

"Pardon?" Gustave questions, his brows peaking to his hairline.

Lune arches an eyebrow. "The hellion," she repeats simply. "Who is it?"

An involuntary laugh puffs from Gustave's chest. "No, I heard you fine, but…" He watches her curiously. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, you were aware that you're a protecteur," Lune remarks offhandedly, like she's sure what she's saying is true.

Gustave, on the other hand, couldn't be any more confused. He has absolutely no idea what she's talking about.

Well, that's not entirely true.

He knows what a protecteur is. Guardian seraphim are among some of the oldest seraph mythology, and constantly written about in children's books, but as far as he knows, they're just bedtime stories. Things parents tell their children to help them sleep better at night. Even Gustave remembers Emma telling him such stories when he was a child and having a hard time sleeping.

Even if they're real, it doesn't matter. Gustave is no guardian seraph. As far as he knows, he walked away from Elysium before he ever got a classification. He's just a typical, run-of-the-mill seraph, with no special abilities. Now he doesn't even have wings, so he may as well just be human.

An ageless human.

He blinks dumbly as he watches Lune's analytical eyes turn to his face. "Have you lost your mind?"

Lune's soft laughter does nothing to disprove the theory that she's lost her mind. Even so, she shakes her head and gestures to the scarring on Gustave's arm. "Have you always scarred like that?"

"Like this?" Gustave looks at the ink-black spiral, leading to the large scar of the same color across the bottom of his stump. "No. I thought it was something in the dark magic the vampire used when she attacked me."

Once again, Lune shakes her head. "It's because you met your charge," she explains, not mincing words as usual. "And you haven't forged a contract with them yet."

Lips pressing together, Gustave looks from his arm to the prosthesis in his lap. "And the scars are jet-black because it's a hellion?"

"I've heard of black for hellions, white for another seraph, blood-red for vampires, and so on," Lune recites as she turns to meet Gustave's eye. "Have you met any hellions recently?"

Gustave shakes his head. "None that I know of," he replies. "But that doesn't mean I haven't. Hellions aren't always public."

After all, the stigma against them is quite unfair. It's not like hellions, as a species, are bad people. They're not even the only species around the city causing trouble. The vampires who attacked him are more than enough proof of that. As far as he's aware, Lumiere has less hellion crime than other species'.

Yet, the stigma remains.

Dark magic plus Abyssal depths equals bad, or some insipid hive mind thought like that. Gustave thinks, in a world where everyone has the capacity to be kind or cruel, such thoughts are foolish and very narrow-minded.

Regardless, he can't deny that there's something different about the scarring on his arm and his shoulder blades. Is that really enough to decide for sure that he's the guardian seraph to some hellion he doesn't even know?

"Merde, you're serious about this, aren't you?" Gustave murmurs, staring at Lune in bewilderment.

Lune nods as she takes the prosthetic forearm from Gustave's hand. She crouches down in front of him and urges him to hold his arm out. "Come on, Gustave," she urges. "You're smart enough to know that a sudden change in how your body reacts to certain stimuli is nothing to shy away from. With scars like that, I'm honestly surprised it took you this long to realize that something was off."

Gustave lifts his arm and watches as Lune gently slides the prostheses into place. He feels a strange jolt, like a static shock, course up his arm. For a beat, he feels a fog of magic haze wash over his mind, which he quickly acknowledges as the magical and alchemical connection taking root.

It fades, and he glances down at his hand, flexing the metal fingers and watching as each one seamlessly responds to his mind's synapses.

"I assumed it had to do with the dark magic snares, so I didn't give it much thought," confesses Gustave with a sheepish chuckle. "I was busy adjusting to my wings being gone. And my arm."

With a sigh, Lune reaches down and sharply flicks the marbled titanium of the prosthetic. A tiny pinch of discomfort blossoms in the spot, and Gustave recoils, pulling his arm away from her touch, rubbing the metal skin with his opposite fingertips.

"Hey!" he complains. "What was that for?!"

Lune raises two fingers. "Two reasons," she explains. "One, I was testing the responsiveness of the artificial nerve-endings."

Huffing, Gustave relays, "They're responsive."

"Good," notes Lune. She taps her second finger. "Two… are you an imbecile?"

Gustave scoffs, then lets out a shaky laugh and shakes his head. "No, no. Point taken," he offers. "Fils de pute, you have the bedside manner of Frankenstein's monster trying to do ballet."

Completely deadpan, Lune replies, "Yeah, sorry. I can't really control myself when I see my friends being idiots."

As frustrating as it is, Gustave knows that Lune isn't the type to make things up when she notices something is off. If she thinks he's the guardian seraph to a hellion, that's probably the case. The problem is, he wasn't exaggerating. He doesn't know when he last met a new hellion. It had to have been before he lost his wings, right? No injuries before these have scarred like this.

He frowns, then casts his eyes down to his prosthetic hand, wiggling his fingers and marveling at how responsive they are. It really is like he's wearing a gauntlet over a flesh and blood hand.

But with one problem solved, a whole new one seems to have arisen.

How is he supposed to find a mysterious hellion, when he can't even begin to imagine who they are?

Notes:

I titled this chapter "Gustave is sassed by women," and I feel like everyone needs to know that.

At first, I was going to have Emma be the one to tell him what's up, for reasons that I'll go into in a later chapter, but I liked the idea of Lune being so exasperated with him being dumb that she just flicks his brand-new prosthetic. 🤭

Now he knows he's the guardian to "a hellion" though!

Wonder when he'll figure out who. 🤭🤭🤭

See you next time!

💜 Lilac

Chapter 4

Summary:

Since he found out, he's been on a search through Lumiere for someone who gives him that resonant, soul-pulling feeling.

Merde, it sounds creepy when he puts it like that.

Notes:

pov: Gustave
cw: none

Finding a single hellion in a city like Lumiere is next to impossible.

According to Emma, Gustave is supposed to just know when he sees the person. It's supposed to be an intangible feeling. As much of an instinct as breathing, blinking, or stretching tension from the muscles. Some sort of mysterious resonance in the pit of his soul that flows through the rest of his being and makes him feel pulled.

His sister's familiarity with the situation is strange to him, even though he knows it shouldn't be. Emma is Lumiere's Director of Seraphic Relations. She's in charge of keeping the city safe for their kind, and as fair as possible, but Gustave knows that she doesn't like to bring her work home with her.

Emma likes to think of Maelle and Gustave as her escape from Lumiere interspecies politics, so for the most part, Gustave likes to preserve that for her. Still, it would've been helpful to know that she knew what the pigmented scarring on his body meant.

He's sure she did it with the intention to help him, or to protect him somehow, but he'd much rather have known.

Not that it matters. He knows now, and since he found out, he's been on a search through Lumiere for someone who gives him that resonant, soul-pulling feeling.

Merde, it sounds creepy when he puts it like that.

For the most part, it's been nothing but going about his day. A week after getting his prosthetic, Gustave reopened his workshop in town, and since the moment he reopened his doors, he's had a fairly steady stream of work. People with projects they'd been holding onto since he went on sabbatical after the vampire incident.

After spending the morning rebuilding the city's trolley car engine to need less fuel, Gustave can confidently say he's earned a bit of fun. He stares at the half-assembled engine on his work desk. His hand wanders to his cup of coffee, and he hums quietly to himself when he sees that it's gone cold. He pushes it aside and folds his hands behind his head, trailing off into his thoughts.

He daydreams of ways to alter his prosthetic. If he added a charge to the tendon, he might be able to get it to throw off lightning. Like his own form of magic, since he never really learned to cast much on his own. His parents much preferred for him to focus on alchemical studies and engineering. Anything that took from those pursuits was a waste of time.

He shakes those thoughts away before they can drag him into the muck, focusing instead on his idea.

Most of the wires he needs are sitting around his workshop, hidden in drawers and boxes and in whatever disorganized, dark corners he can reach. But that's a project for home. Not here at his workshop when he has a paid project waiting for him.

What he can do is use this small break to walk around the workshop and collect the wires he needs, to store in his pockets.

As he opens his desk drawer and starts to search, his mind begins wandering. The scarring on his body hasn't changed since he woke up in the hospital. He's the guardian to a hellion. To someone he doesn't even know.

Wires in hand, he sits back and tries to piece the situation together. How in the world is he supposed to figure out who it is?! Is he supposed to walk up to every hellion in the city and say hello?

He doubts that would go over well.

Even if he does resort to such desperate measures, there's still a chance they might not even want his help. He leans his head back against the headrest in his chair and sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His eyes flick to the ceiling, where he barely sees the late afternoon sun creeping into view at the edge of the skylight. Has he really been at this for most of the day?

His limbs feel heavy all of a sudden, and despite his effort, he finds it hard to keep his eyes open.

For a second, he tries to sit up and force himself awake, but the warmth of the sun beating down on his body strengthens his sudden bout of exhaustion. Before he can stop himself, he finds himself blinking off to sleep in his chair.

Once again, he finds himself looking out over a familiar but unfamiliar scene.

Well, no. That's not entirely true this time. He's seen this view plenty of times, but from a different angle.

Gustave stares at the dark shore on the other edge of Lumiere's wide ocean. He's seen this sight plenty of times from the harbor. When he was a child—when he was just a human who barely understood how the world truly works—he'd go to the docks daily and look out at the ocean, throwing stones into the sea and creating stories in his mind about what he'd find on the other side.

He'd stand there for hours, imagining the forests and villages and lakes and caves out there, waiting, prime to be explored.

Right now, he sees the shore from much closer than the docks. A small rowboat moves across the open ocean, and Gustave sees through eyes that aren't his own as the oars rhythmically lap against the surface. Waves ripple from either side of the boat as it creeps across the massive expanse of ocean he knows is behind it.

"Is this wise?" asks a familiar voice—the same voice Gustave remembers hearing the last time he had this dream. "You're always so down when you leave Lumiere."

This time, he hears the second voice clear as day. "It's not for me, Monoco. I have to. It's for him."

There's something… familiar about that voice, but in his subconscious mind, it's hard to identify exactly what it is.

After a brief beat of silence, the first voice—Monoco—asks, "For him?"

For who?

The silence is heavier this time. Thick and oppressive. Gustave can feel the weight of anxiety pulling him down, even if he's not seeing through his own eyes. After a few long seconds, the second voice corrects, "For her. Not for him."

Monoco quickly counters, "That's not what you said."

"I know what I said," the mysterious familiar voice barks succinctly. "But it's not what I meant."

All Gustave hears is the sound of the oars on the water for several seconds. Then, Monoco asks, "So, is it for him? Or is it for her?"

Letting out a deep, exasperated sigh, the mystery voice replies, "Does it matter? It's for one of them." He pauses, then scoffs. "Both of them, really. He's her guardian. What's for one of them is for the other, right?"

Monoco hums. "So, it's for you? Since you get the chance to see him again—"

"Wh—no!" protests the mystery man, his fluster evident.

"Such protestations," replies Monoco, sounding amused. "Almost as though I'm absolutely correct."

"You're impossible."

Monoco chuckles. "But I'm correct."

This mysterious stranger lets out another sigh as he makes another slow stroke with the oars. "Fermez-la, Monoco. I can't just leave him there. You heard them. They can't find me so they're planning to kill him. I can't put her through that."

With a gruff grumble, Monoco asks, "So, what's the plan?"

The mystery man hums, and the oars paddle lightly against the water's surface. "You stay with the boat," he reasons. "Have it ready nearby, in case we need to leave in a hurry. I'll drop this letter off for Alicia, to let her know the situation. Then, I'll run to the ambush point and fend them off. Hopefully, I'll get there before they do, so he doesn't even know they're after him."

"And if you don't?" challenges Monoco.

As the oars stop moving, the boat slows to a stop, floating far from the Dark Shore on the other end of the bay. The stranger turns to face Monoco, and Gustave can see the man's wooden legs again. "I do what has to be done. He's been through enough because of me. I refuse to be the reason…"

His voice trails off as he picks up the oars and continues paddling, facing Monoco now. He opens his mouth to speak—

CRASH

Gustave is started to awareness by the sharp, high-pitched shatter of glass breaking overhead. He instinctively shields his head with his arms as the shattered pieces of his skylight rain down from the ceiling, hitting the floor in a cacophony of tiny clicks around him.

Several pieces of glass find their way into his face and arm, while several more fall down his shirt, scratching at the skin of his shoulders, back, and the back of his neck. He barely has the time to register the pain. As he scrambles out of his chair and gets under the desk to avoid the rain of glass, he hears a series of loud thumps on the floor.

"Putain de merde!" he whispers as he dares to uncover his head for the briefest flash.

The moment his eyes focus on the area around him, he sees several pairs of legs—at least four people—rising to their full height in front of him. Part of him thinks it's a good idea to poke his head out and see what's going on, but the rest of him is sure it's absolutely not.

Unfortunately, he doesn't have the luxury.

"Over here," calls a voice—one he thinks he's heard before but not enough to identify. "I saw the fils de chien scramble under his desk."

Gustave blinks. "Whoa, whoa, hang on," he starts. "I have no idea what's going on here, but—"

He doesn't get to finish.

As he's speaking, he lifts his hands, intending to show them that he's not planning on hurting them. The moment he moves, they grab his flesh-and-blood hand by the wrist and yank him out from under the table. When he stands up, he finds himself face-to-face with one of the bank robber vampires who attacked him on the night of the Autumn Festival.

The man, who stands nearly half a foot taller than Gustave, has platinum blond hair and glowing, blood-red eyes. He flashes his venom dripping fangs like it's taking every iota of his self-control not to sink them into Gustave's neck. A low, rumbling snarl and a quiet hiss rings out from a pair of his cohorts, and only then does Gustave realize how much he's bleeding.

All the glass in his body seems to be making him quite an appealing snack to them.

Gustave is only on his feet for two seconds, before a second member of the group surges forward and grabs his prosthetic by the wrist, pinning it behind him and shoving him to the glass-covered floor. They hold him in place with a knee on his back, pressing sharply against his spine and sending a dull ache through his muscles.

"Th–This must be some kind of misunderstanding—"

Again, Gustave doesn't get to finish. The man holding him in place pushes his face down into the glass. "Where's your partner?"

Glass pushes against Gustave's cheek, and he feels the slight prick of it breaking through, followed by the intense burn of a million exposed nerve endings. He hisses and thrashes against the knee on his spine. "I don't have a—I own this shop alone!"

"Bullshit!" seethes the other vampire. "What about the bastard who dropped from the fire escape to save your sorry ass?"

"I don't—"

The vampire with their knee on his spine wrenches his shoulder and tugs at his prosthesis. Gustave hears his smug laughter as he pulls on the synthetic arm again, then calls to his cohorts.

"She really did a number on him. Lost his wings and his arm," he chides. "Serves him right for getting in our way. Hey, someone pull this thing off. He doesn't give his buddy up, we can beat him to death with his own arm."

Writhing against the man's grip, Gustave strains, "I really don't know him!"

They don't seem to believe him, not that he expected them to. Gustave feels the chill against the stump of his arm as they pull his prosthesis loose and expose the black scarring to the early-December air pouring in through the broken skylight.

"What a piece of shit," the vampire remarks in amusement. "Looks like it was made for a fucking ren faire or something. Chel, think we can get anything for the parts?"

Chel, whoever they are, hums thoughtfully and nods. "Looks like it was made at Nocturne's place. We could sell it for the titanium alone," they reason. "And that's real gold, too. Between that and those fancy magic runes? Hell yeah, we can make a chunk of chroma with this!"

The first vampire grunts in confirmation. "That just leaves one loose end." He presses his knee harder into Gustave's spine. "If you want to get out of this with your life, tell us where your partner is."

Gustave's vision swims. "I really have no idea—"

"You've got filthy fucking hellion protecteur scars, seraph. You know where your hellion is. You think you're doing him a favor by not telling us, you've got another thing coming."

That… answers as many questions as it creates. So, the man who showed up and chased off the vampires—the one who killed the vampire who took Gustave's arm and wings—is a hellion?

Before he has a chance to think about it any further, he feels the vampire moving closer. The press of a hand pins down his shoulder blades, and he feels the moisture and acidic burn of a drop of vampire venom hitting the back of his neck. A low rumbling chuckle hits his ear as the vampire wrenches his arm higher.

"Last chance," the vampire warns. "If you tell me, I'll make it quick."

Even if Gustave did know where the mystery hellion went, he wouldn't say anything. Not only did he save Gustave's life that night by killing the vampire who was restraining him and getting him to the hospital, but…

If he's a hellion, he might be the person Gustave has been looking for.

The one he's meant to protect.

So, rather than answer the question, he writhes in the vampire's grip, and replies with a sharp, "Dégage!"

Rather than moving, the vampire lilts, "No, I don't think I will. Seraph blood is my favorite." He pauses, laughs, then twists Gustave's wrist with one hand, squeezing the stub of his arm with the other. "Though… I wonder if you're even considered a seraph anymore. You're more like a penguin. A harmless little flightless bird without any way to stop what's coming. We're going to kill you, right here and now. And then we're going to find your hellion and kill him too."

As if in response to the vampire's taunts, Gustave hears another sharp impact on the ground. Gustave tries to turn toward the sound, but the vampire moves a hand and presses it into the back of his head. His face is pushed harder into the broken glass, and he feels it sink deeper into his cheek.

"I believe I'm the one you want," rumbles an all-too-familiar voice.

Not only does this voice belong to the man from Gustave's strange dreams, but… he's the man from the alley that night. As he said, the very man these vampires are looking for.

The pressure on the back of Gustave's head doesn't release. The vampire moves his knee to rest between Gustave's shoulder blades, then muses, "So you are."

Gustave can't see anything with his head pressed against the ground, but he can hear perfectly. He hears the quiet particle flicker of a weapon being summoned, then the slash of steel on steel. Footsteps that sound like thunder with his ear pressed tightly to the ground, and a sudden, sharp yelp that doesn't sound like it's coming from the hellion.

"The arm," demands the hellion.

With a scoff, the vampire with Gustave's arm protests, "Like hell—"

"Don't give it to him," orders the vampire still on Gustave's back.

A brief beat of silence follows, then Gustave hears the hellion let out a low, quiet chuckle. "I'll ask again nicely. The arm, please."

Then… nothing. Silence, more oppressive than the weight of the vampire's knee on his back. The vampires don't move, and neither does the hellion.

The air feels tense, even from the floor where he's unable to see what's happening around him. For several seconds, things seem to be at a complete standstill, like the vampires are waiting for the hellion to act. The hellion makes no move either, despite the clear, conciseness of his demand.

