Chapter Text
Alicia: Versooooo
im so sorry but i cant make it
we are still working on the exhibit and you know how important the art night is for me 👉👈
plz dont be mad 🥺
will make it up to you!!!
Verso tilts his head back until it thuds softly against the bench he is sitting on.
A soft breeze rustles through the plants around him. The thick, honeyed scent of lavender and jasmine lies in the air.
It is 19:37.
Verso has been waiting for his sister on a bench in the Rooftop Gardens for 45 minutes now, with a bottle of wine and two paper cups he had pilfered from the to-go trolley at a nearby bakery. They had planned this meeting for a while – and it had even been Alicia’s idea.
Now that Verso had moved back to Lumière, they could finally see each other more often than just at the (usually very tense and awkward) family dinners in the Manor.
What better way to start off by meeting at their favorite spot in the city?
Especially since they also had to celebrate her winning that prestigious scholarship after she had worked tirelessly for it…
But a group of students had successfully roped her in to prepare an exhibit for the university’s Fine Art faculty event, the Art Night, and it had completely consumed her life ever since. He empathized with her. During his student days, he had been just like that. Running on coffee, ramen, and the occasional illegal substance, doing every extracurricular, taking every opportunity to prove himself.
Prove that he was more than just a lofty name and a pretty face.
It had worked well for him – so why would he be angry?
So he unlocks his phone and swipes to the messenger app.
Verso: You’re lucky I love you
Ugh
This bench is really uncomfortable, you know
I could have left 30 minutes ago…now I probably have imprints on my ass
Alicia: Gross thx i really didnt want to know that…but sorryyy 😭
Love u too
Verso gets up and stretches his sore back. Why did they make these benches this way? Didn’t they want people to sit and admire the flowers in the garden?
The location is actually quite nice, bad seating notwithstanding. It’s a warm summer evening, the low sun setting clouds ablaze with a distant fire. Birds chirp from atop intricate trellises that hold up dozens of flower bushes. Pillowy lavender buzzes with busy bumblebees who can barely fly straight under the weight of the pollen they carry.
The view of Lumière is astounding in the evening sun. Light and shadow play on the historic art déco facades and emphasize each careful detail. The verdigris of the city hall’s roof, mellowing out to a soft light yellow, contrasts nicely with the brilliantly reflecting modern office buildings in the south.
In the middle distance, the harbor glistens silently, the river a gleaming thread winding through the city. Far away, he can just make out the Monolith, the region’s oddly shaped landmark. Alicia had always said that it looks like a giant planted a stone sword in the ground one day.
Verso places his lower arms on the bench’s backrest, leaning forward to take in the scenery. Even though he hasn’t picked up the pencil in ages, he feels an itch in his fingers to commit this view to paper. He tries to convert the thought to music, mapping colors to notes, pencil strokes to sounds. A symphony of a summer evening in Lumière.
The soft noise of shoes on the pebbles ground shakes him from the melody that starts to form in his mind. Verso looks up at the intruder.
It’s a man around his age. Curly brown hair rests tousled above a strong brow, large eyes glowing amber in the evening light. His facial features are captivating: straight nose, well-kept moustache and a cropped beard on a chiseled jaw.
His slim body is clad in clothes that somebody who didn’t date often would wear out on a date night: a well-worn pair of slacks that has frayed at the bottom and a button-down shirt that was fashionable five years ago. The clothes don’t detract from the look, however: Verso knows an attractive man when he sees one, and the stranger definitely belongs in that category.
The man twirls a crumpled flower in his right hand. An empathetic memory from a while ago crosses Verso’s mind: him waiting endlessly in front of an expensive restaurant for a date that never came. An uncomfortable conversation with the head waiter. A rose that, eventually, ended up in the harbor basin, drifting listlessly on the waves.
Looking into the distance, the man gets into a throwing stance. He winds up his arm and hurls the flower in a wide arc over the rooftop.
“Got stood up, hm?” Verso decides to ask.
The man startles for a moment as he realizes he is not alone. Brown eyes give Verso a once-over, apprehension turning into something friendlier as they muster him. The gaze is not unpleasant. A sad, lopsided smile appears on the face.
“Yeah. Made me wait an hour and when I tried to message him, he had blocked me. Serves me right for trying online dating. But my ex invited me to her wedding and my friends all but forced me to make an account.”
