Chapter Text
The company didn’t feel different the morning the Dessendre acquisition went public.
The lights still hummed faintly overhead. The coffee machine in the breakroom still sputtered like it was fighting for its life. Someone had already broken the door to Lab C again, and Gustave was halfway through trying to fix it with a screwdriver and a strip of conductive tape when the announcement hit every screen in the building.
DESSENDRE GROUP FINALIZES ACQUISITION.
RENOIR DESSENDRE APPOINTED CEO.
VERSO DESSENDRE TO SERVE AS COO.
Gustave stared at the message, then at the screwdriver in his hands.
"Well," he muttered, tightening the final screw. "We're officially screwed."
Behind him, Lune leaned against the lab counter, arms crossed, tablet tucked under one arm. She read the headline twice, then sighed. "So that’s it. Corporate aristocracy. Fantastic."
Sciel wheeled herself closer on her chair, already scrolling through internal messages. "At least they didn’t fire us outright. That usually comes after the inspirational email."
As if summoned, their computers all dinged with new emails.
ALL HANDS MEETING — 10:00 A.M.
Gustave flexed his prosthetic hand unconsciously. The fingers responded smoothly, precisely—his own design. It had taken him two years to perfect the neural feedback loop after the accident. Now proprioception, sensory feedback, everything worked perfectly. It felt as natural as breathing. More reliable than most people, too.
"Guess we’re meeting the new overlords," Sciel said, grinning sideways at him. "Smile, genius. You’re probably expensive to replace."
Gustave snorted. "Comforting."
The auditorium was packed in a way it never usually was. Engineers shoulder to shoulder with marketing, R&D clustered near the front, maintenance guys at the back—everyone was here. Gustave sat between Lune and Sciel, posture relaxed but alert.
Renoir Dessendre appeared only briefly, projected onto the main screen from what looked like an obscenely tasteful office. He spoke smoothly, confidently, about vision and legacy and streamlining innovation. Gustave tuned out most of it. He could hear Sciel scoff beside him. "Can't even bother to meet us in person."
"Yeah, he doesn't care. They're disgustingly rich. I heard he just buys companies to give his children fancy positions," Lune chimed in.
Gustave snorted. "Great. We're getting ourselves a nepo baby."
Then Renoir gestured off-screen, catching all of their attention again.
"And now," he said, "I’ll let my son introduce himself."
The auditorium doors at the side opened.
Verso Dessendre walked in without ceremony. Gustave felt it before he understood it—a subtle shift in the room, like the air tightening.
Verso moved with quiet confidence, tailored suit immaculate but worn in, like he was more comfortable in motion than standing still. His dark hair fell past his ears, threaded with a striking streak of silver at the front that caught the overhead lights when he turned his head. Not styled to impress—styled because that was simply how it grew. Effortlessly.
Unfortunately, Gustave noticed everything.
The sharp line of his nose. A short, well-kept beard framing his mouth and jaw, emphasizing the severity of his expression. Scar that ran vertically from forehead to cheek, not hidden, giving him the look of someone who had lived through things rather than around them. A miracle he hadn't lost the eye, really.
Speaking of those eyes.
Grey—maybe green or blue, hard to tell at a distance—but steady. Observant. They measured the room, pausing on faces as if filing them away for later. When they passed over Gustave, something unpleasantly warm settled low in his chest.
Oh no, he thought distantly. He’s attractive.
Not in a polished, corporate way. Not charming. Not smiling.
Hot in the way a storm is hot—contained, dangerous, quietly intense. The kind of man who looked like he didn’t waste words and expected the same courtesy in return.
Sciel leaned closer, barely moving her lips.
"Of course he is."
Gustave shot her a look.
She smirked. "Tall, quiet, scarred and brooding. Looks like he hasn't slept well in years but refuses to talk about it. Exactly your type."
"I don’t have a t—" Gustave started.
Lune cut in softly, amused. "You absolutely do. It's 'emotionally unavailable but devastatingly competent.'"
Gustave snorted. His move of the day. "Can we not??"
Verso reached the stage and stopped, posture straight but relaxed, hands loosely clasped in front of him. He didn’t smile. Didn’t fidget. He simply existed—self-contained, unreadable.
And Gustave hated that his interest sharpened immediately.
Verso spoke then, briefly, precisely. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He talked about efficiency, about protecting creative autonomy while demanding excellence. About listening to the people who actually built things.
Gustave hated that, too.
When the meeting ended, Verso was gone almost as quickly as he’d appeared, disappearing toward the executive floors—toward the newly renovated penthouse office, if the rumors were true.
"Well," Sciel said as people filtered out. "That was the quietest corporate takeover I’ve ever seen."
Lune glanced at Gustave. "You okay?"
He nodded automatically. "Fine. Why?"
Sciel raised an eyebrow. "Because you were staring like you were reverse-engineering him."
"I was not."
"You were," she said cheerfully. "It’s fine. Tragic. But fine."
Gustave groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "He’s my boss."
"Your boss’s boss's boss," Sciel corrected. "There are actually so many people between him and you in the hierarchy. Which makes it much worse."
