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Verso is very good at pretending. And very, very good at knowing exactly what someone needs him to be. He takes that knowledge and uses it to become exactly what the people around him require, whatever they require. A friend, an enemy, a challenge, a guide, a lover. He has been all of those and more. So when he encounters the survivors of Expedition 33, he assumes it will be a simple task to find what they want and become that for them.
The other 33s are easy. Lune responds best to the immortal enigma, the evasive man with answers to all her questions but who gives only pieces of information. The mask he wears for her frustrates and intrigues her in equal measure, a balancing act he enjoys. It becomes a game for him, how close to the line can he walk before she gets too frustrated? She needs a challenge she can try to overcome, and so he gives that to her.
Sciel prefers the tortured soul, the man with a dark and tragic past she can tease out little by little. She wants him to be someone she can save, and so he becomes that for her. Lets her tease out stories from him, but never too much, never too close. He has to be careful with her, for she sees the clearest out of all of them. He can't let her catch on that the face he wears for her is just a mask.
Maelle just wants a brother, her buried memories calling out for the man whose face he wears. It's an easy mask to wear. He can pretend to be Verso for her, and if it tears him open a little more each time he puts on that mask, well, who's to know but him?
Even for Monoco, he wears a mask. Though Monoco's mask is closest of all to his true self. It hides the depths of his despair, the bitterness that blackens his soul, the way his spirit is shattered into irreparable pieces from decades of this life he does not want. Monoco needs him to be okay. And so, for him, he is.
But Gustave? Gustave is difficult. He doesn't seem to respond to any of Verso's masks. He gives the same kindness to Lune’s enigma as to Sciel’s tortured soul. He's friendly with Maelle’s brother, and fights beside Monoco's comrade. But no matter how hard he tries, Verso can't find a mask Gustave likes best. It's infuriating.
It all comes to a head the night after they defeat Visages. All those masks. All those different personalities both he and the real Verso played. Every single one has failed to draw out a response from Gustave. And Verso is getting desperate to find the perfect mask, because he's falling hopelessly in love with this kind man who loves his friends so fiercely and who believes so much in his hope for the future that Verso is even starting to believe it a little himself. He needs to know what Gustave needs him to be, but Gustave doesn't seem to need him to be anything.
It's maddening. He's never met someone who didn't need him to be something before. The perfect son, the loving brother, the mysterious stranger, the seasoned Expeditioner. Even a lover, once or twice. He's good at being what people need him to be. He doesn't know what to do with someone who doesn't need something from him.
After another round of trying and failing to find Gustave's favorite mask (this time he tried flirting, but that only seemed to make Gustave sad for some reason) he gets up and stalks away from the campfire. He doesn't understand. How can he understand what the others want from him so easily, while even after weeks of travel together what Gustave needs him to be is still a mystery? He needs to calm down. To concentrate. But his mind is in too much turmoil to think.
He goes to sit under the tree by the river. He needs time to take off his masks and examine them, try to find where he's failing. All his tried-and-true personas have met the same reaction, from the charming aristocrat to the tortured immortal. Hell, even the suave and willing temptation failed to get any reaction other than concern, and he knows that mask is damn near irresistible to anyone who has even the slightest attraction to men. He knows Gustave well enough by now, he just has to find the right combination of traits. A new mask. Someone he hasn't been before. He can do that. He just needs to think.
But thinking is hard when all he can see is those beautiful hazel eyes looking at him in the firelight, the way the small scar on his lip pulls just the tiniest bit when he smiles, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he laughs. He wants, in a way he has never allowed himself to want before. He can't allow it now, not when he's so close to his goal. He has to find the right mask. It's as much to protect himself as it is to serve his companions. With the right mask, he can remove himself from the equation, lock away his heart and keep it safe. Bury it deeper beneath the layers of all the people he's pretended to be, until even he forgets that it's there.
He takes out his sketchbook, needing something to do with his hands. He doesn't realize it at first, but the images that form under his fingers are all of the same subject. Over and over. Different poses, different expressions. His eyes in the firelight. His smile when he looks at Maelle. The way his hair curls around his ears. The lines of his body. The contours of his face. Gustave in a thousand different positions and settings. And none of it is helping to find the right mask.
Verso growls at himself, scratching out the last page - simple studies of Gustave's profile that he can’t get right without Gustave right there in front of him, but sketching isn't part of any of his masks. This is a part of him no one gets to see, not even Monoco. He flips to a new page makes himself take a deep breath. Calm. He needs to be calm. He finds himself starting a study of Gustave's arm.
Which is, of course, when Gustave comes up behind him
Verso slams his sketchbook shut as soon as he hears his approach, hoping he didn't see anything. He digs up his own favorite mask since nothing works anyway, and goes for a charming smile. He doesn't have time to get it perfectly in place, but it's good enough for now. A layer of protection between the world and his own too-soft heart.