Verso can’t help but cringe in sympathy. A spontaneous idea crosses his mind – and why not? The man has referred to his date as him, didn't he? Maybe he could have some fun.
“Sorry to hear about that. Your ex, and your date ditching you, I mean. That would do something to anyone’s ego”, he offers. “But I have a counter-offer.”
The other man looks at him confusedly. With a flourish, Verso motions to the wine bottle and the paper cups that still rest on the bench.
”I got stood up by my sister. We wanted to celebrate her winning a scholarship. But, apparently, uni is more important than her big brother being in town. Young people these days.”
He sighs theatrically, earning him a chuckle.
”So… I happen to be in possession of a bottle of Merlot with nobody else to drink with. Wanna commiserate?”
Their eyes meet again and the contact holds for a moment. Verso finds the man’s face to be very expressive: it’s fascinating to watch him consider. Brown eyes wander over him again and–is that a blush on the brunette’s face? Ah, no. Must be a trick of the light.
“I–I do admit that that’s probably one of the more unusual questions a stranger has asked me.” A hand sheepishly rubs through brown curls and Verso can’t help but think that they look very soft. “...but you know what?” The stranger sighs. ”The day’s been kinda shit and you don’t look like you’re going to rob me in the next five minutes. So… why not.”
“I only specialize in robbing hearts. Or my neighbors’ sleep when I have to practice for a concert.” Verso winks at him and gets an amused snort and an eye-roll back.
“Wow, that… was cheesy. You a musician then?” The other man laughs as he plops himself on the bench, wincing immediately. “That’s– Ugh. Damn, that bench is uncomfortable.”
Slowly, Verso makes his way around the bench and sits down next to the man, leaving space for the bottle between them. He has a nice laugh, and now that Verso is closer to him, he can smell an earthy cologne with faint notes of patchouli.
“It is, isn’t it? And yes, I am. Teaching bored rich kids piano by day, playing jazz by night”.
He stretches out his hand. “Verso.”
Something glistens in brown eyes as the stranger shakes his hand, a warm smile stretching over his features. It is so lovely that it makes Verso’s heart skip a tiny beat. Maybe he can make it his mission to see this smile again tonight.
“Enchanté. I’m Gustave… an engineer stuck in an IT department. Nothing as fancy as you, just corporate drone life.”
Their handshake lingers a little longer than necessary. It was a nice hand, Verso had to admit. Warm and calloused, dotted with freckles. How would that hand feel on his shoulder?
His face? br/>
Sliding beneath his–
Where did that come from? Am I that desperate? It's really been a while, hasn't it…
Verso needs some distraction to avoid that train of thought derailing further. What better than a lame joke? Monoco, his best friend and deity of dad jokes, would be proud.
“Gustave, huh? Did your parents name you after Eiffel, then? Mine named me after a verse in poetry and you can guess how that went in school. I was Perverso for the entire ninth grade.”
He uncorks the bottle and pours some of the red liquid in the paper cups. That student feeling.
“Yeah.”, Gustave laughs. “At school, they just called me Tower after some point and amputated the Eiffel. My full name is even worse”, he lifts his index finger and smiles sheepishly again, ”Gustave Évariste Rosenbaum.”
“Évariste?! Wow. That’s… very 19th century of your family.” Verso raises an eyebrow.
“Yes, I was named after Évariste Galois, a mathematician...who died at 20. My parents had high expectations of me, you see.”
Verso has to smirk at that comment. He knows something about parents with high expectations, alright.
”What about you?” Gustave inquires. ” Do you have a second name?”
“Does ‘grandpa’ count? My sister calls me that all the time because of–” Verso gestures to the white streaks in his hair.
Gustave snorts at that. “That’s kinda rude. I think the white just makes you look… distinguished.”
“Right? I tell her that all the time.”
Their eyes meet and they both have to laugh. Gustave averts his eyes after a moment, smiling, and Verso’s heart skips a beat.
“To weird names, then?”
“To being distinguished men with weird names.”
The paper cups meet in the air. Verso takes a sip and finds that the wine is less bad than expected. The company, though, that makes it a good one.
After that, they fall into an easy smalltalk, sharing stories about their jobs. The conversation quickly turns enthusiastic when Gustave notices the Lumièrian métro passing by in the distance and both men discover their shared love of trains. Verso regales his companion with the story of a trip he made with the Trans-Siberian railway for a concert he held in Nizhny Novgorod once. A pleasant warmth rises in his chest at seeing Gustave’s eyes wide and shining as he listens intently.