Gustave wants to look. To see the mysterious hellion with his ice-blue eyes and dark fluffy hair. The man who both put him in danger and saved his life.

It feels… odd.

Like more than an urge. More than just a simple want. It feels like a need. Like something in the depths of his soul will only be whole when he turns to meet the hellion's eyes. Every iota of his being seems to vibrate with the overwhelming desire to throw this vampire from his back, then face them shoulder to shoulder with the hellion.

In a blink, Emma's words come to his mind.

A pull. Something that resonates in the depths of his soul and feels just as natural as pulling in a breath of air. Then, he thinks of the vampire's insistence that he was this hellion's guardian. Maybe it's an assumption, but it feels like a safe one to make.

They're right.

They're absolutely right.

That instinct fuels him. He doesn't know where he pulls the strength from, but when he finds it, he springs into motion. With a slight twist, he shifts on the ground, moving his knee up to impact with the vampire's leg. Whether or not it hurts, it seems to take the vampire by surprise, allowing Gustave to wrench his wrist from the vampire's grip.

He turns—

And their eyes meet again.

The intangible feeling grows. It feels like a sugar rush meets an adrenaline rush on a molecular level. Every single cell in his body thrums with energy, and he feels like he can take on every single one of these vampires on his own.

It seems like the hellion is frozen in place, his eyes locked on Gustave's in the same kind of quiet bewilderment. He holds the same sword and dagger he carried the other night. The dagger is held defensively in front of him, while the sword is pointing at the vampire carrying Gustave's prosthetic arm.

Gustave snaps out of his stupor, but the molecular adrenaline rush still feels like it thrums through every vein in his body. In the sudden confusion, Gustave manages to thrust his hand out, punching the vampire right in the balls.

For a split second, he wonders if it'll do anything at all to a species who doesn't breathe or have blood in their veins, but when the vampire squeaks pathetically and crumples to their side on the glass-covered ground, he has his answer. He hears a sudden scuffle behind him as he scrambles to his feet, then when he turns, he sees the mysterious hellion holding the tip of his dagger to the vampire's throat.

"The arm," he commands, though it sounds more like a warning this time. "I'm not asking again."

Gustave doesn't get the chance to see if the vampire hands it over, because the other two descend on the hellion, preparing to defend their friend. He flicks his wrist, summoning his sword from the aether, then hurries to stand between the two vampires and the hellion.

Sword at the ready, he glares at them as if in warning.

Attack, and it'll be the last thing you do.

They both seem incredulous at the concept of having a one-armed man threatening them, but Gustave can't tell if it's for show or not. Neither of them are attacking, so he thinks on some level it must be.

After a few seconds, he feels something warm touch his back. He flicks his eyes over his shoulder to see the hellion's leather glove-clad hand, offering his prosthetic arm back to him, in perfect position for him to slide into it. "Do you trust me?"

At first, Gustave has no answer to that question. This man is nothing but a stranger, and every time they've met, Gustave has been under some sort of physical duress. Even now, he's covered in glass, bleeding from myriad different open glass wounds all over his body. His muscles ache from the awkward angle of the pin he just escaped from.

He has absolutely no clue what this hellion is asking him to trust.

But…

"Please trust me," the hellion continues, his voice almost… desperate.

In the face of that desperate plea, Gustave's hesitation snaps like a twig. He slides his arm into the prosthetic, feeling the same static jolt he always feels when the magic connects to his brain.

Something clicks into his place, and he doesn't just mean his arm. The air feels like it shifts. Another molecular thrum of energy that makes his blood feel fizzy like champagne or soda pop as it shoots through his veins. When he meets the hellion's ice blue eyes over his shoulder, adrenaline overpowers the aches and pains he feels.

Gustave flicks his wrist and summons his pistol into his prosthetic hand. "Okay," he replies. "I have your back."

Relief floods the hellion's expression, as his ice blue eyes fall over with a wash of deep hellion-purple. It covers the sclera first, then the iris, then the pupil, until his eyes resemble solid obsidian. In a voice so quiet that Gustave doesn't think the vampires can even hear it, he whispers, "Be ready."

For what? is all Gustave has a chance to think, before he sees a cloud of thick, white smoke pour from a random spot on the floor, near where the lead vampire still writhes from Gustave's punch.

The smoke seems to come from nowhere, but it pours in so thickly that Gustave wonders what's causing it.

He barely has a chance to register the sight when… the smell follows.

The thickest, most acrid odor of burning garlic that he's ever smelled. It's so strong it burns his eyes and prickles against his skin. All at once, the vampires all crumble to the ground in the fetal position as the garlic in the air hits their skin. Screams of desperate agony ring throughout the room, echoing in the vastness of his workshop.

Gustave startles when he feels the warmth of a hand clasping around his shoulder. He whips his eyes up to see the hellion's eyes glowing like ultraviolet light.

"Follow me," offers the hellion in a calm tone. "We have to run."

Brows rising, Gustave quickly asks, "Where to?"

Still just as calm as ever, despite the burning of the garlic in the air, he replies, "Safety. We can talk more when we get there."

There's something he's not saying. Gustave isn't sure how he can tell. The only time he's ever seen this man before is under circumstances exactly like this, so he should have no way of knowing if he's trustworthy.

But…

Something tells him it's a good idea. That same intangible something he's been feeling this whole time tells him that not only is it okay… but it's what he's supposed to do.

So, with a nod, Gustave turns to the stranger and says, "Okay. Lead the way."

Notes:

FINALLY! The boys have properly met, and the story can really start~

Chapter 5

Summary:

Curiosity flashes in Gustave's eyes, as they flick toward the harbor. He turns back to Verso and asks, "Is Monoco there?"

The question makes Verso stumble over his own two feet. He has to brace himself on a light post to stay standing, and when he corrects himself, he whips around and stares, wide-eyed, at Gustave.

"How did you know about Monoco?"

One corner of Gustave's lips twitch into a half-smile. "How did you know about Maelle?"

Verso's sharp laugh is involuntary. "Point taken."

Point not taken. Point not taken in the slightest.

Notes:

pov: Verso
cw: patching wounds, Verso being an absolute simp

Verso is… not sure what he expected, but he certainly expected more of a fight when he asked Gustave to follow him.

Not for Gustave to take the access point outside his workshop and run across the Lumiere rooftops to the edge of the city. His willingness to follow, even as he's bleeding from dozens of little glass cuts all over his body and probably more than his fair share of shell-shocked, is a pleasant surprise.

But now that leaves Verso with a new situation on his hands.

How in the hell is he expected to convince Gustave to get on the rowboat with him and cross the bay? To leave Alicia here and come to the Continent for an indeterminate amount of time, while Verso cleans up the mess?

They walk across the rooftop of the old abandoned lumber distribution center, and the gravity of the situation finally seems to have caught up to Gustave. He stares down at the dead leaves and abandoned gravel on the roof, a thick crease furrowing his brow as the ocean breeze blows his wavy brown hair into his face.

It's… hard not to get distracted by the sight of him, but Verso manages not to get too carried away and clears his throat.

"I think we're safe here," he announces, just loud enough to be heard over the conversation in the street below.

"Seems like it," agrees Gustave with a sharp nod.

Verso stops. "Let's catch our breath for a second," he suggests.

With a sheepish laugh, Gustave mutters, "And maybe my mind can catch up with my body." He pauses, then points over his shoulder. "I think it's still back in my workshop."

All Verso can manage in reply is a quiet, involuntary laugh as he approaches the edge of the roof to look down. They're above the downtown area of Lumiere now, and surrounded by the smell of several street fires in empty oil drums, mixing with the ocean breeze and providing a pleasant distraction from the garlic still piercing his nostrils.

Verso hates making illusions so unpleasant that he gets lost in them, but it was an unfortunate necessity in that situation. As sure as he was that they could've won a fight against the quartet of vampires in Gustave's workshop, all he would have accomplished was to make the group angrier.

It's bad enough that Gustave got caught up in his incessant conflict with the Blood Bearers.

He's been hunting the gang of ruthless, lawless vampires since they moved their base of operations out of Lumiere and into the far reaches of the Continent, near the Isle of the Eyes. They have groups in every single major settlement outside of Lumiere, and some of the remnants of the gang decided to stay in the city proper to terrorize the citizens for their blood.

It's why they call themselves the Blood Bearers. Sharing blood with vampires across the land, because they see themselves as some kind of supreme being. They even consider their own kind to be lesser, unless they decide not to use blood banks and kill to get their blood.

(Verso's vendetta against them runs much deeper than their morals and their cruelty, but that's not important.)

What is important… is Gustave.

Gustave, who got pulled into this mess that he's so far removed from that it's unfair for him to even be in the same periphery. It's all so much more than anyone should have to deal with. Especially Gustave, who has already lost his wings and his arm to these murderous vampires, and who now stands to lose so much more.

He doesn't know how they found out.

They shouldn't have been able to tell how important Gustave was. Even Gustave doesn't know about his own incidental ties to the Dessendre family. How did the Blood Bearers find out?

One problem at a time.

For now, he needs to focus on Gustave. To make sure he's okay, and to try and convince him to leave Lumiere.

If he won't? Well… Verso will just have to cross that bridge when he comes to it.

When he raises his eyes, Verso finds himself face-to-face with an analytical, curious stare. Gustave's face, covered in tiny cuts from the glass all over his workshop floor, makes guilt bubble up in Verso's chest. He averts his own gaze to the stone of the roof, sweeping a hand through his hair.

There's a lot he wants to say. Even more he should say. He owes Gustave more explanations than he can ever properly give.

But… he doesn't know where to begin.

The only person he's really spoken to at length for the past six years is Monoco, and Monoco is…

Well, it's easy to talk when he's talking to a figment of his own imagination created from the memory of his childhood dog. Real people… are complicated. Unpredictable. Especially someone like Gustave Aubert.

He forces himself to look up, to face Gustave and look upon what he's caused.

How does he even begin to apologize? How does he even begin to explain? If he's honest, any and all chances of Gustave willingly joining him will fly out the window.

It would be so much easier if Gustave wasn't looking at him like that. Like he's trying to peel back the layers of Verso's skin and see into his soul, or into his mind to read his thoughts. Merde, it would be so much easier if Gustave was yelling at him; was angrily demanding answers for why Verso literally dropped into his life twice to fight off the same vampires.

But Verso has seen enough of the man to know he's not like that.

He's not an angry person. Not the type to throw blame around loosely when he doesn't know the whole truth. That's not to say that Verso has never seen him get angry. He's seen Gustave angry on Alicia's—on Maelle's—behalf plenty of times. But for every time Verso has seen Gustave angry, there are three times as many occasions that he's been kind.

Then, he speaks.

"Are you alright?"

It's almost enough to make Verso laugh. The man has been through hell. In the past month, he's lost his wings, his left forearm, and now his face is all cut up… and he's asking if Verso is okay?

Verso nods. "I'm fine. I should be the one asking you that," he counters. "Are you okay?"

With a breath of laughter that seems involuntary, Gustave looks down at his hands. He flexes his prosthetic, then releases each finger individually, before turning his eyes to the bloodied skin-and-bone hand.

"I think I'm a bit overwhelmed," Gustave confesses, raising his eyes and flicking them toward Verso. "And confused. And… kind of bloody."

Laughing in disbelief, Verso nods. "You are." He starts quietly toward the anchor point at the edge of the building, leading down to the docks. "I suspect you have questions."

Gustave glances over his shoulder in the direction of his shop. Then, he turns back to Verso, and with a sheepish smile, he replies, "A few."

"You can ask," invites Verso, managing a smile over his shoulder.

He won't answer every question, but… if he wants Gustave to trust him enough to follow him, he has to be willing to answer some questions. Most questions. But first, he activates the anchor point and lets it carry him gently to the ground. He finds himself in the alley between a bookstore and a Chinese restaurant.

It comes as something of a surprise when Gustave follows without hesitation. He touches down next to Verso and offers him a smile that has no place on a face so bloodied. "Well, let's start with one that will make all the others easier," he suggests, then offers his prosthetic hand out. "My name is Gustave Aubert."

I know, thinks Verso.

Gustave continues, "Yours?"

Verso extends his hand and grasps Gustave's, shaking it gently. Strange, he thinks, for a metallic appendage to feel… warm. Gentle, even. Stranger still is the expression on Gustave's face. He stares at their linked hands like receiving the answer to a burning question, before flicking wide, surprised eyes back up to Verso.

Only then, under Gustave's intense gaze, does Verso realize that he hasn't answered the question. At first, all he says is, "Verso," but when he sees curiosity flicker in Gustave's eyes he can't seem to stop himself. Quietly, like a shameful secret, he adds, "Dessendre."

"Of the Painter's Hill Dessendres?" Gustave asks, his brows peaking as he gestures toward the distant rise.

With an involuntary wince, Verso nods and breaks their shared stare, slipping his hands from Gustave's. "Once upon a time," he answers. "In another life."

The cryptic answer seems to pique Gustave's curiosity, but for whatever reason, he doesn't ask any further. There's a softness in his eyes that seems both in place and completely out of place when directed toward Verso. He nods, then gently wipes some of the blood from his cheek and winces when he touches a piece of glass.

"Careful," urges Verso, reaching out to move his hand, but hesitating before he makes contact. His hand twitches and he pulls it back. "There's… a fair bit of glass in your face."

With a quiet laugh, Gustave counters, "There's no such thing as 'a fair bit' when you're talking about glass in your face, Verso."

Verso's lips twitch. "True." He gestures toward the harbor, then leads the way out of the alley. "I have a first aid kit in my rowboat."

Curiosity flashes in Gustave's eyes, as they flick toward the harbor. He turns back to Verso and asks, "Is Monoco there?"

The question makes Verso stumble over his own two feet. He has to brace himself on a light post to stay standing, and when he corrects himself, he whips around and stares, wide-eyed, at Gustave.

"How did you know about Monoco?"

One corner of Gustave's lips twitch into a half-smile. "How did you know about Maelle?"

Verso's sharp laugh is involuntary. "Point taken."

Point not taken. Point not taken in the slightest.

Verso knowing about Maelle—a living, breathing person, who just so happens to be his long-estranged sister—is a vastly different situation than Gustave knowing about a friend who doesn't exist in reality. Maybe he meant the childhood dog. Maybe Alicia mentioned the Monoco she remembers when talking about her childhood.

That's the explanation he decides to settle on, because wondering what the truth is, is an easy way to go mad.

Rather than focus on that, Verso's eyes flick to Gustave. "That can't be all you wanted to ask."

"It's not," confesses Gustave as he steps out of the alley and onto the empty harborside street. "But I'm… trying to settle on just one question. I have far too many."

Verso huffs. "I imagine."

Even as Verso hurries toward the harbor, Gustave doesn't move from the empty, darkened street. A soft dusting of snow tumbles from the sky, and Verso watches as Gustave's eyes flick in the direction of his apartment. It makes sense. Of course he'd want to go home, given how late it's getting.

As far as he's aware, Maelle is probably worrying, expecting him home a few hours ago.

It would be true on any other night, but tonight…

Rather than letting Gustave run through all the questions he probably has, trying to settle on just one, Verso turns back toward him and crosses the distance caused by Gustave's stillness. He stands in front of Gustave, whose eyes flick up to meet his and pierce their way under his skin again.

That gaze on its own is almost enough to make Verso burst at the seams and tell Gustave everything, but he refrains. Gustave has already been through enough tonight.

(That's an excuse, and he knows it. The reality is, he's a coward; he's afraid of how Gustave will react when he hears the whole truth.)

Instead, he quirks his lips into a soothing smile and offers, "I'm sure you're wondering how I happened to show up both times they attacked you, right?"

Gustave huffs quietly. "That's as good a place to start as any," he reasons, finally breaking his standstill and flicking his eyes toward the harbor. "Yeah, I'm definitely wondering that."

"Well, the truth is, the first time really was just… right place, right time. I was in town to patrol the parts of the city the guard couldn't get to while protecting the festival," Verso explains, his smile sheepish as he jogs to get to Gustave's side, then slows his stride so they walk side by side.

"And the second time?" Gustave presses, casting a sidelong glance in Verso's direction.

Verso meets that sidelong gaze with one of his own. "I overheard members of their group talking about using you to lure me out," he explains. "Under that… misguided impression that we were somehow connected."

Laughing softly, Gustave tucks his hands into the pockets of his brown denim pants. "They mentioned that the first time," he recollects. "Called you my backup, if memory serves."

With an involuntary laugh, Verso nods and casts his eyes down to the ground. "They did."

"I'm not sure where they got that impression," Gustave remarks offhandedly, taking his hands from his pockets and using the prosthetic to pull glass from his flesh-and-blood hand. "If anything, you were the star of the show, and I was the failed sidekick."

How?

How can he so easily joke about it, when that very incident is what lost him his wings and his left forearm? He should be glaring daggers and cursing Verso's name. Should hate the sight of Verso, especially knowing that this is all happening to him because of some misconception that they're connected.

As if reading his mind, Gustave reassures him, "I don't blame you for this, you know?"

It's Verso's turn to stop dead in his tracks.

"How?!"

The desperate yelp of a question escapes without Verso's permission, and the moment he does, he wishes he could push the word right back in. That he could use some kind of illusion to erase it from Gustave's memory and ask it in a much calmer, cooler way.

But it's too late now.

Gustave turns a few steps ahead. It strikes Verso at that moment, exactly how strange it is for Gustave to maintain that smile in spite of everything. The wounds on his cheek, the blood on his arm—isn't he cold, in just short sleeves in the early December night?—the glass still hiding in his thick wavy hair… anyone else would be furious.

But not Gustave, it seems. Either that or he just hides it well.

"If you wanted me dead, you wouldn't have tried to get me to leave that night," reasons Gustave with a shrug. "Not only did you try to send me to safety, even though I probably could have helped you, but you brought me to the hospital to make sure the dark magic didn't kill me."

Verso hums. "Of course I did."

Not only would it have absolutely destroyed Maelle to lose Gustave like that, but Verso… he doesn't think he could…

(No. Now is not the time to think about that.)

Gustave's lips curl into a smile. "If anything, I should thank you. For saving my life that day." He huffs. "And today, too."

"I wish I could've been faster," Verso's voice goes off without his permission.

"It's not your fault," Gustave insists, his voice alarmingly gentle.

Verso presses his lips together and lets out a bitter laugh. "You're right, though. I… wasn't going to let you die."

Smiling gently, Gustave replies, "I appreciate that."

