[The words Gustave uses in affirmation are too similar to the ones Verso had clung to on the Stone Wave Cliffs as he watched Gustave's desperate struggle to survive; they land like a barrage of bullets to the chest, accelerating his heartbeat and shortening his breath. All the guilt he'd been trying to hold back in his earlier apology bleeds through, and he can only think, at first, how shitty it is of him to be sitting here with the man who's borne the worst of the consequences of his distancing, wallowing in a regret that he doesn't deserve comfort for yet that he's being advised on how to forgive himself over all the same.
Stop it, he wants to say. You don't know what I've done. To say so would be even more selfish than to say nothing, though, for how it's driven more by Verso's desire to assuage his guilt than by a genuine belief that it's for the best. And though there is an oppressive itch in his mind pointing out that this silence draws from the same motivations and justifications he regrets claiming, it feels different. This isn't a lie to armour himself against his own actions or control the narrative, it's one to protect Gustave from a hurt he doesn't need to experience. Telling him would accomplish nothing.
Resolving that is easier than pulling himself together, but he finds some promise in focusing on the generalities of what Gustave is saying, the easy relatability of choice and forgiveness and regret. All he has to do is agree, right? Toss in some thoughts of his own?]
Yeah.
[It is such a small, light lie, one word, one syllable, one intent, yet it has weight enough that his voice breaks under the pressure of its speaking and no more words follow. He's sorry. He's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry. But he doesn't expect forgiveness, doesn't want it, doesn't deserve it from anyone, least of all Gustave. Which should make it easy for him to pull himself together as he always does when his emotions feel like impositions, but he is tired, so fucking tired, and he's had too much to drink, and the contrast of how relaxed he'd felt moments ago to how sick he feels now makes everything feel a little more futile, and it all dominates the space around and inside of him. Verso can't find anything to grasp onto in order to pull himself out of this.
So, he lets out a self-admonishing laugh as he leans forward, resting his arms on his legs and his head in his hands, and he wills himself to offer another apology he doesn't deserve to make.]
Sorry, I... It's been a long day.
[A long life, really. Much too long of one. He really is exhausted. Still, he lifts his head and offers a slight, apologetic smile.]
[Maybe Gustave got a little carried away there, offering more advice than is necessary. Verso is a grown man, after all, but he puts it down to simple habit. When he and Emma had taken Maelle in, he assumed his role once more of older brother, being her guide in a world that had been anything but stable and consistent. Maelle wasn't...a difficult child, not in Gustave's opinion, but rather unmoored. Adrift. Afraid, too, of latching onto anyone else by the time she came into his life. He just needed patience and understanding, and that willingness to try when it seemed everyone else had given up on her.
And more recently, with Henri, though Gustave still isn't sure he knows how to be a father, he's fallen back into the role of mentor. Raising his son has been different from raising Maelle, of course, since he's known Henri since he was born, but a part of it has been made easier because of his time fostering. Though his life may not be the richest or full of countless experiences, he still finds he can draw from enough to help and relate.
Again, Verso probably doesn't need it. He's lived far longer than Gustave ever has, maybe more than he ever will, and lived through far more. His answering affirmation doesn't surprise Gustave, either; this is probably nothing groundbreaking for him.
Except his voice breaks. Gustave leans forward slightly, as if that change in posture will help in any way. Something inside his chest aches for the man despite not knowing why. All Gustave really suspects is they're not speaking of the same thing anymore. Why would Verso feel so terribly over not meeting the 33s face-to-face earlier than he had? Things had turned out okay until Renoir caught up to them again.
There's no way he'll know without bluntly asking and with the new apology given, as well as that clear sendoff, Gustave doesn't dare pry further. Besides, Verso is right, and has clearly reached the end of his social rope. If that isn't Gustave's cue, then he doesn't know what is.]
Right. Yeah. It's late, isn't it? Soph'll think I fell into a hole somewhere.
[He pushes himself to his feet, a little too quickly judging by how his head swims for a moment from the alcohol still marinating in his system, and takes a moment to collect himself. Looking down at Verso, he wants to stay, regardless. Offer a silent presence while the other man works through whatever's going on in his head. He's done it for Maelle and Sciel before, and Sophie, too, but the difference here is that Verso isn't his friend. Even if he's been invited into this apartment, it was more of a social call. And that dismissal, however incompletely given, is final enough.]