"Verso? Everything ok?" Gustave asks, concerned, and Verso aches to know that it's not really for him, but for the man he pretends to be - for whoever it is he can be for the 33s.
"Just fine. I'm always fine." It comes out more bitter than he meant it, too close to his real feelings on the matter. Internally he winces, and tightens his grip on the mask.
"You don't sound fine," Gustave says, coming to sit beside him, looking curiously at the sketchbook he didn't have time to hide.
"I'm always fine," Verso repeats. "Not like I really have a choice." Putain. That shouldn't have been out loud. How can he find the right mask, when Gustave somehow brings them down just by existing?
"You know, fine has variable definitions," Gustave says, looking at him a little too closely and seeing far too much. Verso pulls his coat tighter around him, folding in on himself in an unconscious gesture.
"Whichever definition you mean," he tells Gustave with a weak smile. "I am, and always will be perfectly fine. It's the blessing the Paintress gave me."
Gustave looks at him for a long time. He holds on to his mask with desperation. Gustave cannot see beneath it. He can't. He'll only despise what he sees, just like everyone but Alicia who has gotten even a glimpse of the truth of him.
Alicia understands. They both wear masks, hers is just a little more physical than his own. Gustave, though. Gustave is a good man. He's never needed to pretend so hard to be something else that he forgot who he really was. He won't understand. All he will see is the lie. And he will hate the liar.
Gustave's hatred is the one thing he finds he cannot bear.
"Verso."
He looks into Gustave's hazel eyes, such a soft warm brown in this light, and feels his mask cracking. He turns his head away.
"You aren't fine, in any definition."
He tries for a smile. A hint of a laugh. A mask of easy good nature, the face of a man who has not known hurt so deep it crushes his soul while his body heals without a trace of wound.
"It doesn't matter, does it? I'll be whatever is needed."
"Verso." There's disappointment in his voice, and Verso cannot bring himself to look at his face. This mask, too, is a failure. He doesn't understand. How can none of his masks work? He clutches is sketchbook to his chest, knuckles white where Gustave can't see.
He tries again. Another mask. Forces himself to relax, leaning back against the tree trunk as if he hasn't a care in the world.
"I'm okay. Really. You don't need to worry about me."
Gustave frowns, eyes on his face and not his artfully relaxed posture. "What if I want to worry about you?"
Oh. There. He can use that. "Do you?" Verso asks carefully, busily constructing the mask. No one has wanted to worry about him before. Fix him, fuck him, hate him, love him, those needs he knows well. But worry? How does he make himself into something Gustave can worry about, without revealing too much of himself?
"Well, I'd prefer not to. But I think maybe you need someone to worry about you. I think it's been too long since someone did." The words are far too gentle, too kind, and they cut through Verso like a knife. He moves to protest, to pull his coat tighter, to get up and run, something, anything, and gets tangled up in himself. His sketchbook falls to the ground, pages open to a drawing he's spent far too much time on.
Gustave looks at it, mouth falling open in surprise. It's a sketch of Gustave, sitting by the campfire working on his arm. He has a screwdriver in his mouth, hair falling into his eyes, and an expression of intense concentration on his face. It's an image Verso has preserved in his brain. That focus, that determination, is one of the many things he loves best about Gustave. And now Gustave has seen it. Emotions laid bare by a sketch in charcoal and dark ink.
Verso scrambles forward, reaching for the sketchbook, but Gustave gets there first, picking it up carefully and flipping through the pages. Page after page of his image. His face in profile, his eyes, his mouth, his nose, his hand, his back, all in loving detail.
"Verso..." now his voice is hesitant, unsure.
"It's nothing. Just some sketches. Don't worry about it." Verso snatches the book from his hand, shoving it deep into an inner pocket of his jacket.
"Verso," stronger now, determined. "What do you want? Because I thought maybe I knew, but now I'm not so sure."
"What I want?" Verso's voice breaks on the last word and he shakes his head, pacing, restless, needing to move but unable to just walk away.
"What do I want?" He repeats the question as if repetition can aid understanding. "I don't... it doesn't work like that."
Gustave frowns, brow furrowing. "What doesn't work like that?"
"You aren't supposed to care what I want. You're supposed to- you need to tell me what you want me to be. That's how this works. That's how this always works."
Gustave is staring at him now, shocked. "I don't understand. I don't want you to be anything other than yourself."
"No!" Verso shakes his head violently, tugging at his hair in frustration. All his masks are falling away now, layers and layers of them, and he can’t focus enough to pick them back up.
"You need me to be something. Someone. A friend. An enemy. A rival. A guide. Something to hate. Something to fix. Something dangerous. Something safe.