During the silence that follows, Verso realizes that this should be his chance. He should… use Gustave's gratitude to convince him to come along. Maybe, with that gratitude and the harsh reality of the attack in mind, he'll be more inclined to believe that Alicia is safer without him than with him right now.

That, as long as the Blood Bearers are under the false impression that Verso is important to him, he's bringing needless danger her way.

They turn from the harbor to the small expanse of rocky beach nearby. Verso glances at his small, lonely rowboat, tied to a piece of driftwood just off the shore. That oppressive quiet continues until they cross the slippery rocks, made more hazardous by the freezing snow that flutters onto them. The snow melts on impact and turns them into nothing but a slippery, wet mess.

For this entire leg of their walk, neither of them says a word. Verso can tell Gustave is thinking about something. His eyes are on the rowboat, as if he's looking for something. He turns a curious gaze toward Verso, but whatever he's thinking, he doesn't ask it. He just continues their silent, hazardous, snow-dappled walk.

Gustave nearly falls three times, hampered by the various aches and pains throughout his body. Even Verso slips once, and has to brace himself on a large rock to keep from falling. When they get to the boat, Verso immediately hurries to his pack and digs through it for his first aid kit. As soon as he finds it, he turns around to show it to Gustave, but…

When he sees Gustave looking back at the city… he realizes.

It's now or never.

"Gustave," Verso starts.

Gustave turns, and there's an expression in his eyes that's hard to read. It almost looks like… resignation? Or maybe it's more akin to realization? Recognition? Almost like he already knows what's coming, but how could he? How could he know that Verso is about to ask him to uproot his whole life and leave everything behind for who knows how long?

Whatever it is, it strikes a chord in Verso's chest. He approaches and looks at the first aid kit in Verso's hands. "Where do you want me to sit?" he asks.

Verso quickly moves the blanket he kept over the seats of the rowboat. "The seat is dry." He gestures to the blanket. "And when I get the glass out of your arms, you can wrap up, since you don't have a coat."

"You thought of everything," Gustave replies, but does as Verso suggested without hesitation.

"It's always smart to be prepared," reasons Verso as he takes a seat in the opposite seat.

It's now or never, Verso repeats to himself. He opens the first aid kit and digs out a pair of tweezers.

But rather than saying what he knows he has to say, he asks, "Would you rather have me get your face or arms first?"

Gustave lets out a quiet laugh. "I'd like to talk without worrying about it piercing through the other side of my cheek," he muses.

With a nod, Verso lifts his eyes to Gustave's face. He quickly finds the largest piece of glass, the one piercing into Gustave's cheek, and lifts the tweezers. "I don't know how you can be so…"

He trails off, unsure of how to finish his sentence. Instead, he focuses far too intently on the task at hand.

"Calm?" offers Gustave.

Verso huffs as he squeezes a piece of glass and pulls it from Gustave's cheek. "Among other things."

"I assure you, I'm not calm," Gustave clarifies. He winces as the glass tears his wound open again on its way out. "I've just… learned to keep my head unless the situation calls for it."

A tiny smile pulls up one corner of Verso's lips as he throws the glass over the edge and picks out another small piece from Gustave's mustache. "Vampires broke into your workshop with the intent to kill you," he points out, dropping the glass in the rocks. "You, a seraph, are sitting on a docked boat with a stranger—a hellion stranger—who's picking glass out of your skin. You don't think that calls for it?"

Laughing quietly, Gustave hums in confirmation. "Maybe a little. But at least I'm alive," he replies. "And I know who you are now."

Verso's brows rise. He lets out a soft chuckle. "Wasn't aware I was a plus side, but I'll take it."

"You know what would be just as much of a plus side?" asks Gustave as he holds out his glass-covered arm.

"What's that?"

"If you told me what you're trying to hide," Gustave remarks with a smile.

Verso blinks.

With a chuckle, Gustave continues, "I'm the guardian to a sixteen-year-old girl." He looks down at the glass wounds on his arm. "I've gotten pretty good at knowing when someone is hiding something from me. You won't look at me, even fleeting glances like you were giving before. You brought me to your rowboat, rather than home or to the hospital. Either there's something I need to know, or you plan on taking me to the ocean and throwing me out of the boat to drown."

"Is that not something you'd need to know too?" quips Verso, brow arched curiously.

Not missing a beat, Gustave counters, "Is that the case?"

"No."

"Then no."

Verso sighs as he sets the tweezers aside to clean when he's finished, then takes out a bottle of antiseptic. "You need to leave Lumiere."

Gustave blinks. "Why?"

"They're under the impression that you're with me, so they won't stop coming after you now," Verso explains. "It's… safest for both you and Maelle if you leave Lumiere until I can get this situation under control."

Brows drawing together, Gustave looks down at the iodine covered cloth. "Can I tell Maelle?"

A melancholy smile spreads across Verso's face. "Maelle already knows."

"Pardon?"

"I promise you, Maelle already knows."

Verso is sure she's gotten the note he left under the apartment door by now. He's sure she recognized his handwriting, and he's sure she's already packed a bag or two, to go and stay with Emma or Sciel and Lune. She'll be well-protected, and Verso knows that if push comes to shove, she's capable of protecting herself, too.

He'd never leave anything to chance with Alicia. After all, everything he does is to protect her.

To protect her and to protect him.

While Gustave still looks bewildered, he seems remarkably adjusted to the situation. "How do you plan on getting things under control?"

Verso doesn't answer, but he doesn't think he needs to. There's only one way to deal with a gang of murderous vampires.

It seems like Gustave understands. "By yourself?"

"It's safer that way," reasons Verso.

"For who, exactly?" Gustave asks, disbelief clear on his face.

Verso holds the antiseptic out in quiet warning. "For everyone. No one gets hurt—"

"Except you," Gustave counters, nodding in quiet acknowledgment of the antiseptic.

"I'll be fine."

Gustave isn't convinced, if the arch of his brow is any indication.

Before he can protest, Verso raises the small piece of gauze covered in iodine and touches it to the biggest open wound on Gustave's cheek.

A quiet hiss sounds out around them, and Gustave's brows stitch together. "How can you be sure?" he grits out.

"I've been fighting them alone for six years," Verso counters, wiping away the excess blood on Gustave's cheek and moving to dab at some of the smaller cuts. "Maybe even longer than that. I'm not about to bring someone else into my fight now."

(Especially not you, he thinks.)

Furtive brown eyes glance around the area. "What about Monoco?"

Verso grimaces. Hearing about his illusory friend, his only friend, from Gustave is a bit of ironic salt in his wound. "Monoco… doesn't count. I still don't know how you know about him," he reminds Gustave with a huff. "It's just… safer for me to do it alone."

"It's not," Gustave insists. "If you're insisting that I leave Lumiere, and you're planning on finding a way to fight them, I'm not letting you do it alone."

Jaw setting tight, Verso plucks a pair of butterfly bandages from his first aid kit to seal the wound on Gustave's cheek. "What about Maelle?"

"What about Maelle? If I'm leaving Lumiere anyway—"

"I was going to bring you somewhere safe." Verso gestures broadly over his shoulder toward the opposite shore of the bay. "To the seraph settlement near Falling Leaves. That way, when you got word that they were gone, you could come back."

He dabs a second piece of gauze against the wounds on Gustave's arm.

Gustave shakes his head. "I can't let you do it alone, Verso."

Merde alors, he should've known Gustave would be stubborn about this.

"Fine," Verso concedes in the face of that earnest expression in Gustave's eyes. "We have a four-day trip between here and Falling Leaves. Plenty of time for you to change your mind, if you'd rather stay safe in the seraph settlement."

Even if Gustave's mind doesn't change, Verso is sure he can figure out a good time to sneak away once they're safe in the settlement walls.

After all, as adamant as Gustave is to help him… he's just as determined to keep Gustave safe.

Otherwise, what is this all for?

Notes:

BOY OH BOY, ONE CHAPTER IN THE SAME VICINITY AND VERSO IS ALREADY AN ABSOLUTE FOOL FOR GUSTAVE.

But they're traveling together! Traveling the Continent, just like Gustave always wanted!

Don't you worry, I have plans for the Monoco stuff eventually, but as it stands, he's exactly what Verso says he is: an illusion Verso created to stem the tide of loneliness. Poor guy.

Thanks for reading!

💜 Lilac

Chapter 6

Summary:

Not for the first time, he finds himself wishing he still had his wings.

If he did, he'd unfurl them and zip into the sky, down to the trees below to pluck a few handfuls of leaves, gather some dandelion roots, and some of the water from the clear river below to make a duo of potions for himself and Verso.

Notes:

pov: Gustave
cw: none

Gustave isn't used to so much nature.

He's used to the noise of the city. To the trolley car, and the way it vibrates the street as it rolls along its predestined path. People greeting him on his way to work as they go about their business. Construction and vehicles and the cacophony of conflicting noise that rattles around every time he leaves his apartment.

The noises out here are night and day different.

It's the second night of their four-day trip to Falling Leaves, and Gustave is no more used to the serenity than he was last night. He spent half of last night unable to sleep because of the thick, all-encompassing quiet, so he used the wires and runes still in his pockets to upgrade his prosthesis.

It's hardly the laser shooting, superpowered appendage he hoped for, but now, it's useful in a combat situation with its ability to throw off red lightning sparks. He's sure, in their mission to deal with these vampires, he'll find ample opportunity to use it.

Tonight, they've made camp on a cliffside overlooking a winding river that leads into an elegant forest with glimmering, sky blue leaves. From a distance, it makes the trees look like crystals. Like lamplight beckoning him to come explore.

Gustave has seen these leaves before, back at the apothecary in town. Cloud Catcher Leaves, he thinks they're called. On the Sky Reacher Tree. He read all about them in his childhood apothecary book. He recalls reading that they taste like sweet, tangy raspberries, and have an energizing, mood-lifting effect. They're often crushed and distilled into magical antidepressants, or put into energy potions and poultices.

Not for the first time, he finds himself wishing he still had his wings.

If he did, he'd unfurl them and zip into the sky, down to the trees below to pluck a few handfuls of leaves, gather some dandelion roots, and some of the water from the clear river below to make a duo of potions for himself and Verso.

He crouches down and picks up a palm-sized stone, tossing it a few inches into the air to test its weight in his hand. It weighs about the same as a golf ball, though it's slightly smaller. Satisfied with it, he hauls back with his right arm to throw the rock as far as it'll go. It soars over the cliff's edge, then down into the river below with a soft plonk.

Then, he turns his eyes to the ground in search of another perfect-sized rock.

As his eyes scan the rocky cliff, his mind wanders to Maelle back in the city. While he's sure she's absolutely fine, a small part of him wonders if Verso was telling the truth when he said that she knows.

How can Gustave know for sure, without knowing how Verso knows about Maelle?

He picks up another rock, tests the weight. It's about the size of a billiard ball, but the weight of a softball. Porous. Part of him wonders how much of the rock is air, but he doesn't take the time to try and find out. Instead, he reels back with all his might, and throws.

The rock soars through the open air, clearing the vast river, and landing with a quiet CLACK on the rocks on the far side. It breaks into a dozen pieces. Several small pieces of stone splash back into the river, carried to the bottom by their own weight. It scares off a flock of nearby birds, who flutter into the star-speckled sky, so far away that they look like insects.

His mind wanders to Verso.

Verso, who has been nothing but kind and accommodating, even if, for whatever reason, he seems to want to keep Gustave at a distance. Who seems content to talk about Gustave until they run out of air, but keeps the topic away from himself like he's afraid he's some sort of taboo. Who protected Gustave twice, saved his life each time, and patched up his wounds before taking him away for his safety.

Gustave is supposed to be his guardian, but so far, he's been doing all the protecting, which is frustrating in and of itself. It's not like Gustave doesn't know how to defend himself. The unfortunate reality is that every time Verso rushed in to save the day, Gustave was taken by surprise. He has to hope that Verso hasn't gotten the wrong impression.

He picks up another stone, this one flat and about the size of a large coin. He tosses it in the air, letting it flip like a coin, and imagines that it is one.

The side with dirt on it is tails, and the smooth, clean side is heads. He catches it and looks it over with a quiet smile. Maybe he can use it like one.

If the rock lands on tails, he'll stay here. He'll leave Verso to his thoughts and privacy. Maybe he'll sort through the icebox of food that Verso packed for the trip and put together something for dinner. But if it lands on heads, with the clean side up, maybe he'll go to the small cave that Verso walked into a few minutes ago and try to bridge the gap between them.

After all, if they're going to travel together, taking out these murderous vampires… they can't have any doubts about each other.

With that in mind, he tosses the coin-rock in the air, but… as it soars and spins, he comes to a decision. He catches it, but doesn't bother looking at where it landed. Once he grasps it in his palm, he reels back and hurls it over the cliffside. Then, without even bothering to see where it landed, he turns toward the rest of the camp.

It's a beautiful place. A nice, moon-dappled clearing in the side of a mountain, warmed with a small dome of atmosphere magic; a smaller version of what they use in Lumiere. Atmosphere magic like this isn't cheap, but if Verso knows the right people, he could probably have gotten hold of a small dome easily enough.

Gustave spent the first hour or so they were here building a fire, while Verso put up their tents in the grass. Near the fire pit, Verso has a magic-powered stereo, which has been alternating between classic rock, piano blues, and classical.

Not the kind of music Gustave would have taken him to listen to, judging by his rough appearance. Perhaps it's a bit of a preconcieved notion on Gustave's part, but a man who wears a leather coat and leather gloves, with a scar over his left eye is not someone Gustave would expect to listen to classical music. Then again… Verso is full of surprises.

Gustave can't carry a tune to save his life, but he appreciates music for what it is, and that it's a very important part of human life.

Even his. Whether or not he can sing, he still likes to listen to music.

The fact that, of all the practical things he could have, Verso saw a magic stereo as important enough to pack? That it's played constantly both nights that they've camped like this?

It's not hard to make the logic leap that Verso loves music.

It's only when Gustave passes by the embers of the campfire, the two tents, and their bags of supplies that he realizes… the stereo isn't on.

So where is that music coming from?

A beautiful, mournful, bluesy piano melody echoes out from the mouth of the small cave, and Gustave finds himself drawn to the sound like a moth to a flame. He follows the elegant tune as it crescendoes from its beginnings into a calm but confident middle. It's familiar, even if he doesn't know the name.

The one thing he does know is that… it feels heavy. Weighty with sadness.

He steps into the mouth of the cave, and—

For a split second, he feels dizzy. A similar type of dizziness to what he felt when he touched Verso for the first time, but different at the same time.

Rather than a small jolt, it feels like a five sensory overload. First, the familiar smell of an oaken caramel bourbon carries as if on a breeze blowing out from inside the cave. He turns around, glancing behind him to see if he stepped over some invisible barrier, or walked out of the atmosphere bubble, but he still feels warm, so he doesn't think so.

He turns back around, and his breath catches in his lungs.

The cave looks… completely different. It doesn't even look like he's in a cave anymore. The mood and the ambiance are pleasant; cozy, with vibrant red decor and plush leather seating in the waiting area. Art and photographs line the walls; abstract paintings of musical instruments, photos of elegantly lit concert halls and shadowed figures playing piano.

It's warm, with the smell of home-cooked food lilting from further down the hall. Fancy steak fillets and chicken cutlets, delicately prepared pastries, and sweet wines. The smell is so powerful that Gustave can almost taste each individual thing.

He turns again, to look at the mouth of the cave, and his eyes shoot open wide when he finds… a door. It's made of elegant ebony wood, with a large window that looks out on the familiar scenery of the artisan's district in Lumiere. He sees the darkened window display of the shoe store across the street, and a women's boutique not too far away.

Only then does Gustave realize… he knows this place. He remembers when it opened about ten years ago in Lumiere, and how it closed suddenly and mysteriously around the time he found Maelle.

Mélodie et Harmonie, the most popular piano bar in town.

Gustave always wanted to visit this place, but it was always too busy. Packed full and booked for weeks ahead of time. Near impossible to get a reservation. He continues down the hall, following the melancholy softness of the bluesy piano piece like a siren's song.

At the end of the hall… he freezes.

Beyond the entryway sits a long, curved bar, made of the same ebony wood as the door, and lined with plush scarlet velveteen barstools. Several drinks sit empty and abandoned, and Gustave notices that every seat, from the barstools to the velveteen booths, are also empty. The only other figure in the room sits on the small, raised stage, at a beautiful, ebony wood piano.

Verso.

He stares intently at the piano keys like one would a lover. The song, mournful but lonesome, feels like it pulls on Gustave's soul, urging him to take a seat in one of the chairs near the stage.

Did he fall asleep on the cliffside? Is this another of the odd dreams he's been having?

It feels… much more real than any of those.

And in this one, he can see Verso, rather than seeing the world through his eyes.

Verso seems completely unaware of Gustave's presence. He's so lost in his song that it looks like it's the only thing that exists to him. There's a fire in his eyes that completely belies the stoicism he's been portraying up to this point. The music fills the room like air, enters Gustave's ears like a breath into his lungs, and provides the same bolstering feeling as a deep, steadying inhale.

It's something to behold.

The song slowly begins to wind down, and Gustave glances at the table, at the drink that sits in front of him. An untouched glass of scotch, almost as if someone was sitting here at one point, with a glass of white wine next to it. He reaches for the scotch. He's not usually a scotch drinker, but something about it sitting in front of him makes him curious.

When the soft 'clink' of his metallic hand closing around the glass doesn't even break Verso's trance, Gustave becomes all the more convinced that he's dreaming. Perhaps even lucid dreaming, since he seems to have some semblance of control.

He lifts the glass to his lips and quickly drinks a mouthful of scotch.

It's smooth, smoky, and tastes like buttery vanilla. Sweet, but strong. He hums as he lets the taste rest on his tongue for a few seconds, swirling the liquid in the glass before swallowing it down and flicking his eyes back up to Verso.

There's something… striking about seeing him like this. Breathtaking, even.

Completely unguarded, losing himself completely in the song he's playing as the music fills the area like the manifestation of his soul. It's… somehow bright, even with the weight of the melancholy in the bluesy melody. Like, despite the kindness Verso seems to show all the time, this is him truly at his brightest.

Gustave isn't sure what his subconscious is trying to tell him, but he's listening for any concrete message.

The song comes to a slow, lilting end before he finds his answer, and Verso lets out a breath of mirthless laughter, staring down at his hands with a curtain of white-streaked dark hair over his eyes.

"Why do I do this to myself?" Verso asks, idly starting to play another song. This one is much less familiar than the last. "Playing alone, to an empty house…"

Before Gustave can stop himself, he remarks, "The house wasn't empty."