Lune smiled, soft but knowing. "Try not to fall in love with the COO, Gustave."
He scoffed. "That’s not happening."
But as he stood and followed the flow of people back toward R&D, the image of Verso’s face lingered far longer than it should have.
And that, Gustave suspected, was going to be a problem.
Verso Dessendre started showing up downstairs two weeks later.
Not announced. Not scheduled. He simply appeared in R&D one morning like a rumor made solid—looking insanely good in his black three-piece suit. He walked slowly between workstations, stopping to listen, asking short questions, nodding when answers satisfied him.
It unsettled everyone.
Gustave noticed immediately because he always did. Not because he was looking—he wasn’t—but because the energy of the floor changed. Conversations sharpened. Movements grew more deliberate.
"Is he… actually working?" Sciel murmured from behind her monitor.
Lune glanced up, eyes following Verso as he paused, took everything in, talked to more people. "I hate to say it, but yes. That’s deeply unfair. I wanted to hate him and scream nepotism."
Gustave pretended very hard to be focused on the prototype in front of him. "He’s probably just doing a tour."
"Mmh," Sciel said. "Third tour this week."
Verso stopped at the edge of Gustave’s station.
Gustave knew before he looked. He could feel it—the same way he felt a voltage shift in a live circuit.
"Good morning," Verso said. His voice was calm, low, controlled. Closer than it had been in the auditorium. Real.
Gustave turned.
Up close, Verso was worse. Or better. The scars were more visible, the silver streak in his hair more pronounced. His eyes appeared icy blue up close, bordering on grey—like a sharp, frosty, cloudy winter morning. Assessing and curious without being invasive. Framed by his dark hair, they were absolutely striking.
"Ah—hi," Gustave said, far too quickly. He cleared his throat. "Good morning. Sir. I mean—Mr. Dessendre."
Verso tilted his head slightly. "Verso is fine."
"Oh. Right. Yes. Verso." Smooth, Gustave thought, bitterly.
Lune, traitor that she was, made a show of swiveling her chair just enough to watch. Sciel had already set her tablet down.
Verso gestured toward Gustave’s workbench. "I was told this is your team’s latest prototype."
"Yes, Sir—Verso," Gustave said, recovering quickly and defaulting to familiar ground. "Adaptive energy redistribution module. It compensates for load variance in real time. We’re still optimizing the feedback loop, but the efficiency gain is already—"
He stopped.
Verso was listening. Actually listening. Eyes on the module, not on Gustave—but not drifting either.
"—significant," Gustave finished lamely.
Verso nodded once. "May I?"
Gustave blinked. "Sorry?"
"The arm," Verso clarified gently, indicating Gustave's prosthetic arm. "—if that’s alright."
Gustave’s brain short-circuited for half a second.
"Oh. Yes. I mean—of course. It’s… self-built," he added unnecessarily, heat creeping up his neck. "After the accident."
"I know," Verso said. "It’s impressive."
Oh no.
Gustave looked down, suddenly very interested in adjusting a bolt that did not need adjusting. "It works," he muttered.
"That’s not what I said."
Silence stretched—comfortable for Verso, catastrophic for Gustave.
Sciel leaned toward Lune and whispered, "He’s gone. Fully gone."
Lune covered her mouth with her hand, eyes bright. "Give him five minutes."
Verso straightened. "I’d like you to walk me through your current R&D pipeline this afternoon, if possible."
Gustave nodded a bit too eagerly. "Yes. Absolutely. We—we can do that. We have charts."
Verso’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "I look forward to it."
When he walked away, Gustave remained very still. Very. Still.
Sciel rolled over immediately. "So."
"No," Gustave said.
Lune followed, grinning. "You said his name twice."
"That’s normal," Gustave protested. "People say names."
"You adjusted the same bolt three times," Sciel added sweetly. "And your ears are red."
"That’s—temperature-related. It's warm in here."
Lune clasped her hands. "We’re going to have so much fun with this."
Gustave groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I am not attracted to my boss."
Sciel smiled like a shark. "Sure you’re not."
The project review was scheduled for two hours.
It lasted three.
They gathered in one of the glass-walled conference rooms overlooking the R&D floor. Gustave stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, presentation queued. Lune had already drawn doodles and annotated with sarcastic commentary. Sciel had brought snacks, which she claimed was strategic morale support—code for I plan to observe violence.
Verso arrived precisely on time. No entourage. No laptop. Just a tablet tucked under his arm and that same unreadable calm.
Sciel leaned toward Lune, voice a murmur. "No laptop is a power move."
Lune nodded. "He’s here to hunt."
"Please," Verso said, gesturing for Gustave to continue. "I’m here to listen."
Gustave cleared his throat and launched into the overview—current development cycle, projected efficiency gains, long-term scalability. He relaxed as he spoke. This was familiar ground. Safe ground. Verso listened. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t glance at his tablet. When Gustave paused, Verso waited a beat longer than necessary, as if making sure he was truly finished, which Gustave actually found very respectful.