A second cup of wine is poured and promptly forgotten.
In turn, the brunette shares stories about his father, who had been an engineer working at a locomotive company. At one point, he even fishes out his phone to show Verso a picture. Two small curly-haired children, a boy and a girl, sit on the driver’s chair of a locomotive. The boy sports a giant grin that Verso has already seen on the man next to him.
“My twin sister and I”, Gustave says fondly. “She’s in Canada now.”
When the conversation finally ebbs down, they realize that the sun is now sitting very low in the sky. Purple clouds float tranquil on the fiery reds and orange of the sunset. It would be a beautiful sight, were it not for the distraction behind them. A lantern turns on, white light violently flickering. Gustave tilts his head back, scrutinizing the lamp with a frown.
“I guess that lamp is on its way out…”, he starts, suddenly startling and picking up his phone again. It is then that Verso notices the man’s left arm - not flesh, but a black prosthesis, adorned with a golden design that he has never seen before. It looks fascinating, more a sculpture than an artificial limb. Small LED lights blink and machinery whirs softly as the hand clasps around the phone and raises it to Gustave’s ear.
“Sorry,” he whispers, “it might be important.” And then, to Verso’s surprise, he continues more loudly “Allô, Alicia? What’s wrong?”
Alicia? OK, there’s many Alicias, but–
The voice that he can just make out from the man’s phone, however, is not one of many Alicias. Verso knows it too well.
With furrowed brows, he now stares at Gustave who listens intently to what must be a long explanation of something.
What the fuck does a man who’s probably in his late 20s have to do with a 21 year old art student?
He can’t help but feel anger rise up in his chest. What an odd coincidence, that. Until now, Gustave had been nothing but pleasant, lovely even, but now? Verso recapitulates the entire conversation they had, trying to pick apart every joke, every comment.
Is this guy a creep?
What did he miss?
A hand balls to a fist.
“Seriously, Alicia? You ruined your character sheet for Maëlle again? That’s the third time now! At–at this point you owe me printer paper!”
What?
All doubt vanishes. This must be his Alicia. Maëlle was the name she always gave herself when they used to play knights when they were kids.
But what are they talking about printers and… character sheets?
“Yeah, no problem. No, no, don’t buy me paper, it’s fine! Saturday is still OK for you, right? Sciel and Lune are really looking forward to our Expedition night, too.” Alicia seems to reply in the affirmative and Gustave smiles again, a friendly, sunny expression. It does not look creepy at all.
“Merveilleux. By the way– I–I know this sounds weird, but what was your brother’s name again?”
Verso blinks in confusion.
“I think I’m sitting next to him right now, actually- Yes, at the Rooftop Gardens! Dark hair, light eyes, scar on his face, piani– Really? Oh, that is so cool! Kinda feels like I collected all three Dessendre siblings now.”
And now the guy giggles at his own joke.
Verso is completely flabbergasted. He collected– So does that mean that Gustave knows Cléa as well?! What the actual fuck?
Verso realizes now that he has stood up at some point, towering over the brunette, white-knuckling his fists. Gustave ends the call, looks confusedly to his now empty side and then up to where Verso stands. His face falls.
“I think you have some explaining to do.” Verso finally croaks out, unimpressed with how awkward that comes out of his mouth.
The look on Gustave’s face is…bemused at best.
“I’ve… I’ve known your family for a while now? We just never met because you weren’t here in Lumière”, Gustave begins, holding up a hand as Verso opens his mouth again. “Wait, wait, wait, let me explain, please. Alicia had some trouble with maths and physics when she was nearing her bac, so Cléa hired me to tutor her. Did– she never said anything about that?“
Verso did faintly recall Alicia telling him about it. He had been on a tour through Europe then, busy with riding uncomfortable buses to his various gigs, discussions about touring plans, drinking, and sleeping with people whose face he doesn’t even remember. She had often tried to call or text him, even as he barely answered her, but it had taken him a while to actually grow up and mend his relationship with her.
To put it shortly: Verso had been the brother of the century. One of the siblings of all time.
He looks away, pressing his lips together in a thin line.
So did she take on Gustave as another brother-figure because I fucked off? Is that it?
”We remained friends even after she started uni. Cléa tolerates me as well. We’re playing Expedition 33 with a couple of friends together on Saturday?”