The chord turns dissonant. From soft and lilting to a sharp, loud clamor against the keys as Verso jumps to attention. The sudden noise cuts through the silent, empty bar like a horror movie scene as Verso startles and whips his attention toward Gustave.

In the blink of an eye, Gustave is on his ass on the ground. He closes his eyes when he impacts, the sharpness of his backside hitting the floor shocking a gasp out of him. He shakes his head quickly and flicks his eyes open, but—

To his absolute shock, the entire bar ambiance has blinked away like the flick of a light switch. All but Verso and the piano, and a single lantern on a small post, lighting up the darkened cave. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees the mouth of the cave, the light of the campfire, their tents, and the magic stereo.

It's silent, save for the distant call of a nightingale. Almost like the bar never existed.

Gustave turns toward Verso in the darkened cave, his eyes wide. "I'm—" He stops, then lets out a surprised huff. "What just… did I imagine that whole thing? Mélodie et Harmonie? The music?"

For several long seconds, Verso is quiet. Ice-blue eyes stare at Gustave like he was caught with his hands in the cookie jar, or he was just woken up from a nightmare. Then, just as quickly, he averts his gaze to the piano keys and murmurs, "Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. I thought you'd dismiss the music as the stereo."

So, it was him.

"I did at first," answers Gustave, sitting properly on the ground. "But then I realized it wasn't on, and that the music was coming from in here. That was real?"

Verso shakes his head, quickly moving his hands around beyond where Gustave can see. "I wouldn't call it real, no."

"What do you mean?" presses Gustave.

When Gustave sees Verso's hands, they're wrapped in the same leather gloves as always. Sweeping one of those leather-clad hands through his hair, Verso flicks his gaze over to Gustave all too briefly, before closing the piano's fallboard and staring down at it. "You know I'm a hellion, right?"

With a nod, Gustave replies, "Of course."

"And you know that hellions get an ability," Verso reasons, pushing the piano stool back and climbing to his feet. "Like the inverse of a seraphic gift."

Nodding, Gustave replies, "I didn't stay in Elysium for long enough to get a gift." He hums, then glances thoughtfully down at the ground. Sometimes, he wonders what he would've gotten if he had, but he had much more important places to be. At least… he thought so. "But my friend Sciel is a hellion, too. She has a gift—"

"Not a gift," Verso interjects. "In the Abyss, they actually call it an abyssal burden."

Gustave hums as he watches Verso lean against the body of the piano. He frowns and repeats, "A burden."

"Can't get much more inverse than that, can you?" Verso muses with a morose chuckle. "What burden did your friend get?"

"Divination," Gustave explains. "It's a little more complex than that, but I know she uses tarot cards to some degree. She doesn't particularly like explaining it, but I know better than to doubt her, because she's always right."

Verso hums. "For better or for worse, I assume."

Idly, Gustave finds himself wondering if she somehow foresaw this turn of events. Ending up caring for Maelle because a stranger showed up to whisk Gustave halfway across the continent.

"Is your gift—" because Gustave refuses to call them burdens— "why the entirety of this cave looked like a Lumieran piano bar?"

The phrasing seems to take Verso by surprise. He regards Gustave's face curiously. "Gift, huh?"

"It's hard to see something that allows you to create a scene like that out of nowhere as a burden," Gustave clarifies, his lips curling into a half-smile as he regards Verso's face.

The tiny smile that he tries to hide, twitching along the left side of his lips. The slight heave of his chest when he puffs out a surprised breath. The crinkle in the corner of his eyes when the smile reaches them. How, as he tries to relax against the piano's body, he rubs at his arms and averts his eyes.

It's obvious that Gustave took him by surprise. Maybe even made him nervous. Gustave is all too familiar with the feeling and its symptoms, so it's easy to identify them in others.

Just as quickly as the nervousness appeared, Verso seems to force it away. "I can create illusions," he explains, approaching Gustave and offering a gloved hand to help him from the ground. "They can be as detailed or as vague as I want."

Gustave places his right hand in Verso's leather-clad palm, climbing to his feet and meeting those ice-blue eyes again.

That… explains a lot, actually. When Gustave thinks back to the first dream he had—the one where he was looking at the skeletal, ashen version of Lumiere and listening to Verso talk to his mysterious friend Monoco—it felt far too vivid to actually be a dream.

When Gustave dreams, he dreams in strange metaphor and symbolism, nothing quite so elaborate or realistic.

Maybe it's assuming a lot, but… part of him wonders if he was seeing through Verso's eyes in that dream. If the universe, or at least his subconscious mind, was trying to tell him something that he didn't quite understand. It would only make sense, given how much the world has put them in each other's space since then.

"And you summoned a piano bar from Lumiere?" questions Gustave, tucking his hand into his pocket when Verso releases it.

A bitter smile spreads across Verso's face. "It was mine."

Gustave feels his brows rise. "The bar?"

"A gift from my father," explains Verso as he walks back to the piano, taking a seat on the stool again. He continues, voice fond. "I expressed a desire for a place to play in public. Most fathers would encourage their child to practice and maybe play at the opera house someday, but not my father. He bought me a bar."

Following behind Verso, Gustave leans against the piano's body and examines the elegant dark wood. "I always wanted to go to that bar," he muses softly, flicking his eyes toward Verso. "I heard good things."

Verso hums. "At first, I hated it," he admits with a sheepish laugh. "I felt like he was trying to control the way I pursued my passion, so I resented it. For the first half-year or so that I owned the place, I spent all my time onstage. But after a time, I realized that I could turn it into a way to share music with people who loved it as much as I did."

"And funnily enough, six months in was when the reviews for the place started getting better," Gustave muses.

With a soft laugh, Verso lifts his eyes to meet with Gustave's. "Funny what giving a damn will do."

Gustave watches him closely. "It's closed now."

"Hard to run a bar from the Abyss," reasons Verso, and it's hard logic to argue with.

"And your father? Why couldn't he pick up the slack?"

"My father had his hands full with… a lot of other matters," Verso offers in lieu of an explanation. "It's more of a miracle that he didn't sell the building, I think."

With a quiet hum, Gustave shakes his head. "I don't think it's that much of a surprise. I imagine…" He lifts his eyes and glances around the cave, imagining the ambiance of the bar again. "Ah. Hm, perhaps I shouldn't say that. Not without knowing—"

The comment seems to pique Verso's interest. He lifts his eyes again, and Gustave can clearly read the silent request for him to continue.

Gustave still hesitates, because it's a big assumption to make of a man he's never met, but… ultimately, he decides to throw caution to the wind. After all, it's hard to give trust when trust isn't given in return.

"I imagine he was proud of it," he reasons. "Proud of you. Enough that he didn't want to let it go."

Laughing softly, mirthlessly, Verso murmurs, "That does sound like him."

"And maybe he's holding onto the hope that you'll come home someday. That he can give back what's rightfully yours."

It seems like Verso has no answer for that. His smile wilts, and he rests his gloved hands on the fallboard.

Gustave examines Verso's face and posture, before flicking his eyes back down to the piano. Verso seems… simultaneously less guarded than usual, and more guarded than usual somehow. They just had that whole conversation about Verso's gift and his father, and while Verso didn't seem thrilled to open up… he still did.

A small part of Gustave wonders if he'd be willing to keep going if pressed a little.

"If you have a question, you can ask it," Verso clarifies.

Turning back to Verso, Gustave notices that despite his words, his eyes are focused intently on the fallboard of his piano, like for some reason it's hard for him to look at Gustave.

With a huff, Verso continues, "If I don't want to answer you, I won't."

Nodding, Gustave rests his elbow against the body of the piano. "It's… clear that you miss him."

Verso nods. "I do."

"And from that explanation, it's clear that he misses you," reasons Gustave.

The only reply Verso gives to that is a noncommital hum.

"He's still alive?"

A nod.

Gustave hums, then watches Verso's face as he asks, "Then why not go back to Lumiere? Why… stay out here, and only come back to protect the city?"

"I can't." Verso shakes his head. "You're not the only one whose family is safer without you than with you, Gustave."

Brows knitting together, Gustave watches as Verso lifts the fallboard on the piano.

If he's understanding things correctly… this clears a lot of things up. It puts this whole wild situation into perspective. The way those vampires got three times more aggressive when Verso showed up, and how they stalked Gustave under the misguided impression that they were involved somehow.

They're not just after him. They're after his whole family.

"We'll fix it," promises Gustave in a gentle voice, barely audible in the quiet cave. "So you can finally go home."

Verso's smile doesn't feel real. It feels… guarded. Secretive. Like there's still something he's not saying. But after a few seconds, he nods and replies, "So we can both go home."

Piano music fills the air. Melancholy and mournful, despite the faint smile on Verso's lips as he plays. Verso's gloved hands are just as slow and gentle as before, caressing the keys like a cherished lover.

His soul on display through his music, it's hard for Gustave not to see exactly how hard this life of isolation has been on him.

It's then, in that dark cave, on those grassy cliffs, on that moonlit night, that Gustave Aubert comes to a crucial decision. He decides to dismantle Verso Dessendre's guard, no matter what it takes. To embrace his duties as Verso's guardian, and make him realize that he's worthy of the affection and camaraderie he seems content to deprive himself of.

No one deserves to face the world alone.

Notes:

I PROMISE, THIS ISN'T ALL BUILD-UP. We're moving slow now, but eventually they do go after the vampire cult.

Not that I think anyone will object to some soft, semi-flirty Verstave. ♥

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 7

Notes:

pov: Verso
cw: none

In the rush of their escape from Lumiere, it was easy for Verso to forget that Gustave has never been out of the city before.

There's something… undeniably charming about the way Gustave looks at every single thing they pass with wide-eyed wonder. He seems to know a lot about nature for someone who has never been to the Continent before. From Cloud Catcher Leaves to flowers of various colors with medicinal and nutritional uses, he seems to know a lot more than anyone who's lived in Lumiere their whole life should.

Verso knows he shouldn't be surprised, knowing that Gustave is a well-read alchemist, and one of the most trusted alchemical engineers in Lumiere. Still, that doesn't always equate to being able to identify things in the wild. A lot of his professional peers wouldn't be able to do what he's doing right now, and as far as Verso is concerned, it makes Gustave into more of a marvel.

A true treasure in a world full of similar people.

Seeing Gustave's enthusiasm and intelligence feels like it wakes things in Verso that he hasn't felt in years. Things that he doesn't feel like he should feel.

But with Gustave at his side, it's hard not to.

It's midday now, and the sun is at its highest in the sky, bathing the Yellow Harvest in tones of honey and gold. The gorgeous yellow hues bring out the lighter tones in Gustave's hair, and make his eyes shine brighter than the sun's most earnest attempt.

Just as striking as his appearance is watching him fight.

They ran into a few hostile creatures—humanoids and animals who lost their souls to the wilderness and ended up twisted into monsters called Nevrons—along the path, and to Verso's surprise, Gustave noticed them before he did. It was almost like some kind of radar went off in his head, and he could sense them.

Like something inside him told him that they were about to be attacked. Then he sprang into action in a blink.

He's fast.

Just as quick as Verso himself, and agile.

When he moves, it looks like he's dancing, and as they fight the Nevrons, Verso finally figures out what Gustave was doing when he was tinkering with his prosthetic arm at camp two nights ago.

It throws off electric sparks, capable of shocking the strongest of hostile Nevrons, which Verso witnessed firsthand today. They were ambushed by a massive chalier Nevron while foraging for edible and medicinal roots and plants to cook at camp… and Gustave sprang into action.

He hit the monster with a flurry of strikes that Verso is used to performing, never seeing. Then, when it was still reeling, trying to recover from the initial attack, he clenched his prosthetic hand into a tight fist, charged up a ferocious ball of red lightning, and punched the creature, firing a well-placed pistol shot at its core, and leaving it wide open for Verso to finish it off.

Not only was it… absolutely amazing, but—

Seeing the nimble way his body moved, the way he seemed to know exactly where to strike to send the Nevron off-balance, and the way some of his swordplay seems like an elegant waltz… set a fire in Verso's chest that he isn't sure he has the right to feel.

As Gustave fought, his eyes shone white with seraphic magic. Verso remembers him saying he left Elysium before getting his gift, but it's hard not to wonder if that otherworldly beauty—that softness in his eyes and the lithe, elegance of his body when he moves—are a seraphic gift in their own right. In Verso's whole life, he's never seen someone quite like Gustave.

Now, he stands in a clearing filled with white flowers, and despite the fact that he's covered in dirt, sweat, and Nevron blood, and the fact that his clothing is torn in several different places… he looks ethereal. Like the seraph he is, brighter than the white flowers around him, even when he's covered in filth.

Verso watches as he crouches in the field of flowers, then plucks one from the ground. He analyzes it, looks at the petals, and touches them gently with a brush of his finger.

He's… beautiful.

A quiet laugh rings out from where Gustave stands in the clearing, and Verso lifts his head to look, just in time to see Gustave pull out his canteen and rinse his hand. "That settles it. I can't even forage without getting Nevron blood on the flowers," he declares as he picks up another few flowers. "I don't think Nevron blood is an ingredient in cooling balm, so… I need a bath."

Verso echoes his laughter. "Sorry about that," he muses with a smile as he climbs the hill and stands on the edge of the ring of flowers. "I forgot to mention how messy traveling can be."

"Especially when there are mysterious monsters waiting to ambush you at every turn," Gustave agrees with a smile as he carefully avoids stepping on the flowers to get to the edge of the clearing. "As filthy as I am, it's quite nice to find some fresh reagents that haven't had a chance to weaken on the way to the apothecary."

Glancing down at the flowers, Verso asks, "What are these?" He crouches down next to the flower patch. "I always call them seraph flowers, because the white resembles the light of a seraph's eyes when they use their magic."

Gustave crouches down next to him, reaching his right hand out and plucking one of the flowers from the dirt. "They do kind of look like that, but they're called fleur de glace. Both because they only grow when it's cold, and because of their cooling effect," he explains as he holds it out to Verso. "Plus, they kind of smell like ice, don't they?"

"I want to say yes, but all I can smell when I lean in is Nevron blood and dirt," Verso admits with a sheepish smile.

The dismayed look on Gustave's face shouldn't be so funny. Nor should the way he sighs and complains, "I can't remember the last time I smelled this bad."

Verso places a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Well then. Why don't we set up camp by the river?" he suggests. "I have some soap and shampoo in my bag, and the atmosphere bubble will warm the water too. Make it like a real bath."

"Merci," sighs Gustave, tension already melting from his body at the thought of bathing.

As Verso stands back up straight and starts down the hill, he muses, "What kind of runaway partner would I be if I didn't try to make it as easy as possible on you?"

Chuckling quietly, Gustave repeats, "We're runaway partners now, are we?"

"Can you think of a better way to refer to us?" Verso quips over his shoulder. "We're in the wilds, probably dozens of miles from home at this point, running from people who want us dead."

Gustave hums, then nods. "I wasn't complaining," he reassures Verso, then pauses and smiles. "More… marveling at the concept."

Brows peaked, Verso turns. "Marveling?"

"There's something almost… romantic about it, don't you think?" Gustave contemplates. He swipes his hand through his hair, weighed down by Nevron blood and dirt and devoid of its usual wavy curls, and flashes Verso that familiar charming smile.

Before Verso can even blink, he finds himself stumbling over his feet. He braces himself on a nearby tree, and after swinging awkwardly for a few seconds, he manages to gain his bearing.

Though, all of a sudden, he finds it hard to look at Gustave. Heat creeps up the nape of Verso's neck and rises to his cheeks, to his ears, and… merde alors does he feel like a fool. He's a grown man, and it's not like Gustave even said anything… strange. Romance doesn't always mean romance.

The concept of traveling to unknown lands and exploring their offerings can be romantic in the adventurous sense. That must have been what he meant.

Clearing his throat and desperately attempting to will the red from his face, Verso croaks, "Romantic…?"

Putain, why did he draw attention to it? If he'd just moved on, sought a different topic, it could've been swept under the rug like the non-issue it is!

Gustave hums, as if mulling over how to explain his thoughts, then observes, "Like you said, we're dozens of miles from home. I'm exploring sights heretofore unseen by me, while you guide me through like a hero from a novel."

The spark of passion in Gustave's voice as he speaks draws Verso's attention, and that more than anything causes him to turn once he reaches the bottom of the small, flower-carpeted knoll. Gustave is moving slower, stepping cautiously to avoid disturbing the flowers, a sun-bright smile lighting his face.

Verso finds himself… breathless.

"It's almost like we're swashbucklers," Gustave muses. "Fighting our way through giant monsters and traversing the harsh terrain while we try to shake off our pursuers."

Managing a quiet, shaky laugh in the face of that enthusiasm, Verso amends, "Not so much shaking off as hunting down."

A smirk tugs up one corner of Gustave's lips. "Ah, so we are the pursuers," he builds as he steps back onto the beaten path and tucks his hands into his pockets. "The heroic Seekers, hunting their cruel, unyielding prey through the harsh, unforgiving wilderness."

"Do you read a lot?" asks Verso, the question escaping involuntarily.

With a huff, Gustave nods and murmurs, "Some people say too much."

Verso hums. "I don't think that's possible, personally," he reasons. "Reality can be hard. It's never bad to get lost in a fantasy world every once in a while, so long as you eventually come back."

"Like your illusions?" Gustave questions, stepping over a tree, fallen into the middle of the footpath.

"Something like that, yeah." Verso stops in the middle of the path, then flashes Gustave a playful smile. "Favorite book."

Gustave hums. "Cliché, perhaps, but I've always been partial to Les Misérables," he admits with a sheepish smile. "I like the stage show too, but the book is… incredible. The type of story that… other writers aspire to create."

Verso watches sidelong as the corner of Gustave's mouth flicks downward, his eyes cast to the ground. There's a disconnect between his words and his actions. As he talks about a story he loves, he looks almost… envious?

"The way each of the characters felt like they had life?" Gustave continues, his tone reflective as he sweeps his hair from his face. "They weren't perfect people, but they all felt real. Multidimensional. Especially Valjean. He was imperfect, but everything he did was in service to others. And…"

When the silence stretches for several seconds, Verso turns, casting a sidelong glance at Gustave. "And?"

"He cared for his ward more than anything," Gustave replies, casting his eyes down to the ground.

Ah.

Yes, that makes sense.

He's missing Maelle. Worried about her, most likely.