Then—
"Why did you cap the adaptive feedback at sixty percent?" Verso asked.
Gustave blinked. "Because beyond that, signal noise increases exponentially."
"Yes," Verso agreed easily. "But only if the compensator remains static."
The room went very quiet.
Actually, no. The conference room wasn't just quiet; it was suddenly too small for what was happening in it. Not physically—there was plenty of space—but energetically. Something was stretching, pulling tight, vibrating under the surface like a live wire.
So much for a nepo baby.
Gustave straightened. "We tested dynamic modulation. It destabilized the load."
"Because you tied it to output variance," Verso said, standing up and stepping closer to the screen. "Not demand prediction."
Gustave’s pulse kicked.
"That would require anticipatory modeling," he said slowly. "Which would increase processing overhead."
Verso turned to him then, eyes sharp and intent. "Unless the system learns."
Oh.
Oh.
The challenge wasn’t aggressive or dismissive, it was genuinely curious. Like Verso had been waiting to see how far Gustave could go.
He shrugged off his jacket and carefully rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing nicely toned forearms that instantly captured Gustave's attention. Verso then loosened his tie and leaned back against the table, arms loosely crossed, posture relaxed—entirely too relaxed for someone dismantling Gustave’s design philosophy in real time. And somehow, he got exponentially hotter by the second, the more skin he revealed.
They went back and forth like that for nearly an hour. Verso asked questions that cut straight to the core of the problem. Gustave countered, refined, adapted. Sometimes Verso hummed, low and thoughtful. Entirely unnecessary—was that a moan? Sciel mouthed to Lune, eyes wide. Gustave looked at him with passion, already warm, already alive in a way he only got when someone kept up with him.
They finished each other’s sentences, locked eyes for too long, shoulders brushing as they took a step back from the whiteboard to contemplate their work and think. The two girls had long since been forgotten, sitting at the back and watching the scene unfold like some kind of rare animal mating ritual.
At some point, Gustave started pacing, caught. Engaged. Spiraling productively, gesturing broadly.
"You could let it choose what to sacrifice," Verso said, stepping closer. Too close.
Gustave swallowed. "You’d be trusting it to make judgment calls."
Verso smiled. Not very wide, not too obvious, but it was there.
"I trust good systems," he said. "And good engineers."
Silence.
Sciel nearly dropped her snack. She turned to Lune. "This," she whispered, "is absolutely foreplay."
Lune nodded almost frantically. "He’s feeding him."
Gustave laughed weakly, oblivious to his two friends at the back. "You make it sound easy."
"It isn’t," Verso said. "That’s why it’s interesting."
Their eyes held.
Too long.
Verso didn’t move away. Didn’t acknowledge it. Didn’t acknowledge anything.
From the outside, it looked like a productive discussion.
From where Sciel sat, it looked like two people discovering they liked how the other’s mind pressed back. Her eyes flicked—down the front of Verso's pants. Back up.
"…Lune."
"Yes."
"…Is it just me, or—"
"He’s enjoying this."
"I meant Verso."
"So did I."
Verso brushed past Gustave’s shoulder again—not touching, but close enough that Gustave felt the movement like a shift in air pressure.
"You design for agency," Verso said. "That’s rare."
Gustave flushed. "I design for people."
Verso smiled faintly. "Even better."
They built the solution together, piece by piece, until the whiteboard was covered in equations and flow diagrams. By the end, Gustave was energized, breathless, alive in a way he rarely felt outside of invention. Verso watched him with something dangerously close to approval.
"This," Verso said finally, tapping the board, "is why I wanted to meet you properly."
Gustave flushed. "Professionally."
"Of course," Verso said smoothly.
Sciel leaned toward Lune and whispered, "He’s flirting."
Lune whispered back, "He’s devouring him."
Verso turned to the rest of the room, as if just now remembering that the girls were there. "Excellent work. I’d like this team to lead the next phase."
Gustave nodded, already planning. "We’ll need additional lab hours."
"You’ll have them," Verso said. "And my support."
Their eyes met again.
Longer this time.
Still professional. Definitely.
When the meeting finally ended, Verso left with a polite nod and a quiet, "Thank you, Gustave."
Just Gustave.
The door closed.
Silence.
Then—
Sciel slammed her notebook shut. "So. He's into you."
Gustave scoffed, gathering his papers too quickly. "He’s just… like that."
Lune raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"Charismatic," Gustave said. "Engaged. It’s his job."
Sciel smiled slowly. "But he only challenged you. And used your name. And stood in your space."
"We were writing on the same whiteboard," Gustave insisted.
Sciel beamed at him. "For an hour."
At that, Gustave had nothing to say for his defense, merely shrugging in defeat.
"So anyways," Sciel added. "How long are you going to pretend that didn’t feel like foreplay?"
"It was a conversation," Gustave says weakly, reaching for his water bottle, anything to occupy his hands and keep them from fidgeting under his friends' scrutinizing gaze. He definitely was not blushing.
Lune smiled. "You were vibrating."
"And he was hard," Sciel supplied.
Gustave choked on a mouthful of water.
Merde.