A pause.
“Expedition… what?”
“Expedition 33. That tabletop roleplaying game?”
Verso blinks, raising an open hand in the universal gesture of what the fuck are you going on about.
Gustave sighs and looks at Verso with so much understanding that it is kind of annoying. “I understand how that must sound. There is nothing creepy going on, I promise you. It’s… in a way it’s similar to a boardgame. Or an RPG, if you play video games, just on paper. And–again, we are a group. There are other women there as well. Nothing uncouth. We are just nerds playing a game together and eating too many snacks.”
That explanation…does help. Alicia did mention something about regular game nights recently. She had always loved video games. When Verso had still lived at home, they had spent many evenings in front of their gaming console, where she kicked his ass in all sorts of games without so much as a sweat.
Would a creep really give such an atrociously nerdy explanation?
Also… Gustave mentioning Cléa gave a lot of credence to what he just had said. His older sister was a public figure, but only in highly specific circles. And not to be rude, but… Gustave did not look like the guy who would frequent those any time soon. If she truly knew and tolerated him… that was practically an ascension to knighthood.
After all, that was Cléa they were talking about. Cléa, whose idea of showing affection is a firm handshake at best. Cléa, who had been with her fiancé for two years before she had managed to state in public that she even liked the man.
Verso decides to stand down. He relaxes, but keeps standing. His back feels unpleasantly sore again.
“You do realize how that sounds, right?”, he retorts. “What are you, 28? 30? Talking to a 20 year old next to her own brother like it’s normal?”
“29. But yeah, I– I absolutely get it! I would react the same way if I were you.” Gustave exclaims, his expression still infuriatingly sympathetic.
“Maybe you should give her a call or text her and see what she says.”
“I…yeah. I will do that.”
“You know what?” Gustave suddenly suggests. ”I–I have an idea. Why don’t you come over on Saturday as well? You can go with Alicia… and maybe you even like Expedition 33? I’m told I’m a good game master.”
Thoughts roil in Verso’s mind, alternating between being relieved, confused, and a little overwhelmed. Nobody prepares you for situations like this.
Gustave, looking up at him in the flickering lantern light through long dark lashes, seemingly has an indefinite wellspring of charm at his disposal, and Verso finds that it’s very hard to resist that look. In other situations (preferably his own bedroom) he would do unspeakable things for this gaze.
Alicia will probably laugh at him for playing the chaperone.
“...I will think about it. Sorry. You do understand that this is all very… strange”, Verso finally says.
The other man sighs, apologizing again. Charm gives way to a resigned expression.
And then, the lantern above them goes out with an odd electrical sound. Almost as if it’s a cue that the conversation can only go downhill from there.
Gustave gets up from the bench, wincing as he stands. They are almost the same height, Verso realizes. Now only illuminated by the setting sun, the other man’s curls shimmers golden and auburn, framing his face like a halo. Despite the confusion, something in him itches to run his hands through them. The distance between them is short enough for a slap. Or, maybe–
Mon dieu, Dessendre, get a fucking grip.
The weird conversation must have really confused him.
“I–I’d really look forward to seeing you on Saturday, but I also understand if you want to keep your distance. I’m so sorry. But– thanks for the talk and the wine. I still enjoyed it.” Gustave smiles once again, sadness at the corners of his gaze. Then he turns to leave.
As he watches him go, Verso sighs, running his hand through his hair. That was certainly an evening.
Alicia walks down the stairs of the university’s entrance. It’s already dark outside, and a surprisingly cold wind makes her shiver in her T-shirt. The group work on the exhibit had gone well, and she was confident that their team would make an excellent impression… but what a weird coincidence that Gustave would meet Verso in the Rooftop Gardens? How likely was that?
Finally reaching the bottom, she unpacks her phone and– what the hell? Incredulously, she stares at her messenger app.
Gus-Gus: Alicia! I’m so sorry! >_<
When we had our phone call, I weirded your brother out and now he thinks I’m a complete creep.
Maybe I can fix it? Could you talk to him? I invited him over for Expedition night, so feel free to bring him over on Saturday.
Again, I’m sorry :(
Oh no.
And, in Verso’s chat:
Frérot: Alicia, what’s the deal with Gustave
Has he hurt you? I will go after him and beat his ass no questions asked if he so much as touched a single hair of yours
Also, what is Expedition 33?
Alicia groans. Oh god, old men.