Verso can relate. He knows, for the most part, that she's okay. When she saw the note he left, she probably sprang into action immediately. No matter who she went to, Emma or Lune and Sciel, he knows they wouldn't let her come to any harm, and he's sure Papa is protecting her from the shadows, too. Taking up the mantle for Verso, now that he's unable to do it himself.

But that doesn't mean he isn't worried.

With the time he'll be spending on the road after leaving Gustave in the seraph village, it'll be the longest time he's ever gone without checking in on her. Without traveling back to Lumiere to see how she's doing and to… to watch from afar as Gustave provided her with the love and care that she deserves…

He won't be able to see either of them for who knows how long, once he sets off to attend to the Blood Bearers.

If he fails, he may not ever see them again.

I hope you can forgive me if that happens, Alicia… He pauses, then huffs. And that you can forgive me for my lies, Gustave.

"You miss her."

"She gave me a purpose in my seraphic life," replies Gustave simply.

Verso watches him closely for a second, examining the curve of his jaw and the way his facial hair perfectly outlines his lips. He wants to burst at the seams. To tell Gustave that, for the latter part of Verso's human life, Alicia gave him purpose too. That almost everything he did was to make his baby sister happy.

He's been in Gustave's position.

Even now, despite not having seen Alicia for the last six years, he is in Gustave's position. He loves Alicia and misses her so much that he can't even stand it, but she's safer if he's not there.

Merde does he want to share everything. To spill out every truth that Gustave deserves to know.

But… he's terrified.

He's gripped by the fear of Gustave finding out that, for the past six years, Verso has been watching them from a distance. Coming to the city to protect it, not for any love for the Lumieran citizenry as a whole, but for Alicia, for Papa, and for Gustave himself.

Hearing that, he wouldn't be surprised if Gustave told him off and went right back to Lumiere.

Maybe he can leave a note when he leaves—

But that's a problem for another day.

For now, Verso flashes Gustave a smile and says, "You'll see her again. I promise."

"I believe you," Gustave promises, and his sincerity is a stab to Verso's heart. "But… I know how Valjean felt in the second act, knowing that his presence was a danger to Cosette."

Verso's eyes slide closed as he tries to recall what he can of the book. Valjean and his daughter lived in a beautiful estate on Rue Plumet, and the backyard, where Marius and Cosette first met and fell in love, was described as overgrown. Rife with weeds and verdant foliage, overgrowing the stone benches and paths.

As he recalls, he feels the all-too-familiar sensation of his mind creating the illusion.

Flowering trees with briars upon briars. Moldering statues and trellises of wood and stone.

Gustave's soft gasp of, "Oh… what is..." draws his attention and makes him smile proudly.

From here, Verso can't remember, so he starts to improvise. A babbling brook by the back fence, on top of where the river they seek sits. A large Victorian gothic house behind them, modest but elegant; black with white trim, overgrown with flowering ivies and towering rose bushes around the outside.

And in front of them, on the path to the babbling brook, Verso imagines an overhead, arching sign that reads Rue Plumet. Just in case there was any doubt in Gustave's mind.

He opens his eyes and turns toward Gustave, who raises his hand to touch the soft petals of an overgrown wisteria tree.

A smile spreads across his face. He leans against the signpost and watches Gustave for several seconds, before breaking the silence. "I know some of it wasn't in the book, but—"

"Juste ciel," Gustave whispers, turning to face Verso with eyes bright like glimmering starlight. "This is… absolutely astounding. You brought me to Rue Plumet!"

Verso chuckles quietly. "I can take you anywhere you want to go, as long as you can describe it for me," he points out.

With a quiet laugh that sounds almost reverent, Gustave turns away from the wisteria tree and makes his way back to the overgrown footpath. "I have a fairly vivid imagination," he muses as he steps up beside Verso. "You may have just bitten off more than you can chew."

Chuckling softly, Verso waves off his worry and steps up to the shoreline, digging into his pack for the magic atmosphere bubble. "I could stand to visit some new places," he reassures Gustave. "I think I've created Mélodie et Harmonie so much that I could do it in my sleep, so I could use some new fodder."

Gustave looks down at the brook, then turns to the illusory Rue Plumet again. The marvel on his face is more reward than Verso thinks he deserves. "I'll have to cook up some ideas, then."

Once the atmosphere bubble is set to warm the water within a twenty-five-foot radius to bathing temperature, Verso shucks his coat, hanging it from a rock nearby. He turns to Gustave, who is already toeing his boots off on his way to the bed of the stream.

"I have detergent, and I have some clothing you can change into as well," Verso tells him, as the warmth of the magic starts to overpower the chill in the air. "It may be slightly big on you… but when we get to the village by Falling Leaves, they have a boutique that gets clothing from Lumiere."

With a smile, Gustave shakes his head and exclaims, "Ah, you're amazing! Merci. Anything will be better than the same grungy clothes I've been wearing for three days."

Verso huffs as he takes a seat in the sand to remove his boots and tuck his socks inside. When he finishes, he sets them next to Gustave's. "I only wish I'd had more time to plan this, so you could've brought some clothes with you."

A quiet laugh sounds out from next to him, and when he looks up, he sees Gustave looking at him incredulously. "You saved my life twice, and ensured that Maelle stayed safe by taking me with you on this journey," he points out. "I think you've earned some forgiveness for not bringing me my own clothes. Especially since you're loaning me yours."

Verso just laughs as he digs through his bag for the soap, shampoo, toothpaste, and clean clothes for each of them.

Now, all that's left is to undress.

The first hurdle he has to overcome… is the realization that he has to remove his gloves. Only one person has seen the skin of his hands since he crawled out of the Abyss, and that was Monoco. To have someone else see the ink-black marks the Abyss left stained on his flesh, especially when that someone is Gustave, of all people?

It's terrifying in a way he can't explain.

He stares down at his gloves and weighs his options. He could opt out of bathing, but between the dirt and the aches and pains he feels, his body is pleading with him to step into the river. He could bathe with his gloves on, but he doesn't think these gloves are waterproof. Hiding his hands under the water seems foolish.

So maybe… just maybe…

Verso decides to put his trust in Gustave. Finger by finger, he tugs on the gloves until he can pluck them off his hands. As he tucks his gloves together, he can feel Gustave's eyes on the now-exposed skin. The gaze is gentle, soft but appraising, like as he looks, a million curious questions spring to his mind.

But… he doesn't look disturbed. He doesn't look bothered.

If anything, he looks intrigued.

Verso's mouth goes off without his mind's permission. "The Abyss marks you, when you escape it." He grimaces, but… it's too late to take it back now, so he turns and looks at Gustave with a huff. He displays his hands. "I saw you looking."

"Désolé," Gustave whispers, chastened. "I didn't mean to stare. I just—"

Merde, a face like Gustave's, even contorted in guilt like that, has the power to move mountains and bend worlds to his whim.

Verso shakes his head and offers Gustave a warm smile. He displays his hands again, allowing Gustave to get a better look. "It's okay. You can look if you want."

And look Gustave does.

Those warm brown eyes scan every inch of the blackness covering Verso's hands, until the black fades away, stringing off with his veins as it moves up his arm. The inky color fades away completely by his elbows, and he can see Gustave tracing the lines up his forearms like some kind of elegant cursive.

"You got these when you left the Abyss?" Gustave finally questions, flicking his eyes up to meet with Verso's again.

Verso nods.

At first, Gustave reaches his hand toward Verso's, but he hesitates, his fingers curling back as he flashes Verso an apologetic smile.

Something about the look in Gustave's eye makes Verso's heart race. He lets out a breath of shaky laughter, and before he can stop himself, he offers, "You can."

"You're sure?" presses Gustave.

Verso nods. "It doesn't hurt," he reassures Gustave. "It did when it happened, but that was six years ago."

Hesitantly, like he's still not sure it's okay, Gustave reaches his hands out and takes one of Verso's in his two.

(Verso tries, tries, tries to keep himself from gasping. The most he can manage is to disguise it as a deep inhale, but… merde does the touch of Gustave's hands feel like Elysium itself.

When was the last time someone touched his hands? When was the last time someone touched him in general?)

Gustave's skin on his flesh-and-blood hand is soft in some places, callused from time spent working in his workshop in other places. His fingernails are alarmingly well-maintained, and idly, Verso finds himself wondering if it's something he does himself, or if Alicia or Emma takes care of it for him. Given how well-cared-for his hair is, Verso is willing to bet he does it himself.

He runs his skin and bone fingers across the skin on Verso's palm, the featherlight touch tickling Verso's skin. The gentle touch makes light flutters blossom in Verso's chest, and he follows the pattern of Gustave's fingertips like a hypnotist's pendulum.

The metal of Gustave's prosthetic feels… alarmingly gentle, for metal. It's pleasantly cool on Verso's opposite hand. The rounded points of each finger tickle Verso's skin, and it's hard not to react.

"It feels like regular skin," Gustave remarks, his voice almost swallowed up in the sound of the rolling river. "Like a tattoo."

With a quiet huff, Verso replies, "Yeah, that's… pretty apt." He watches as Gustave traces the blackened enamel of his nails. "The Abyssal Guard grabbed me with magic and tried to pull me back. But… I managed to break free. I ran as far and as fast as I could, then climbed the Abyssal Wall and came out right on Dark Shores, opposite the Lumiere harbor."

Gustave flicks his eyes up to meet with Verso's briefly. "Do escapes happen often?"

"More often than the Abyssal Guard would have you think," Verso explains with a huff. "I had to leave. I had too many promises I wanted to keep, and… they were close to breaking me. To stripping me of my humanity and drowning me in darkness."

In a soft, quietly awed voice, Gustave murmurs, "I think you're remarkable, Verso."

Verso's eyes shoot open. "Pardon?"

Laughing sheepishly, Gustave releases Verso's hands and turns to look out at the water. "It would've been easy to surrender, I imagine."

"Much easier than escaping," agrees Verso with a soft hum of confirmation.

Gustave casts him a sidelong glance, the dirt and grime on his face doing nothing to dull his ethereal beauty. "But you didn't." He half-smiles. "You escaped, and not only because they were close to breaking you. Because… you had promises to keep. You escaped for other people, and I think that makes you… truly exceptional. A one-of-a-kind soul."

All Verso can do is stare, completely at a loss for what to say in response to something… so kind. So meaningful to him.

He's spent the past six years on his own, watching the world go on without him.

People he used to know and love going about their lives, happy and at peace. While he's glad they moved on and kept living, sometimes it made him wonder if the Abyssal Keepers were right. If his life was meaningless, in the grand scheme of things. So easy to move past that no one would miss him if he stayed in their deep, dark prison forever.

Coming back to a house in shambles, with only his father there to greet him… made him wonder if his escape was a mistake.

Having someone like Gustave, who radiates light so strongly that he illuminates the lives of everyone around him with just his smile, call him a one-of-a-kind soul?

Verso doesn't know if Gustave can ever properly understand how much that means.

So, rather than say it in so much detail, he smiles and muses, "That's quite the compliment coming from you, Gustave."

A shy smile spreads across Gustave's face as he turns and looks out at the rolling water. "Come on," he announces as he climbs to his feet, offering his hand to help Verso up. "I don't know about you, but that soap and water is calling my name."

Verso takes his hand, climbs to his feet, and with a smile, he replies, "Mine too."

Notes:

Ah yes, we've reached the chunk of chapters that I like to call "the boys violently simp for each other but don't do anything about it." Verso, still desperately trying to keep his secrets while having his layers peeled back by Gustave.

Gustave, keeping his guardian status secret, because he doesn't think it's really relevant.

Silly, silly boys.

But at least there was a hint of touch-starved Verso, hm? :3

Chapter 8

Summary:

Gustave laughs, wiping the water from his face. "I will. On one condition."

Brows rising, Verso asks, "Which is?"

"You let me meet Monoco."

Notes:

pov: Verso
warning: thirsty Verso

It takes Verso exactly two seconds to realize exactly how much trouble he's in, bathing at the riverbank with Gustave.

After flustering Verso to no end with his compliments, his warm smiles, and his touch, he unbuttons his overshirt and shrugs it from his shoulders. Even though it's dirty, he still folds it tidily and sets it on the ground next to his boots. His t-shirt follows, folded, then placed on top of the pile, and—

At the sight of his bare skin, Verso feels… breathless.

The sun, high in the Yellow Harvest sky, brings out the finer details in his appearance. Like the slight patch of freckles on his arms, chest, and collarbone, or the pale porcelain tone of his skin. He's a walking work of art. Brighter than the sky itself and twice as exquisite.

But, as breathtaking as he is, it's not the sight of him, stripped down to his underclothes and tentatively dipping his toes in the warmed river, that's the most surprising thing.

Granted, that's absolutely ethereal in its own right. Every glorious inch of him, from the sinewy muscles of his thighs to the pert, round, curvature of his ass, to the prominent bulge in the front of his crimson boxer-briefs.

(It makes Verso's mind race.

How big is he? What would it feel like to be touched all over by those hands, both metal and flesh, while Gustave fucked him into the bedroll in his tent? Would he be gentle, or would years without a lover—at least not one that Verso has seen—make him pleasantly rough?

Verso can't tell which concept he likes more.)

His eyes wander to Gustave's back, and his lecherous thoughts stop in their tracks.

Just as striking as his beauty… is the scarring on his skin.

Gustave takes off his prosthetic forearm and sets it with his clothes, and the gravity of the situation hits Verso full force. He's stricken with the realization of how close Gustave came to dying that night by the bank when he's face to face with the scars on his arm and shoulder blades.

His arm, severed at the elbow, is scarred deeply and pigmented jet black like the skin on Verso's hands. His back is worse. Rolling, pinched scarring that starts by the tops of his shoulders and curves around his shoulder blades, down to the bottom of his ribcage. Those scars, too, are pigmented black like someone poured ink into them as they healed.

Dark magic tainting something beautiful, as it always does.

Verso can't help but feel guilty when he imagines the pain Gustave must have been in. If he'd been quicker to react, or told Gustave to run sooner, maybe it would've never happened.

At present, Gustave doesn't seem to be slowed down by it. He simply stands on the water, letting it rush around his knees. Like he's already used to the loss of three appendages. Just another way he's remarkable.

Gustave turns in the water, facing Verso where he still stands on the shore, fully clothed save for his boots and socks. There's a question in his eyes, and Verso doesn't have to guess to figure out what it is.

Are you coming in?

Of course he is.

(And even if he wasn't, how could he possibly say no to a look like that?)

When Gustave turns away, dipping his hands into the clear, clean water, Verso finally forces himself to look away. He's not sure if he's ready to be face to face with Gustave when he's glistening wet with river water. With that in mind, Verso swiftly pulls his shirt up over his shoulders, and tosses it to the ground next to their bags.

He raises his eyes again as he reaches for the clasp of his belt, but when his eyes pass Gustave, he freezes. Those soft, otherworldly brown eyes are on him.

Staring like Verso was just staring at him moments ago.

It's hard not to flush under that attention.

It's also hard not to play into it just a bit. Maybe he removes his pants just a little bit slower. Maybe he takes a few extra seconds to decide whether he wants to remove his underwear, before deciding to keep them on. Partially because Gustave did the same, and he doesn't want to be obvious, but partially because…

If he has Gustave's attention, he wants to leave a bit to the imagination.

He picks up the bag of soaps and approaches the water, carefully avoiding the rocks on the riverbank.

Once he gets there, he dips his toes in cautiously to test the temperature. The atmosphere magic is doing its job, but even so, the rolling river still carries a bit of the chill of the water upriver. Even with that chill, Verso doesn't hesitate to step in. He hurries in, up to his waist, with the hope that the cooler temperature will help chase away the flush he feels under Gustave's curious eyes.

Then… he makes the mistake of lifting his head again.

And there, standing in front of him, perfect portrait of a seraph that he is, is Gustave, glistening with clear, clean water as it drips from his body, carrying the dirt, grime, and Nevron blood down into the river. His fluffy hair is flat to his head, pressed close to his cheeks and hanging over his eyes, cleared of the dirt and blood that he'd accrued over the past few days.

Droplets of water, glistening in the sunlight, trail down his cheeks, into his mustache and the trimmed pattern of facial hair on his chin and jaw. The light swath of light brown hair on his chest is flat to his skin. Water rolls along his chest, down his torso, and back into the river just above his hips. He smooths his hands over his hair, slicking it back on top of his head and exposing his gorgeous face.

Verso forgets how to function for a moment. His breath catches in his lungs and stutters as he tries to calm his racing heart.

Ça alors, Gustave is the most beautiful fucking person in the world.

He smiles, and something breaks in Verso's brain.

It's the type of smile that could make a weak man stupid. Just a simple quirk of the lips, but Elysium's light, it's positively ethereal. It's the first thing he's seen in ages that he wants to draw, to paint, and if it wouldn't be creepy, he'd climb back out of the water, sit down, and do it right now.

But…

"Are you alright?" Gustave questions as he brushes a stray curl back to join the rest of his hair. "It's not too cold, is it?"

Verso huffs. "No, it's perfect," he replies, shouldering the toiletry bag as he steps in deeper. "Sorry, I was… a bit in my head."

With an easy smile, Gustave traces a finger gently over the surface of the water. "It does feel like bathwater," he muses. "Though there's… a bit of a chill, too. It's very obvious that the magic is trying to shield us from something."

"Wait until you get to the seraph village," Verso muses as he sets the toiletry bag on top of a large rock between them. "They have a healing hot spring. Magically cleaned every hour, so you can use things like soaps and crystals. I cleared out a Nevron infestation near their gate once, so I have free access to it. I'll tell them to pass the privilege to you."

Even without looking, Verso feels Gustave's intense gaze on him. "You mean 'we,'" he corrects. "And 'us.' Right?"

Verso lifts his head. "Oh. Yes. You're right," he agrees, letting out a breath of laughter as he submerges his hips in the water. "I… apologize. I'm so used to traveling alone that it just comes as second nature."

The lie tastes like ash on his tongue.

After everything he's put Gustave through over the past few months, he hates that he has to lie to him at all, but the fact that Gustave has been so… amazing—so understanding and kind—makes it feel all the worse.

It's for the best.

He reminds himself that Gustave is much, much safer at the seraph village than he'll ever be hunting down these bloodthirsty vampires. That if those damned vampires see him, they'll kill him on sight. They're only after Gustave because they can't go after Alicia. Because according to anything they can find, Alicia Dessendre no longer exists.

Maelle Aubert does.

Not only will it absolutely destroy Verso to lose Gustave, but every second their eyes are on him is a second they can possibly find his connection to Alicia. To Papa. To Maman and Clea. It's better this way. It's safer for everyone.