"You Expeditioners always need something. Lune needs a mystery. Sciel needs something broken she can save. Monoco needs a comrade in arms. My father needs someone to fight against. My mother needs the son she lost. I can be that. I can be all of that. Whatever you want. Except I need to know what you want.
"Usually it's easy to tell. It's not hard when I've been looked at every possible way by hundreds of people. I know what it looks like when someone wants a protector, or a companion, when they want my sword arm or... or my body. I can usually figure it out. But you-" he whirls on Gustave, glaring.
"You react the same no matter what I try. It's driving me mad. I can’t tell what you want from me."
He stands there, breathing hard after his rant, and to his horror he feels tears on his cheeks. Angrily he scrubs them away. "You need to tell me what you want me to be. Since I can't seem to figure it out on my own this time."
Gustave reaches out, careful, slow. Like he’s afraid Verso will bolt if he moves too fast. "Verso, I mean it. I don't want you to be anything except yourself. I don't need you to pretend to be something for me, I'd rather you be who you are."
"No you don't," Verso snarls, fear and pain boiling together inside and coming out as fury. "No one wants me as I am. No one ever has, and no one ever will. Don't tell me you want me to be myself, you won't like what you get." He feels like a wolf cornered in its den, wounded and trapped, unable to do anything but snarl and snap and pray that the hunter goes away.
Gustave rests his hand on Verso's arm, a solid, heavy weight. Grounding. Shackling.
Verso goes still, barely daring to breathe.
"I can't say it makes me happy seeing you like this, but that's because I can tell this hurts you. And I wish it didn't. No- don't try to pretend. I know better. I've known since the start you weren't being genuine. And maybe the smart thing would have been to confront you about it then. But you didn't seem to mean any harm. You were helping. And I could see how Maelle gravitates toward you. That alone was enough to convince me to give you a chance."
He sighs, running his hand through his hair. "So I kept watch. And slowly I started to see the man beneath the masks."
Verso shakes his head, backing away from him, fear settling deep and cold in his gut. "No, that- that isn't possible."
He needs to run. He needs to run, fast, and far, until he's so far away not even Esquie can find him. But he can't. He's frozen to the spot by warm hazel eyes that are far too kind and far too perceptive.
He tries for a mask of anger. Narrowing his eyes and forcing steel into his voice. "I don't know what you think you saw, but I-"
"I know what I saw," Gustave says firmly. "Between the masks, between the man who pretends to be a puzzle for Lune and a challenge for Sciel, is a man who cared to get to know them both well enough to find out exactly what they might need from him."
Verso shakes his head, still desperately clinging to anger. "Don't be stupid. I found out what they needed me to be for my own reasons. Certainly not because I care."
Gustave gives him a look of such deep understanding and sorrow that it silences him immediately.
"You care. You care so much you have to tell yourself you don't, because the next grave you dig might be ours."
The words hit like a blow. And the mask of anger crumbles.
The next grave you dig might be ours. The words echo in his mind. He can see it. Always, there in the back of his thoughts. Four more golden arm bands fluttering in the wind under the red trees. Three, because Maelle would just be ejected from the Canvas, but for Sciel and Lune and Gustave it would be death. He can't. Not again. Not them. He cannot see these three vibrant lights snuffed out. He won't be the one to dig their graves unless his is right beside them.
He reaches for another mask. Sorrow comes easily to his fingers and he looks away before Gustave can see the true pain in his eyes.
"I've buried hundreds of friends," he says quietly. "When it's your turn, it will be no different. This world is not a kind one, and it will take you in the end." It will take him, and leave Verso alone once more. Always alone. Always.
"You're afraid," Gustave says calmly, once more that clear gaze cutting through the mask. "You build these personas for us, to keep us at arm's length. It won't hurt as much, if we don't know the real you. It won't be so great a loss, if you don't let yourself care."
"I'm not who you think I am, Gustave. I'm not some puzzle you can solve. The truth is that you will die. And I will live on. Forever." He lets himself cry. Tears that have been building inside him for the better part of a century. He lets them fall now and tries to pretend it’s still just a mask.
"I know." Gustave's voice is steady and calm. "I know, and I'm sorry. I, gods. I can’t imagine what it's like. But you're not alone. Not now."
He steps forward, just a bit closer. Too close. Far, far too close.
"I'm a liar," Verso says, desperate to make him step back. "I'm a liar and a coward. That's the truth. That's the man beneath the masks. Whatever else you think you saw, it's just your imagination." He swallows down his tears, and tries a third time. This time, he gives Gustave a smile. "You don't need to feel bad for me. I'm not worth it."
The look on Gustave's face is nothing short of devastated. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before stepping forward again, closing the distance between them almost entirely.