Thanks, though. For the drink and the pastry. And the time. It's been...
[Well, nice doesn't feel quite right, but there are worse ways either of them could spend their night, he's sure.]
It's been good.
[That seems a decent compromise. He pats his thighs and takes a few steps toward the door, but turns back.]
I'll let you get some rest. We both probably need it. But, um...I hope to see you around. Have another drink or something, or... Yeah.
[Another moment of hesitation, but then Gustave nods to himself and sees himself out.]
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Stop it, he wants to say. You don't know what I've done. To say so would be even more selfish than to say nothing, though, for how it's driven more by Verso's desire to assuage his guilt than by a genuine belief that it's for the best. And though there is an oppressive itch in his mind pointing out that this silence draws from the same motivations and justifications he regrets claiming, it feels different. This isn't a lie to armour himself against his own actions or control the narrative, it's one to protect Gustave from a hurt he doesn't need to experience. Telling him would accomplish nothing.
Resolving that is easier than pulling himself together, but he finds some promise in focusing on the generalities of what Gustave is saying, the easy relatability of choice and forgiveness and regret. All he has to do is agree, right? Toss in some thoughts of his own?]
Yeah.
[It is such a small, light lie, one word, one syllable, one intent, yet it has weight enough that his voice breaks under the pressure of its speaking and no more words follow. He's sorry. He's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry. But he doesn't expect forgiveness, doesn't want it, doesn't deserve it from anyone, least of all Gustave. Which should make it easy for him to pull himself together as he always does when his emotions feel like impositions, but he is tired, so fucking tired, and he's had too much to drink, and the contrast of how relaxed he'd felt moments ago to how sick he feels now makes everything feel a little more futile, and it all dominates the space around and inside of him. Verso can't find anything to grasp onto in order to pull himself out of this.
So, he lets out a self-admonishing laugh as he leans forward, resting his arms on his legs and his head in his hands, and he wills himself to offer another apology he doesn't deserve to make.]
Sorry, I... It's been a long day.
[A long life, really. Much too long of one. He really is exhausted. Still, he lifts his head and offers a slight, apologetic smile.]
Maybe you should, you know...
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And more recently, with Henri, though Gustave still isn't sure he knows how to be a father, he's fallen back into the role of mentor. Raising his son has been different from raising Maelle, of course, since he's known Henri since he was born, but a part of it has been made easier because of his time fostering. Though his life may not be the richest or full of countless experiences, he still finds he can draw from enough to help and relate.
Again, Verso probably doesn't need it. He's lived far longer than Gustave ever has, maybe more than he ever will, and lived through far more. His answering affirmation doesn't surprise Gustave, either; this is probably nothing groundbreaking for him.
Except his voice breaks. Gustave leans forward slightly, as if that change in posture will help in any way. Something inside his chest aches for the man despite not knowing why. All Gustave really suspects is they're not speaking of the same thing anymore. Why would Verso feel so terribly over not meeting the 33s face-to-face earlier than he had? Things had turned out okay until Renoir caught up to them again.
There's no way he'll know without bluntly asking and with the new apology given, as well as that clear sendoff, Gustave doesn't dare pry further. Besides, Verso is right, and has clearly reached the end of his social rope. If that isn't Gustave's cue, then he doesn't know what is.]
Right. Yeah. It's late, isn't it? Soph'll think I fell into a hole somewhere.
[He pushes himself to his feet, a little too quickly judging by how his head swims for a moment from the alcohol still marinating in his system, and takes a moment to collect himself. Looking down at Verso, he wants to stay, regardless. Offer a silent presence while the other man works through whatever's going on in his head. He's done it for Maelle and Sciel before, and Sophie, too, but the difference here is that Verso isn't his friend. Even if he's been invited into this apartment, it was more of a social call. And that dismissal, however incompletely given, is final enough.]
Thanks, though. For the drink and the pastry. And the time. It's been...
[Well, nice doesn't feel quite right, but there are worse ways either of them could spend their night, he's sure.]
It's been good.
[That seems a decent compromise. He pats his thighs and takes a few steps toward the door, but turns back.]
I'll let you get some rest. We both probably need it. But, um...I hope to see you around. Have another drink or something, or... Yeah.
[Another moment of hesitation, but then Gustave nods to himself and sees himself out.]