If he can't keep Gustave safe, then what the hell was all this for?

(It's for Gustave. It's for Alicia.

So why does it feel so wrong?)

Verso's thoughts are snapped by Gustave's quiet proclamation of, "Those days are over. I promise. When we're done, you can come home to Lumiere and see your family again."

The words feel like a twist of the knife, even with the beautiful, comforting smile on his lips. He sounds so resolute. So confident. Verso may know how this is going to end, but Gustave doesn't. He's so certain that he's at Verso's side for good now… and merde does Verso wish it was true.

It would be Elysium incarnate to travel the Continent with Gustave with the knowledge that he gets to go home afterward. To see Papa and Alicia, for Clea and Simon to come home from beyond the Monolith… even to visit Maman in the sanitarium, if she'd have him.

But he knows that it's impossible.

He knows how this is going to end. He knows that in a matter of days, he'll be on his own again.

Once again, Gustave's voice breaks his thought process. "I am looking forward to that hot spring, though." He approaches, picking up the bottle of shampoo and pouring some into his hand. "I've never been to one before."

"That's right, there isn't one in Lumiere. You wouldn't have been to one, I suppose," Verso muses quietly as he picks up the body soap and dollops some on his palm. "Which reminds me… you're quite the surprise."

Gustave's brows rise. "What do you mean?"

With a quiet chuckle, Verso lathers up the soap and gently rubs the tension out of his neck and shoulders as he cleans his body. "It's just impressive, the way you know so much about the plants that grow on the Continent." He chuckles. "Cloud Catcher Leaves, fleur de glace, you knew about both of them despite never having been on the Continent before."

The sheepish expression on Gustave's face is made somehow more charming by the shampoo on his hair, mustache, and beard. "When I was young, I always wanted to travel." He lathers the shampoo into his hair until there's a huge pile of suds on his head. "I dreamed of coming to the Continent. Traveling to the Monolith and beyond to see the world."

"Why didn't you?" asks Verso as he lathers his arms. It's unbelievable how much better he already feels, just having winter mint scented soap on him instead of dirt and grime. "You clearly have the adventurer's spirit, and the knowledge to back it up."

Gustave huffs quietly and, before he answers, he takes in a deep breath that puffs out his cheeks. Then, he ducks down below the water's surface. Verso sees his hand move wildly to rinse the shampoo from his hair, then his mustache and facial hair, in a flurry of underwater motion. When he resurfaces, he approaches the rock and looks at the different soaps for a few seconds, then hums.

He picks up the body wash, then flicks his eyes back to Verso. "Not for a lack of desire," he replies. "More for a lack of opportunity. I had a lot of expectations placed on me when I was a child."

Verso picks up the shampoo bottle. "Like what? If you don't mind me asking."

"My parents were a politician and an engineering juggernaut," Gustave admits with a bittersweet smile. "My older sister picked up the political aspirations from my mother, and my father was determined to have at least one of us follow in his footsteps. So rather be allowed to figure out what I wanted, I had schematics and alchemical formulas thrown at me when I wasn't even old enough to read them yet."

Pushed into the path his parents wanted for him, rather than the one he wanted. The explanation strikes a familiar chord in Verso's chest.

As far as Verso is concerned, his mother never really disapproved of his aptitude for music or Alicia's for writing intricately woven stories, but he knows that deep down, she would have preferred it if they'd opted to become painters like their parents were. Like Clea did. They wanted a dynasty, but ended up with only one child to follow their footsteps.

Even so, she always supported their endeavors and what made them happiest. Especially when Verso asked her to teach him to play piano.

She was more than happy to.

(Until she couldn't anymore. Until Verso's selfishness got him dragged to the Abyss and got her cursed.)

He stops his thoughts from spiraling by focusing on Gustave instead.

In Gustave's case, the disapproval seems more active. More… oppressive, if the subtle disappointment in his smile is any indication.

As Gustave lathers his chest and shoulders with the minty soap, he quickly amends, "That's not to say I don't love my work. There's something exhilarating about being able to create something from scratch. Drawing a schematic, seeing the vision, creating it, then using alchemy to bring it to life. It's a powerful feeling."

Verso smirks. "Magic without magic," he suggests.

"Something like that," Gustave agrees with a huff. He ducks down to his chin to rinse his body off. "Plus, it's through that very skill set that I learned what I know about the plants, rocks, and reagents out here. I didn't just want to… make potions or components. I wanted to use the ingredients to the best of their ability, so I read about them. How to store them. Where they occur naturally. I learned a lot about the Continent that way."

With a soft hum of acknowledgment, Verso dollops some shampoo onto his hand. "The bright side of an undesirable situation?"

Just like Gustave himself, and this time they've spent together these past few days.

Gustave makes a quiet noise of acknowledgment as he moves to the shallows to lather his legs with the soap. "Something like that," he repeats.

After a quick dunk in the stream to rinse his soapy hair and beard, Verso stands back up and stretches, letting his languid movements force the kinks out of his neck. Several 'pops' ring in his ears, and he follows Gustave to the shallows to wash his legs off as well. He takes a seat on a rock, then quietly asks, "Are your parents…"

"For ten years now," Gustave answers, seeming to anticipate the direction of the question. He hands the soap bottle over to Verso. "They lived long enough to see Emma sworn in as Director of Seraphic Relations at the town office, and to see me open my shop. Maman fell ill, and Emma thinks Papa died of a broken heart, since it was so soon after she passed."

There's a clear and evident disconnect in Gustave's eyes, like he's trying to say things in a nice way, but he wants to say it differently.

Verso decides to press. To see if he can see more of what makes Gustave tick. "If you could do anything in the world, other people's wishes and expectations aside, what would it be?"

To Verso's complete surprise, Gustave answers without a moment's thought. "Write."

That perfectly explains why Maelle was so easily drawn to him. Verso squeezes another drop of soap onto his hand. "What kind of writing?"

"To be honest? All kinds," Gustave admits with a quiet laugh as he fills his hands with water and rinses his legs. "But if I had to choose? I like journaling and noting down details about my research just fine, but… there's something special about creating a world from my own mind. When I was young, I used to create elaborate fantasies with the hope of writing them down. I had a journal full of ideas, so full that I even wrote in the margins and on the inside of the covers."

Gustave's laughter is quiet and bittersweet. Soft brown eyes focus intently on the water, and from this angle, Verso can see the quiet, simmering regret in his expression. He turns back to Verso, trying for nonchalance. But having seen the flash of vulnerability in his eyes, Verso sees it for what it is.

He's trying to downplay his feelings.

As Verso rinses his legs and feet, he turns a curious glance toward Gustave. "Why not write some of it?" he urges with a smile. "You have nothing but time when we're camping at night, right? I have an extra journal in my bag, and plenty of pencils for sketching. I'd be happy to share."

Brows rising, Gustave's wide brown eyes display his surprise and incredulity clear as day, even before he asks, "You think so?"

"Why not?" Verso smiles easily, resting back against the sand in the shallows and letting the warm river water roll over his clean body. Somehow, the two feet between them feels much larger, but much smaller at the same time. "You should chase your dreams."

There's a bashful quirk to Gustave's smile. One that makes Verso's heart race all over again. With a quiet breath of not-quite-laughter, he submerges his hand and splashes a small wave of water toward Verso. It crests, and were Verso not already soaked, the water's temperature may have taken him by surprise.

As it stands, he plays it up a little. When the water hits him, he pretends to fall off balance, splashing backward into the river. He hears Gustave laughing, then rights himself and flicks excess water from his hands in Gustave's direction.

Gustave laughs, wiping the water from his face. "I will. On one condition."

Brows rising, Verso asks, "Which is?"

"You let me meet Monoco."

Mirth drains away like it never existed, replaced with dread as Verso registers what Gustave is asking. Tension pulls at his shoulders, knotting them up like clover brambles. He feels colder. Nervous. Terrified for Gustave to find out the pathetic, childish truth about the nature of Monoco's existence.

But… if he's going to keep asking, maybe it's better to get the answer out of the way now.

Verso lets out a puff of breathless laughter and runs a hand through his wet hair. Flicking his eyes back to Gustave, he presses his lips together worriedly. He still has no idea how Gustave knows about Monoco at all, but the curiosity in those soft brown eyes is strong enough to break any resolve Verso might have.

So, he concedes with a nod and a nervous declaration of, "Alright. But you have to promise…"

He trails off.

Putain, he sounds like a child.

"Promise?" Gustave urges, watching him with soft, curious eyes.

Verso averts his eyes, catching sight of his reflection on the surface of the clear, clean river water. "That you won't laugh."

A warm touch on Verso's shoulder jumps him, and when he turns, he sees Gustave's bright, gentle smile piercing through his worries and setting his mind at ease.

(At least partially.)

"Why would I laugh?"

"Because Monoco isn't exactly…"

As he speaks, he focuses on the all-too-familiar feeling of calling his old friend from the recesses of his mind. Wooden body, the likeness of an oversized marionette puppet, with ball joints and long, carefully-jointed fingers. His lion's mane of hair, carefully folded into an intricate viking braid style, tied down beneath his chin like a stylish beard.

The red-carved plank over his face.

Every detail is second nature at this point, since up until these past few days, he's spent most of his time on the continent with only Monoco at his side. So, when footsteps echo behind them, and the familiar sound of Monoco's wooden feet clacking against the stone on the ground fills the air, he's already waving over his shoulder.

"Isn't exactly what?" questions Monoco, sounding equal parts amused and curious.

Gustave startles and whips his attention around, tumbling into the water in an almost comical fashion. He yelps in alarm as he falls, then sits up looking like a sopping wet cat. "Wh—"

It's hard to stifle his laughter, but Verso manages as he offers his hand to help Gustave up. "Isn't exactly the type of person you'd expect to meet on a normal day," he settles on saying, to avoid shattering Gustave's mind too much at once.

Monoco hums and steps casually into the water, wetting the cloth wraps around his legs and immediately walking in up to his waist. "Of course not," he agrees. "Gestrals don't typically like to make themselves known to humans."

"No humans here," Verso counters, helping Gustave to his feet. He turns his attention to Monoco again. "Just a hellion, a seraph, and a gestral who could stand to relearn some manners."

With a dismissive grunt, Monoco replies, "Splitting hairs. You all look the same to me. Squishy little bags of meat who are far too emotional to know the true meaning of manners."

Verso huffs. "Nice to see you again too, old friend," he quips.

"Are you going to introduce me to your friend, or am I going to have to do it myself?" presses Monoco brusquely, as he turns his attention to Gustave.

Humming, Verso remarks, "Oh good. You did notice him. You're not going senile in your old age."

Despite being unable to see Monoco's face beneath the mask, he can clearly read the deadpan expression radiating from the gestral's entire body.

Verso smirks, then finally offers an introduction. "Gustave, this is Monoco. Monoco, Gustave."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," greets Gustave, offering his hand to Monoco. It's impossible to miss the shaky surprise in his voice.

Though, to be honest, he seems a lot less surprised than Verso thinks he should be. Strange… but he decides not to bring it up right now. Especially not with Monoco here to comment.

Monoco shakes Gustave's offered hand, then huffs in amusement and says, "He's more polite than you are, Verso."

"Merde, why did I let this happen?" Verso sighs.

"Because you've never been able to say no to a pretty face," Monoco declares shamelessly.

Verso isn't sure what's more alarming: the pathetic, panicked, sputtering sound he makes or the way he practically trips over his feet standing still at the nonchalant way Monoco ruins his life.

In a frantic yelp, he shouts, "I never said that!"

To no surprise, Gustave's confusion hasn't subsided in the least. Somewhere, hidden within the bewilderment and curiosity, is a… soft, almost bashful smile. The sight of it makes a million butterflies spring to life in Verso's stomach, as he watches Gustave step out of the water and pick up one of the toothbrushes and the toothpaste Verso left on shore.

Verso's body feels a dozen degrees hotter.

When he turns back to Monoco, he finds his old friend with his arms crossed over his chest, and even without being able to see his expression, he can see the smug smirk on his old friend's face.

"Shut up," Verso complains.

Monoco counters, "I didn't say anything."

"I can see it on your face," insists Verso.

Huffing, Monoco challenges, "Under my mask?"

Verso scoffs and sloshes out of the water to the shore. "Sorry about him," he tells Gustave. "He complains about my manners, but he's much worse."

"I don't mind," Gustave offers reassuringly as he squeezes toothpaste onto his brush. Then, his expression softens as he holds Verso's gaze. "So… Monoco. He's an illusion?"

It's Verso who breaks their deadlocked stare. He wants to come up with some kind of answer, but he can't think of one that doesn't make him sound like a child. Or some kind of lonely hermit.

He doesn't get the luxury of coming up with an answer.

Monoco steps out of the water and sits under a nearby tree. "Verso has spent much of his time alone these past few years," he explains, reaching up and untwisting his braids to wring them dry. "Does it not make sense that he'd want a friend to accompany him?"

"Monoco, don't say it like that—"

"It's fair," Gustave interjects, glancing down at the toothbrush in his hand. "I think if I spent all that time alone, I would want to end my loneliness in any way possible. And Monoco seems to know you well."

All Verso can do is let out a quiet breath of laughter.

How is he so... considerate? Kind? Amazing?

To say that he's surprised is an understatement. Not only did Gustave not call him insane, or laugh in his face… but he's rationalizing the situation? It's… so refreshing. Another reason that Gustave is—

That Verso…

Gustave's disarming smile quiets the spiral again. "I hope there's room for two companions," he teases. "That Monoco doesn't mind sharing the spotlight."

At first, Monoco doesn't reply. He simply looks up from unwrapping the cloth wraps around his legs, and even behind his mask, Verso can see the full awareness of the situation. Of course, coming from Verso's mind, he'd have full awareness of the plan to leave Gustave behind. Verso can only hope that, for once, he decides to use the slightest smidgen of discretion.

He knows how important it is that Gustave doesn't know.

It's for his own good. The only way he's safe.

Fortunately, Monoco decides to show mercy… though Verso can see from the shift in his posture that he doesn't approve. "I definitely don't mind," he finally decides to reply, turning back to his task. "It's exhausting being the only one Verso pours his sob stories to."

Gustave laughs, blissfully unaware of the unspoken secret, and Verso's guilt burrows deeper.

It's for the best. He doesn't deserve this mess.

Notes:

Verso you thirsty, thirsty boy. What naughty thoughts you have.

I want you all to know that the "pretty face" bit with Monoco was partially inspired by Amiko's comic! I'm sure you've all seen it already and me linking to it is just superfluous at this point, but it brings me so much joy and inspiration that it wouldn't be fair not to give credit where it's due!

And then Verso had to just... ruin it by being a silly secret-keeping sakapatate. Pouting so hard at him.

Thanks for reading! 💜🪻

Chapter 9

Summary:

Verso blinks, then laughs sheepishly, as if just remembering the truth of his words. "Well, we could always stay until after Solstice," he offers, his eyes turned toward the distant wall, before turning back in Gustave's direction. He doesn't quite meet Gustave's eyes, though. Instead, it seems like he's looking over Gustave's shoulder. "You shouldn't have to miss any kind of celebration."

Craning his neck again, Gustave manages to find Verso's eyes. "Hey."

Verso's brows rise.

"Neither should you."

Notes:

pov: Gustave
cw: none

The seraph settlement is… larger than Gustave expected.

One would think that a settlement would be a settlement. Several small huts, a general store, plus the few amenities that Verso has mentioned in their conversations.

What he absolutely never expected was for the settlement to look like a small city.

It's about half the size of Lumiere, but they seem to have packed a lot into such a small space. Most of the stores he's seen as they pass are centralized to seraphim. Wing jewelry shops and wing salons, and various apothecaries that sell reagents specifically catered to seraphim and half-seraphim.

A strip mall with things like boutiques and stores with basic everyday needs. Gustave looks forward to buying food to cook them actual meals at their camp, rather than the quick rations and dried things Verso has packed.

It's kind of funny, how much he misses cooking. He's nowhere near a professional chef, but he learned a fair bit about cooking over the years, in the time he spent cooking for himself, and for the much, much pickier Maelle. Taking recipes and altering them to either add something or take something out has become something of a skill and a pastime of his.

He likens it to tickling the same part of his brain that likes to build projects from scratch. Taking components, in this case food ingredients, and putting them together into something brand new.

Still, he would've thought that the first thing he would have wanted when coming to a city was a hot, relaxing bath in the town's hot spring.

But a meal? Something not cooked over a campfire from the frozen ingredients in their ice box?

That sounds like a dream.

Fortunately, Verso seems more than amenable to the idea of a fresh hot meal. More than Gustave expected when he mentioned that he wanted to cook it.

They've found their way to the far edge of the city, where a small line of temporary rental homes rest, facing the distant Falling Leaves, with its orange hued trees and foliage. It looks like autumn in Lumiere. Gustave wishes they had time to explore the forest, but he knows they're only here for a day or two, to rest properly before they take off for the first Blood Bearers base at the Stone Wave Cliffs.

The only way Maelle will ever be safe is if they take care of things. The only way Verso can ever come home, can be free of this cycle of self-isolation and comfort only in his illusions of the past, is if they finish this.

Gustave casts a cursory glance in Verso's direction.

There's been… an odd distance in his eyes since they left Yellow Harvest last night. He still keeps up conversation, and does with the same level of casual ease as before, but his eyes don't match. Not for the first time, it seems like he has a hard time holding Gustave's gaze.

When Gustave asks what's wrong, Verso insists that he's fine.

Odd, but Gustave chalks it up to exhaustion. Verso opted not to stop for rest between Yellow Harvest and Falling Leaves. Even as Gustave nodded off and slept for half the boat ride, Verso rowed through the night, and for the two hours it took to get to where they were going after Gustave woke up.

No matter how many times Gustave offered to row so he could rest, Verso refused.

With some sort of… guilty rasp to his voice.

Or maybe Gustave is assuming too much. After all, despite the intrinsic pull he feels toward Verso as his protecteur, they've only known each other properly for just under a week in the grand scheme of things. Far too early for Gustave to properly read Verso's moods, or what certain expressions and actions mean.

As they approach the front door of the small rental home, Gustave turns to Verso with a smile. "I never would've considered a compound of rental homes," he muses with a quiet chuckle. "Or for the settlement to be a miniature city."

Verso smiles, then flicks his eyes toward Gustave all-too-briefly. "That's the Lumieran illusion," he points out. "They don't try to prevent people from leaving, but they make it sound unappealing by making the world beyond its walls sound like chaos."