"Verso." He says his name softly. Like it matters. Like it's important. "Stop."
Verso stands with his back against the tree, frozen under those warm hazel eyes. He can't move. He can barely breathe.
"You know," he says slowly, "I wasn't sure what you were doing with us, at first. Why you saved me. Why you stayed. I wanted to give you a chance, because I could see you cared. But I didn't want to get my hopes up that you were really here to help.
"Then I thought, when you started flirting with me, that you were trying to use me for something. That it wasn't me you wanted, but whatever you thought you could get from me. And I thought maybe letting you stay was a mistake. Not because I thought you would hurt us, but because I was falling for you.
"Not the persona, the act you put on. But for the man I kept getting glimpses of. The moments you let your true self shine through."
Verso turns his face away. He can't be hearing this. It's some trick. Maybe Clea messing with his head.
"There's your mistake," he mutters brokenly. "Nobody who ever loved me lasted long. It tends to be bad for their health."
Gustave makes a choked little sound and Verso looks up, only to see pity in his eyes.
"I mean it, Gustave," he says, a flare of anger rising. He doesn't need pity. He doesn't want it. "My mother is just about insane. My sister is tormented by pain she does not deserve. My other sister, we don't even know what happened to her. My father? You've seen him. He's obsessed with getting his family back no matter what it costs. And the only person who ever tried to love me and not the person I'm supposed to be, she slit my throat herself. Multiple times. Until I broke free of my bonds and I killed her. That is what loving me does to people."
"Verso," Gustave grabs his arms and holds him steady. He hadn't even realized he was shaking. "Hey. It's alright. It's alright. I'm not... I won't do any of that. I promise."
Verso laughs. He can't help it. A promise like that lasts only as long as the sound that carries it.
"Look. When I came out here tonight, I was prepared to confront you. I needed to know just what you're doing with us. But then I saw your drawings. And I realized. You found your personas for the others. But you couldn't find one for me. Because I don't want a fake. I want you. No mask can compare to that."
Verso shakes his head, wishing Gustave would release his arms so he could move, so he could get away. He has to run. Has to leave, before those too-perceptive eyes cut through to the heart of him.
"Verso." Gustave waits until Verso is looking at him. Until dark hazel eyes catch his and hold him fast.
"I see you," he says. And the words cut through him, sharp as a knife. "I see you, even under the masks. And I know you aren't telling us everything. I know you're scared, and you don't know who to trust. But you care too much, and you've been hurt too often, and you're so, so tired." He raises a hand to cup Verso’s cheek as he tries not to shake apart in his grip. "You think you have to hide yourself from us. But you don’t. You're one of us now. And you deserve to be yourself with us."
Gustave sees him. He doesn't know how, and he doesn't know why. But Gustave sees him, even under his layers and layers of masks. Not even his family has ever been able to do that.
"I'm not..." he swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, and tries again. "I can't be-"
Gustave shakes his head. "No, Verso, I don't need you to try to be anything. Alright? Just be you. It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be real."
"Real." He gives a dry laugh, the last of his defenses crumbling around him. "Real is subjective in this world. But..." he takes a deep, shuddering breath. "But I can try. Stars know nothing else has worked so far."
Gustave smiles. And it's that that finally breaks him. Bright, and warm, and genuine. His tears start to fall in earnest and he falls forward into strong arms that catch him up and hold him tight. A hand rubs his back, and another comes up to gently stroke his hair.
He's not sure how long he stays there, wrapped in Gustave’s embrace. The moon is high in the sky when he finally pulls back and dries his eyes.
"Gustave..." he doesn't have the words to say all that needs to be said. "Thank you." It's a start.
"You don't need to thank me," Gustave says, giving him a gentle smile. "Though. If you really want to, maybe we could talk about that book again? I seem to recall at least one portrait of me naked in there."
Verso blushes, reflexively putting a hand over the pocket that contains his sketchbook. "That's... uh. It's... I mean..." he stumbles to find a way to explain it that doesn't sound terrible.
Gustave grins. "Well. I did admit I've been falling for you. Usually the next step is for you to reject me, or admit the same. But judging from what I saw earlier, I don't think you need to admit anything."
Verso sighs, but the smile on his face is fond. "You see me too well, mon cher."
Gustave's smile widens. "Maybe. But some confirmation would be nice."
"Then yes. Yes, I am falling for you. Have been for some time. Which was why it was driving me crazy trying to find a mask you liked. I didn’t... couldn't think you'd want, well... me."
Before he can say anything else, he's pulled into a sudden, deep kiss. When they break apart, Gustave grins at him.
"I've been wanting to do that practically since we met."
Verso laughs. "Good. Then you won't mind doing it again."