"They do, don't they?" Gustave agrees, standing aside while Verso unlocks the door. The bag on his shoulder looks incredibly cumbersome, so Gustave quickly reaches out to slide it off and shrug it over his own shoulder. "It's certainly what I thought."

At first, Verso is surprised, and lets out a sheepish laugh. It takes him a few seconds to finally regain his bearings, and when he does, he fishes the keys from his pocket and replies, "I thought it was like a western. When I was a child, my maman would tell me stories about how it was all gangs and lawlessness."

Gustave's brows rise. "To scare you out of leaving?"

"That's what I always thought," Verso confirms with a bittersweet laugh. "There's certainly a level of anarchy between the settlements, and you know firsthand that the dangerous groups exist, but… it's nowhere near as bad as she made it seem."

With an easy smile, Gustave muses, "Thanks in no small part to your bounty hunting, from what Monoco says."

Trying to hide a smile, Verso mutters, "Monoco has a big mouth."

"I don't know, you told me yourself that the hot springs workers here owe you favors," Gustave points out as he cranes his neck to hold Verso's eyes. "Plus, the woman at the reception office was more than happy to rent us this place at an absurd discount, thanks to the work you've done to help the city. I think that warrants recognition."

Verso lets out a quiet laugh. "You're exaggerating," he mutters dismissively as he turns into the small rental home.

Shaking his head, Gustave follows behind him and asks, "Or, do I have a genuine appreciation for someone so willing to give of himself without asking anything in return?" He watches as Verso turns in the doorway, then flashes a warm smile. "Someone who has spent too much of his time alone."

Even without saying a word, Gustave can see the quiet contemplation on Verso's face. Those ice-blue eyes, almost the exact same shade as Maelle's—with the same hallowed, haunted darkness that always makes him worry about Maelle resting in the ethereal patterns in his irises—turn down to the stone steps beneath their feet. His mind seems to be racing.

Gustave is about to press, to reassure him that he won't be alone anymore, when Verso raises his head and their eyes meet.

In a sudden bout of conversational whiplash, Verso declares, "Let me take you out for lunch." He steps into the small, two-bedroom bungalow, then adds, "And afterward, we can go to the wing boutique."

The smile wilts from Gustave's face. "Verso…"

"I know," Verso quickly corrects. "You lost your wings. But… I think there's something they can do to help. They don't just sell wing jewelry there. It's more like… a one-stop shop for everything pertaining to wings. While I don't think you can grow them back, I have a fairly educated guess that there's something they can do to help you fly again."

Gustave blinks. "You think so?"

He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss his wings.

Not only for the convenience of being able to fly over cliff edges to pick leaves and herbs, but just because… now that he's here on the continent, it would be unbelievable to soar high over the earth and see everything from above. To get a sweeping overhead view of everything they pass, even if he'd eventually want to touch down and see it all from the ground.

Is there really something a wing boutique can do to help him?

Verso nods, his smile more genuine than Gustave has seen it since yesterday. "If anyone can do something about it, it's them."

"If I could fly, it would make our fights easier," Gustave reasons as he pinches his chin thoughtfully.

Letting out a huff, Verso turns and steps into the bungalow, holding the door open for Gustave. "Don't worry about the fighting today," he suggests, his eyes refusing to align with Gustave's again. "For now, let's just relax. We can get lunch in town, head to the wing boutique, and then do some shopping to get you some clothes and soap of your own. Tomorrow, we can deal with… whatever else comes."

There's nothing about Verso's tone in that last sentence that Gustave likes.

Despite the concern over Verso's fluctuating mood, Gustave decides to follow along with the rapid subject change. "It would be nice to have some conditioner. And some of my curl cream."

Verso lets out a laugh that sounds involuntary.

"What?" Gustave's brows rise.

"Nothing," Verso quickly amends. "I just… I knew hair like yours wasn't just shampoo and go."

Gustave lets out a soft chuckle as he finally steps into the bungalow. "It's a rather annoying ritual, if I'm being completely honest," he muses. "Far too time-consuming, and—"

He stops.

It's… gorgeous, for such a small home. All-in-all, it's about the size of his apartment back in Lumiere, with just as many bedrooms. From here, Gustave can see a pair of small staircases leading to a duo of raised loft bedrooms, with railings overlooking the living area. Not exactly made for privacy, but then again, neither were the past few days spent camping.

The walls are painted a pleasant mauvish purple, and the floors and ceilings are a honey oaken brown, with trim in a pleasant electric red, that reminds him of the sparks his prosthetic throws off. A few small houseplants rest in the corners, bringing sparse life to the empty house, as does the plush, velveteen furniture, in a sunny pastel yellow.

Gustave smiles. Small as it is, the decor and style is exactly the type of home he imagined living in.

His eyes pass over the calendar… and all good humor he'd been cultivating since walking into the seraph settlement falls away like it never existed.

It's December nineteenth.

There are two days until Solstice. Two days until his family and all of his friends will be getting together at Lune and Sciel's apartment to celebrate the holiday together.

It completely slipped his mind.

In the chaos of their escape from Lumiere and the excitement of discovering the Continent with Verso, he lost track of how many days have passed. This is going to be the first Solstice he's spent without Maelle since she came into his life six years ago. The first Solstice she's spent without him.

He has to hope that Emma will do everything in her power to ensure that Maelle has a good holiday, even without Gustave there. He's sure that Emma knows where his gifts are, but…

All he can do is hope that she's okay.

That the others are doing what they can to keep her distracted and happy.

Verso's presence warms the air behind Gustave. He stands shoulder-to-shoulder, his own eyes on the calendar, before they flick toward Gustave. "It's almost Solstice."

"It is," confirms Gustave needlessly, as he flicks his eyes over to Verso. "I completely lost track of the day."

"I did too," admits Verso with a melancholy smile. "Though, to be fair, I've been away from a calendar for quite some time. All I really knew before now was that it's very late autumn."

Gustave regards him for several seconds.

The sleeplessness in his eyes shouldn't come as this much of a surprise. Hellions are just as susceptible to exhaustion as other humanoids. At camp, he's always awake when Gustave crawls into bed, and awake when Gustave crawls back out in the morning. This morning, while they rowed over the water in the rowboat, Gustave made a passing remark asking if Verso ever sleeps.

Still, somehow, it takes Gustave off guard, as do all the other clear signs of his solitude.

Dark circles line the undersides of his eyes from nights with very little sleep. That too-familiar scar over his eye, and the mild scarring on the right side of his face. The way his hair—mostly black as night, save for light streaks of moonlight white in the front right—frames his face like a picture.

Those eyes.

Merde, those eyes.

Haunted and chilly in their pale ice blue, but somehow still soft and sympathetic as they flit fleetingly across Gustave's face. It feels like he's trying to memorize the details. To commit them to memory for some reason.

It's hard not to flush under that intense stare. As it stands, he looks away, trying to ignore the heat that prickles beneath his cheeks.

"I suppose it seems silly to feel so melancholy about it," Gustave mutters to himself. "It's my first time missing it—"

Verso quickly interjects, "Don't do that to yourself." He steps between Gustave and the calendar, managing a kind smile despite the distance in his eyes. "You can't quantify pain. Yeah, I've been away from my family for six years. And yes, it's hard. But this is your first time away from yours on Solstice. That's also hard. I understand how hard it is."

With a quiet breath of laughter, Gustave combs his hand through his hair. "You know, it's funny. I tell Maelle that kind of thing all the time. That you can't quantify suffering, and that everyone has a different threshold for what pain is unbearable." He reaches out and places his metal fingers on Verso's bicep, reveling in the solid, sinewy muscle beneath his touch. "Thank you. Sometimes it's easy to forget that I'm just as susceptible to sadness as anyone else."

"There's a Solstice celebration here at the top of the mountain," Verso explains, nodding his head to the west. "It might be what you need to take your mind off things for a little while."

Gustave watches his expression closely.

He's noticed a troubling habit of Verso's lately. Every time they talk about plans, Verso refers to Gustave doing things alone. He doesn't include himself, and while he's always quick to correct himself when Gustave calls him on it… it's still odd. Like he doesn't think Gustave will want to stick around for that long.

If that's the case, Gustave is more than happy to put those thoughts at ease.

He laughs quietly, letting his hand drop from Verso's arm. "I imagine we'll be far from Falling Leaves by then."

Verso blinks, then laughs sheepishly, as if just remembering the truth of his words. "Well, we could always stay until after Solstice," he offers, his eyes turned toward the distant wall, before turning back in Gustave's direction. He doesn't quite meet Gustave's eyes, though. Instead, it seems like he's looking over Gustave's shoulder. "You shouldn't have to miss any kind of celebration."

Craning his neck again, Gustave manages to find Verso's eyes. "Hey."

Verso's brows rise.

"Neither should you."

A small smile pulls up the corner of Verso's lips. This time, it's him who reaches up to touch Gustave's bicep. "Allez, Gustave. Let's paint the town, shall we?"

It's such a simple statement. A gentle urging for Gustave to join him. But something about the warmth of his voice and the way his words wrap around the shell of Gustave's ear makes his stomach blossom with a warm flutter.

Gustave is stricken at that moment, by exactly how… beautiful Verso is.

The piercing icy color of his eyes, and the way the white in his hair stands out against the rest of the fluffy darkness. The angle of his jaw and the slope of his nose. Each and every scar on his face, and the way some disappear beneath the dark scruff of his facial hair. The curve of his lips, perfectly pink and curved into his sheepish little smile.

His trim, cut body, emblazoned in Gustave's mind in nothing but his underclothes, sopping wet and smiling in the Yellow Harvest river yesterday. The muscle of his chest and shoulders, and the swath of dark hair on his chest and legs. Everything about him is statuesque, like he was designed just to draw Gustave's gaze.

Merde. He's so gorgeous, it's hard to believe that he's real.

Gustave manages a sheepish laugh, then places his fingertips on Verso's hand. "I don't know if the town is ready for us."

So, after stowing all their bags in the bungalow's living area to take care of when they come back, they leave for lunch.

For the time being, as they walk through the small settlement, it seems like whatever has been weighing Verso down is the furthest thing from his mind. As they walk from the bungalow back into the city proper, he talks about the town like he's leading a tour. Gustave finds himself getting even more lost in the way his eyes light up.

It's very similar to Maelle when she gets excited about something… but also very different.

It makes something both familiar and wonderfully intoxicating blossom in Gustave's chest, flowing through his veins like liquid butterflies. Wakes up things in him that he's not used to feeling. Things he's felt before, but not for a long time.

Verso, when he's truly enthusiastic, talks with his hands and enunciates the words he's most excited about. His eyes dance like neon lights as he talks about the concert hall and the art gallery, how they're smaller than the ones in Lumiere, but still worth a visit. He smiles wide and bright when they pass the skating rink.

It's hard not to mirror his enthusiasm and eagerly ask questions about each place.

The seraph settlement is a beautiful place. It has so much to offer, and Gustave finds himself wishing he had more time to explore it. To see all these sights that Verso is introducing him to. But as it stands, he's happy enough to see the elegantly decorated interior of Coup de Chance, the steakhouse in the center of the settlement.

Nowhere near as happy as the owner of the restaurant is to see Verso, though.

Much to Verso's embarrassment, the man—a portly, cheerful seraph named Sastro—eagerly regales Gustave with tales of the many times Verso has saved this settlement from threats. Nevrons to vampires to other hellions, and even resentful seraphim who've been exiled for breaking the settlement's rules.

Sastro seems to know Verso well, and Gustave takes comfort in the fact that his life outside of Lumiere hasn't been completely solitary. Between Monoco and Sastro, he seems to have had a few friends to rely on.

When Sastro joins them at the table for a brief break, and regales Gustave with stories about art that Verso has painted to put on the establishment's walls, it's hard not to notice the way Verso shies away from the attention. The difference in his enthusiasm when it comes to talking about art to talking about music is an interesting contrast.

As it turns out, four glasses of strawberry wine are all it takes to make Verso smile a little wider, laugh more genuinely, and speak more openly. The wine, as it often does, melts through Verso's guard. It's not long before he's regaling Gustave with tales of combat and triumph, telling him all about the massive group of Nevrons he took out on his own outside these very gates.

He's not drunk, but he's just relaxed enough to hum along with the piano playing on the steakhouse's overhead speaker and tell Gustave all about the composition of the song and what the various crescendoes and decrescendos mean. He speaks with the passion of a man in his element, even going so far as to play invisible keys on top of the tablecloth.

It's charming. So charming that it borders on unfair.

Even Gustave feels a little looser with the three glasses of Cabernet floating around in his system. With a stomach full of filet, baked potatoes, steamed carrots, and honey butter bread, and good company at his side, he feels like he could conquer the world.

As they go from store to store, buying clothing, soap, haircare products, cologne, and whatever else Gustave needs to survive day to day in the wilderness—he's thankful that, at the very least, he left Lumiere from work so he still has his wallet with him—he finds himself stealthily picking up a few gifts for Verso.

From the grocery store, a bottle of that same strawberry wine he loved so much at the restaurant, quickly purchased when Verso was distracted and hidden in the bottom of his shopping bag. The hand-knit scarf, woven in navy blue and emerald green, at the boutique that Verso idly mentioned reminding him of one he had as a boy.

Solstice being so close, it feels a bit like last minute shopping for a get-together.

He spies Verso, looking at an elegant, delicate ring wrapped with beautiful opal and garnet flowers. It glimmers in the department store's overhead light, drawing the eye. He steps up beside Verso and eyes the ring curiously.

"It's pretty."

Verso startles, as if not expecting Gustave's presence at his side, and not for the first time, the toll his solitude has taken on him is evident in his ice blue eyes. His eyes meet with Gustave's, and for a second, Gustave thinks he's going to try and dismiss it and change the subject like he often does, but it seems like the strawberry wine is putting in overtime.

Those pale blue eyes flick back to the ring in his hand. "My younger sister had a matching necklace," he admits somberly, running his fingers over the gemmed petals of the garnet flower. "She had the whole set, actually. A gift for her ninth birthday."

A younger sister. Something itches in the back of Gustave's mind, but he can't really put any explanation to it, so instead, he eyes Verso's profile. "Who was it from?"

"Me," Verso admits with a bittersweet laugh. "I know. Odd to give a nine-year-old gemmed jewelry, with how rough kids can be, but… Alicia wasn't a typical child when she was young. Very quiet and bookish. Much preferred to play inside. She loved pretty things. Probably still does, honestly."

Gustave smirks. "Maelle is like that," he muses, his eyes flicking down to the ring in Verso's hands. "Always with her head lost in whatever story she's working on. I have to keep on her to do anything else. Chores, classwork, even going to bed at night so she's rested for the next school day."

The quiet hum Verso lets out feels… loaded. Thick with something he's not admitting, and Gustave isn't catching onto. "Anyway," he quickly clears his throat, and sets the ring back in the display. "We should go to the wing boutique—"

"You should get this for your sister," Gustave interjects, picking the ring back up and offering it back to Verso. "This whole mission we're on is to allow both of us the chance to go home, right?"

Verso's eyes are wide as he holds Gustave's gaze. "I…" he starts, then swallows thickly and huffs. "Yes. That's the plan."

With a warm smile, Gustave reaches out and takes Verso's hand, lifting it and pressing the ring into his palm. "Buy this for her. Tell her what you just told me. That way, she'll know that even though you were gone for so long, you never stopped thinking about her."

Ice blue eyes focused intently on their hands, Verso dashes his tongue out to wet his lips. Then, he flicks them back up to Gustave's face, the ghost of a smile twitching across his somber expression. He holds onto the ring and remarks, "You, Monsieur Aubert, are a very persuasive man."

"So I've been told," muses Gustave, dropping his hands from Verso's. "Fortunately for you, I've opted to use my powers for good, rather than for nefarious purposes."

In a quiet, seemingly involuntary tone, Verso quips, "I don't know. I may not mind a touch of nefariousness."

Gustave chuckles. "I'll keep that in mind."

The warm flutter Gustave feels flowing from his chest, out through his veins is… pleasant and all too familiar. He knows better than to attribute it to the wine, and as he watches Verso's coy smile as he leads the way to the checkout counter…

He wonders if Verso is feeling the same kind of flutter.

Notes:

FLIRTIIIIING LOOK AT THEM FLIRT.

T-minus one chapter until Verso does something silly.

Thank you guys so much for reading!

Chapter 10

Summary:

The answer seems to delight Esquie. "I'm glad you understand, mon amie!" he exclaims. "Verso, he's more polite than you."

Verso's expression flattens. "So I've been told."

With a gentle shoulder-to-shoulder nudge against Verso, Gustave reassures him, "I think you're plenty polite."

A playful smirk twitches back across Verso's face as he nudges Gustave back. "They're both right, though," he murmurs, his eyes sparkling like champagne bubbles as he holds Gustave's gaze. "You're much more polite than I am."

Notes:

pov: Gustave
cw: mild medical stuff, but nothing bad or serious

With their business finished at the department store, their adventure continues to the wing boutique that Verso has been lauding all day. After checking out at different counters—Gustave spends the whole time desperate to hide the scarf he bought for Verso among the other clothing he chose for himself—they meet up in front of the store, and Verso guides him toward the boutique.

Once again, Gustave isn't sure what to expect. They don't have wing boutiques or any specialty stores for any specific species in Lumiere, so by the time they reach the front door, he finds himself thrumming with excitement.

What he sees when he gets inside is… astounding.

Rows and rows of wing decorations, from things like flickering fairy lights to gold jewelry to extra feathers of different colors. Not for the first time, Gustave finds himself lamenting the loss of his wings. If he had them, he'd love to drape them with the elegant silver chain he spies along the back wall.

For now, his attention flicks to Verso, who seems to know exactly where he's going. He marches toward the counter like a man on a mission, all while greeting the clerk with a cheerful smile and a wave. "Esquie! Mon amie, how are you doing?"

Several seraphim in the store seem oddly perturbed by the presence of a hellion, but that only lasts as long as it takes one of the others to tell them exactly who Verso is.

It's a damn good thing, too. Gustave would have had no problem telling them exactly where to go if they kept staring like that.

"Verso! It's been far too long!" calls the grand, portly being behind the counter, his elegant black and gold silk finery looking simultaneously strange and absolutely elegant on his bulbous frame. "I was wondering if you forgot us here!"

Verso shakes his head. "How could I forget you, you big marshmallow?" he muses with an easy smile, leaning his elbows against the counter. "The last time I was here, I mentioned that I had business in Lumiere, remember?"

With a quiet hum, Esquie reasons, "I remember." He shrugs his hands dramatically. "But that doesn't mean I can't be sad that you're not around, or worried when you're gone for so, so long."

Smiling softly, Verso concedes, "You're right, of course."

"And who is this with you?" Esquie questions, turning his eyes toward Gustave. "It's weird to see you with seraphim, Verso."

Gustave's brows rise. "Gustave Aubert," he introduces himself. "You could tell I was a seraph?"

Letting out a quiet hum of laughter, Verso explains, "Esquie has a keen sense of who is what." He taps his temple. "He knew I was a hellion from half a glance. It's quite a marvel."

"I see," Gustave muses, taking in the creature's grand appearance.

Seeming to sense Gustave's curiosity, Verso leans in close and intones, "Esquie is a fae." He smirks conspiratorially as he casts a playful side-eye at the giant fae behind the counter. "The bulky frame and mask are a glamour. He's actually much smaller than this. His natural form is about the size of my hand, with little dragonfly wings that glow."

Verso holds up his hand for emphasis.

It's hard to tell, but Gustave thinks he sees Esquie stick his nose up in offense. The mask he wears, akin to the red-carved mask Gustave saw on Monoco but much, much different, doesn't show any emotion—or even have a nose, for that matter—but the small head stares up at the ceiling with his puffy-sleeved arms bent to put his hands on his hips.

Clearly, Verso has stricken a nerve.

"Well, that was rude."

Gustave offers Esquie a conciliatory smile. "I can see why one would choose to be a big marshmallow over being palm-sized," he offers with a chuckle. "There's a squishability there that even full-sized humanoids lack."

The answer seems to delight Esquie. "I'm glad you understand, mon amie!" he exclaims. "Verso, he's more polite than you."

Verso's expression flattens. "So I've been told."

With a gentle shoulder-to-shoulder nudge against Verso, Gustave reassures him, "I think you're plenty polite."

A playful smirk twitches back across Verso's face as he nudges Gustave back. "They're both right, though," he murmurs, his eyes sparkling like champagne bubbles as he holds Gustave's gaze. "You're much more polite than I am."

Something about that twinkle in Verso's eye makes Gustave's stomach flip in his chest. "Agree to disagree," offers Gustave, his voice lilting coyly.

If Gustave's heart wasn't already thrumming like a hummingbird's wing in his chest, the delighted noise Esquie makes behind the counter would have been enough to do it. When Gustave's attention whips toward the fae, he feels all the more embarrassed. Even without seeing Esquie's face, the enthusiasm radiating from every single inch of him is… positively mortifying.

Gustave worries that his growing affection for Verso is too obvious. He should probably reign it in, before he ends up pushing Verso away.

Fortunately, before that worry can cause him to embarrass himself, Esquie breaks their awkward, silent stalemate by asking, "So, mes amis, what brings you here today?"

Verso clears his throat. "Right. Yes." He lets out a solid puff of air, then sweeps a hand through his hair. "Has Delphine been by recently? The last time I saw her, she said she was working on that implant…"

"Ooh! Yes! We have it in the back!" announces Esquie with a cheerful spin behind the counter. "Did you finally come to get it?"

"I did," confirms Verso, briefly turning to Gustave with a quirk of a gentle smile. "My friend recently lost his wings, and I think… the implant could help. Does it work?"

Esquie nods his whole upper body, his enthusiasm never fading. "I watched her test it! They grew almost immediately, and she flew just as fast and strong as any seraphim in the village."

Brows rising, Gustave casts his eyes between the duo. "Implant?"

"An old acquaintance of mine, from my human life, is a fairly well-renowned alchemagical programmer," Verso explains with a smile, his gaze falling down to the table. "The main reason I wanted to come here was because… she was working for an implant for me. Something I asked for years ago, to use myself… but I think you'd get more use out of it. It's supposed to…"

He trails off, then meets Gustave's gaze, his eyes intense as fire, despite the cool, icy color. His smile is half-sincere, half-playful, and it stokes the sparklers of intrigue roiling in Gustave's gut.

Then, he asks, "Gustave, you trust me, right?"

"Of course I do," Gustave answers quickly.

The answer seems like it takes Verso completely off guard. He laughs breathily and glances down at the countertop.

Gustave responds with a sheepish smile. "And even if I didn't, you've piqued my curiosity."

Verso turns back to him with a grin. "Then come with me."

He follows both Verso and Esquie into the wing boutique's back room, which is fashioned into a massive office befitting someone Esquie's glamoured size. The walls are painted a cheerful yellow, bringing light to the darkening room. A large desk sits along the back wall, with a file cabinet that's practically filled to bursting. On the far left wall is a refrigerator and a microwave, with a small counter to heat up lunches.

The large window in the back overlooks the distant mountain trail, leading up to the top of the mountain.

Gustave smiles. "I wish my workshop had this nice a view," he muses as he turns to Verso and Esquie, who is stepping into a small closet in the back of the room. "All my windows look out at the industrial part of Lumiere."

"Beautiful in a different way," reasons Esquie as he rifles through the closet, his massive frame eclipsing it from Gustave's view.

Verso hums his agreement as he flicks on the overhead light. "Industry means innovation, right?"

With a warm chuckle, Gustave shrugs and glances out the window. "I suppose. But seeing it every day it gets kind of samey."

"An adventurer's spirit, hm?" Esquie lilts as he disappears completely into the small closet. "Longing for new sights?"

Before Gustave can answer, Verso chimes in. "He wants to see the world."

Gustave turns at the sound of Verso's voice, and is surprised to see a tiny smirk pulling up one side of his mouth. He looks down at the desk in front of him, his hair halfway shrouding his eyes, but the modest quirk and subtly playful pout of his lips tells Gustave clear as day that he's feeling coy.

"To be a swashbuckler. Seek whatever venture strikes his fancy and write stories about it," Verso declares, tilting his head just-so, enough that Gustave can see the twinkle in his eye. "What do you think, Esquie? Do you see any fault in following boyhood whimsies?"

Even without seeing Esquie's face, Gustave can hear the joy in his reply of, "Of course not!" He lets out a jubilant, genuine laugh. "The world is made for exploring, and there aren't enough good stories in it, if you ask me!"

Gustave hums a quiet note of laughter. "One thing at a time," he replies, holding Verso's eye. "First we have to make the world safer to explore, then we reap the benefits, right?"

Their shared gaze finally breaks, and Verso nods stiffly. "Right."

There's that distance again. Every time they talk about their plans to fight these bloodthirsty vampires together, he seems to shy away. Like there's something he's not saying.

Even if there is, who could blame him? They've still only known each other for a week. Gustave still has his share of secrets too. Merde, he hasn't even told Verso about his protecteur status yet. He doesn't even really know why. There have been plenty of chances, and it's not like it's even bad news. At least not in Gustave's mind.

The time has just… never felt right.

Still, the distance between them feels… not greater, but harder to traverse. Like Verso is building a wall.

Why?

Did he cross a line? Or is he misinterpreting all of these gestures that… feel significant as something they're not?

Whatever the case, he doesn't get the chance to ask. Esquie rejoins them, carrying a small box in his hands. He's quiet at first, looking between them with concern radiating from him, even without seeing his face.

Verso seems to notice it too, so he turns toward Esquie with a too-calm smile. Practiced. A mask of joy to reinforce whatever wall he's trying to erect. "Did you find it?"

"Of course!" exclaims Esquie, his concern momentarily forgotten. "Are you sure you don't want it, mon amie?"

The too-calm smile turns into a smirk, and Verso shakes his head. "I think Gustave deserves them, given his circumstance. Don't you?"

Esquie turns completely to Gustave, all questions and uncertainty drained from him. He approaches, movements oddly fluid for a creature so big and puffy, and with a spin and a flourish, offers the small box in his hands to Gustave. "Okay then, here you go! From Verso to you."

Brows rising, Gustave takes the small box from Esquie's hand. The box itself is about the size of a coin, and closed with a small clasp at the front. It's a simple black box, giving no indication of what's inside, and making Gustave all the more curious. Especially at all the secrecy.

With both Verso and Esquie watching him in anticipation, he can't help but let out a sheepish laugh. He reaches for the clasp and plucks it open, peeling the small top back and looking down inside.

It's hard to say what he's looking at.

He's definitely familiar with the type of implant. Lune sells things like this, magical glamours that conceal more inconvenient physical attributes like fragile fae wings and even create complete physical changes, like Esquie's much larger appearance. He's seen the small alchemagical implants several times before, though this one seems a bit more… intricate than Lune's.

Since Lune is a very skilled magical alchemist, he suspects that it serves a different purpose.

As he gently takes the chip in his left hand and draws it closer to his face, he reasons, "It's not a glamour, right?"

"It shares properties with a glamour," Verso explains. He approaches, taking Esquie's place in front of Gustave, while Esquie moves toward the large desk. "But… it's a little more than that. It's designed to attune to your aether and give you wings."

Gustave's brows disappear beneath his hairline. "Give me wings?" he repeats.

Laughing sheepishly, Verso holds his hand out for the small implant. "It can't regrow what you lost," he quickly amends. "They're wings of light, that use your aether and the aether around you to fly in the same way wingless creatures like witches and air elementals do. And it reads your aether to determine what color you want."

All Gustave can do is stare at the tiny implant in his hands. He'd heard through the grapevine, and in several research magazines, that this type of technology was in development.

He can't help but think, as he hands the small implant over to Verso, that it looks pretty developed to him.

"Really?" is all he can manage to say.

If Gustave didn't know how it felt to be disarmed by a smile, he would've learned it in that very moment. Verso's smile is so warm, so soft and kind, that he feels like he can't breathe for a second. "Really. I wouldn't lie about this."

Gustave huffs. "And you're sure you're okay with giving this to me?" He looks down at the implant in Verso's hand. "Don't you want to fly?"

"It's the least I can do."

"You don't—"

Before Gustave can finish, he feels Verso reach out and take his right hand. The gentle roughness, but subtle warmth of Verso's leather gloves against his fingers feels nice, but it's nothing compared to the way his skin felt when they touched by the riverbank. "I want you to have it. It's not fair that you lost your wings to this stupid vendetta, and even though it's not the exact same… it's something I can do."

Gustave lets out an involuntary breath of laughter. "I mean it when I say you don't owe me anything," he insists. "But… I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss having wings. And light wings sound pretty cool."

"Oh, they are," agrees Verso with a wry smirk, which quickly turns to a bright, genuine, enthusiastic smile. "If Delphine made them to my specifications? You'll look like a comic book hero. And you'll fly effortlessly."

With a soft laugh, Gustave teases, "You don't have to pitch the hard sell. I'm in."

Esquie seems extra cheerful as he steps up beside Verso. He displays a small medical trocar, and even with the mask covering his face, Gustave can read the pure, undeniable kindness radiating from the fae.

"I need your arm."

Despite the briefest moment of hesitation, Gustave doesn't think that either of them would really hurt him. Verso has already gone through so much just to protect him. Brought him to safety and shown him just a taste of the life he dreamed of since he was a child. If Verso wanted to hurt him in any way, he would've just let him die in Lumiere, both times he had the chance.

He holds his right arm out and flashes Verso a smile, before turning to Esquie.

Esquie warns, "This might hurt for a second!"

"It's okay," Gustave offers in reassurance.

It takes a split-second to put the implant under his skin. The initial impact of the trocar piercing his flesh hurts for a few seconds, just like Esquie said it would, but just as quickly as the pain registers, Esquie springs into action. Gustave watches as the glamoured fae quickly pulls out a small, glowing poultice, which he uncorks and pours onto the small raised bump.

A pleasant aroma wafts through the air—spiced apple and ginger root, mixed with fleur de glace and cool spring water—and as the cooling poultice drips down his arm, the burn and subtle ache of the new implant fades like it never existed. Even the bump shrinks down into nothing. The only evidence that anything was off at all is a small injection wound, which quickly fades away with the help of the poultice.

Then, just like when his prosthetic arm connected to his nervous system, he feels the same soft, staticky haze pull from his right forearm to his brain. It dulls his senses for a second, then sends a slight tingling feeling out to his shoulder blades. It prickles along the scarring where his wings used to be, then through the rest of his body, as if resonating with his aether.

Just like Verso said it would.

Without ever being told, he knows exactly what to do.

A smile pulls up one corner of his lips as the impulse hits him. He rolls his shoulders, a similar feeling to what he used to do to dispel his wing glamours.

Then, in a blink, the entire room is bathed in a low, red light, akin to the red electricity that sparks from his prosthetic. Gustave catches sight of the warm, satisfied smile that spreads across Verso's face, and it tells him that whatever they were trying to do, it succeeded. He can't help but smile back.

"How do they look?"

"Amazing," Verso replies softly; reverently. "Like a superhero."

Gustave laughs airily.

Before he gets the chance to comment further, Esquie lets out a jubilant exclamation of, "Wheeee! It worked! Delphine will be so happy!" as he hurries across the room again. He opens the closet door all the way to reveal a full-length mirror. "Take a look, mon ami!"

With a soft chuckle, Gustave turns toward the mirror, but when he catches sight of himself… he freezes. A soft, surprised laugh bubbles up unbidden, as he quickly flexes his shoulder blades. He feels a slight tug in his supracoracoideus muscle, which used to mean that he was raising his wings to stretch them out.

Using that particular set of muscles has felt completely useless over the past few weeks, since losing his seraph wings, but as he flexes it now, the red light wing lifts into the air as if to say 'you can trust me; I'll respond.'

A second involuntary breath of laughter bubbles from his chest. "Astounding," he whispers. "It actually responds like my seraph wings used to. You're sure they'll fly?"

"Why don't we go outside and test them?" suggests Verso, gesturing to the front of the store. "I'd like to see you fly."

The moment the question registers, it's hard to keep himself from breaking into a run to get out of the store. He manages to keep his cool, flexing his muscles to pull the wings back in so he doesn't alarm any of the customers.

But the moment he walks through the front doors, with Verso and Esquie not too far behind, he unfurls the massive light wings again. As they flutter rhythmically, he can feel the aether channeling into them, and just as quickly as his feathered wings—no, maybe even quicker!—he finds himself lifting from the ground.

It's so intuitive that he barely even has to think. The wings seem to know what he wants to do before he tries. Flight takes much less energy, likely because it's drawing on the aether around him rather than his own movements. Before long, he can easily see himself liking these wings more than his flesh, bone, and feather ones.

Below him, he sees several people staring and whispering in bewilderment, while Verso smiles and murmurs something quiet to Esquie.

He flits around for several seconds, before zipping into the sky. From up here, he can clearly see Falling Leaves in the distance, with its varitoned orange foliage. The type of scenery they try to mimic at the parks in the city when the leaves change, but they can't quite encapsulate the pure, unadulterated beauty of a forest like this.

When he turns his eyes back down to the ground, he sees Verso staring up at him.

Gustave plummets to the ground, as rapidly as he would have done with his feathery wings, then slows near the ground and touches down close to where he took off. He rolls his shoulders again, sending the wings away in a blink of electric red light. When he raises his head, his eyes hone in on Verso as a wide, wild smile spreads across his face.

Quick as a flash, he closes the distance between them and throws his arms around Verso's shoulders.

"Thank you," he whispers, his face buried in Verso's neck. "Thank you so much."

A brief flash of tension ripples through Verso's body, before he raises his arms and gently closes them around Gustave's lower back. His arms are gentle but secure, warm and soothing down to Gustave's very soul. "Happy to help," he whispers in return, the light puff of his breath rustling Gustave's hair. His voice, low and warm as it is, sends a shiver up Gustave's spine. "Someone as kind as you deserves to fly."

The moment he starts to worry that he's lingered in the hug for too long, he feels Verso's arms relax around him, and those leather-clad fingers dig gently into his middle. It feels like a wordless but desperate plea to linger; one that Gustave is more than happy to oblige.

Being out here alone, so solitary that he's summoning illusory friends and his friends in town claim not to have seen him for ages, how long must it have been since he had a proper hug? Since he's been shown the affection he deserves?

Merde, how has he not broken under the weight of solitude like that?

Gustave lifts his head, but doesn't pull out of the embrace. He meets Verso's eyes.

(Close. They're so unbelievably close that it would be so easy… so easy to just close that short distance and… no. No, that's a terrible thought to have right now—)

"I'm going to cook you dinner tonight," insists Gustave instead. "I'm not a professional, but I've been the cook at my house for years, so you can trust me."

With a quiet breath of laughter, Verso replies, "I do trust you. And I look forward to dinner."

"Maybe I can make us a nice Solstice dinner at camp, then," suggests Gustave with a chuckle, relaxing his arms against Verso's shoulders. "And we can have a small celebration. I know it's not perfect, but… I think we should do something. Even if it's just dinner at the campfire."

Esquie's cheerful voice follows up with, "I agree! Everyone should celebrate the changing season!"

Tension ripples through Verso's muscles, and even though he lets out a soft, quiet laugh, he eases out of Gustave's embrace. Resting his gloved hands on Gustave's shoulders, he smiles and says, "That does sound lovely. Like something out of a dream."

There it is again. That distance. That determination to put space between them whenever Gustave feels like he's getting close.

He's learning things as they grow closer.

Verso's tells. Little things he might not even realize he's doing. For example, that tight press of his lips when he tries to lie, or doesn't tell the whole truth. The way he struggles to meet Gustave's eyes whenever they get too close. Is it his way of saying that Gustave has pushed too far? Is Gustave seeing things that aren't there, when he lets himself think there's something happening between them?

A ripple of anxious tension surges through his muscles and makes his heart thrum faster in his chest, but before it can blossom into a full-blown anxiety attack, he feels those warm, gloved hands gently squeeze his shoulders.

"That means we should probably make a stop at the grocery store on the way back then, shouldn't we?" Verso urges, his eyes softening again.

Gustave nods, his anxiety chased away for now. "And the herbalist's shop," he adds with a melancholy smile. "I'd like to pick up some healing herbs to brew up some potions and poultices for us."

With a smile that seems far too practiced, Verso replies, "Then we should probably get going, hm?"

But as Verso turns to say goodbye to Esquie, Gustave's eyes remain on him. He's so close to cracking the code. To figuring out what it is that's keeping Verso so distant.

He just needs a little more time.

A little more time to pierce through Verso's guard and truly earn his trust. Then that wall will well and truly be gone.

Notes:

GUSTAVE CAN FLY AGAIN AND IN A MUCH COOLER WAY THAN JUST SOME FEATHERY WINGS!

Man, that sure is some troubling behavior Verso is displaying, huh? It'd be a shame if he did something really dumb next chapter...

Thanks for reading! ♥

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