Chapter Text
Verso became aware of his existence with the first lungful of air his body instinctively took. Just like that, he was alive again. Where would he be when he opened his eyes? In that void where he had just tried to force Maelle out? In the gestral village, or his rundown hut?
But the sight that greeted him was freshly painted plaster and, in his periphery, the familiar shapes of the very same people he had willingly attempted to sacrifice, just moments ago from his perspective. It bordered on being a cruel joke, one for which he had no stomach. He was beyond exhausted, on every possible level imaginable, and flinching away from Maelle’s reach—however unintentional—sapped him of any energy he might have had. Forcing his body to turn away from them was all he could muster.
Someone stumbled their way out of the room noisily, followed by Sciel’s soft voice saying she’d go after her. For a moment, he thought it had to have been Maelle, and it was almost a relief, until he felt her come right behind him to stand at the bedside.
“Verso…” His body shuddered involuntarily, his sister's voice filled with pain. Could she not see that staying here would forever trap her in the cycle of grief and hurt? All he had been trying to do was stop that never-ending sorrow. All he wanted was for it to end. “I know you’re angry. And that you’re tired. But I’m going to make it right, all of it. We’re fixing Lumière for everyone. You don’t have to fight anymore.” She paused, and, understanding no answer or reaction would be forthcoming, continued: “This place is for you, so you can have your own life, and grow old with me, with all of us. We can have the lifetime together we deserve.” Her voice had steadily risen in pitch as her desperation grew.
He closed his eyes against the unbidden tears that had gathered.
“Verso, please…” How similar their begging sounded to his ears.
“Maelle, I think we should go. Give him some time to get himself together.” Gustave. He’d not heard that voice in what felt like eons.
So Maelle had brought both her brothers back.
Verso could all but feel the weight of Maelle’s gaze upon him, but he did not move, and, soon enough, their retreating footsteps let him know this battle had been temporarily suspended.
“I’ll be back soon,” Maelle promised, just before the door closed behind her.
In the silence left behind, he could feel his ears ringing.
Maelle was a woman of her word; she returned the very next day and then the next and the day after that, trying to fill the silence the way only an anxious teenager could: by talking nonstop. She told him about Lumière, about the reconstruction efforts, how happy people seemed in their day-to-day lives now that the Gommage would never happen again.
Days turned into weeks; she brought him pastries from every boulangerie in the city and complained about the council, sharing details about how many people would be brought back. He learned about the secrecy surrounding what had really happened, that the day of the Gommage would be celebrated this year for the last time as a farewell, and that expedition 32 would be going out on an exploratory basis to collect samples and data.
He kept quiet most of the time, his face impassive as he traced the faint lines of spackle on the ceiling. Maelle usually ran out of things to say at this point in the visits, and instead focused on eating her own pastry. Today, she tore unabashedly into a still-warm croissant that made his mouth water at the sight while his own sat untouched on the bedside table. Perhaps later, in the privacy of his own isolation, he would have some before feeding the rest to the birds that had begun to gather at his windowsill.
“Lune will give a speech today. I think you should come.”
“How is she?” his voice sounded surprised to be used, low and unsure, easily sidestepping the invitation. Shock traveled across Maelle’s features in an instant, and the croissant abandoned half lifted to her mouth. His heart felt as if it were being squeezed in a vice.
“She’s okay, I think. Her siblings are back, but she’s always busy with something.” That sounded like her. The mental image of Lune huddled in some apartment similar to this until late into the night was so endearing that even his cynical brain could not fight off the small smile that danced on his lips for the blink of an eye.
Verso wasn’t sorry for what he’d done, but something twisted in his gut whenever he thought of Lune. He wanted to apologize to her, to get the chance to look into those dark eyes of hers one more time and tell her unequivocally that—no matter what may have happened afterward—whatever moments they had shared had been sincere.
He had to force the thought out of his head, lest he spend hours enraptured in his own self-flagellation again.
During his self-imposed confinement, Sciel had come to visit regularly, bringing food or wine, or, once, Pierre. Even Gustave had visited a handful of times, though for the most part, those visits entailed being scolded for what he was putting Maelle through.
But Lune had not come even once. He’d belatedly realized on that first day that it had been she who had stumbled ungracefully out of the room, and the realization that her disgust with him now was at such a degree that the mere sight of him had been too much to bear had come just moments after, like a suckerpunch.
Maelle finished eating in silence, with an obviously expectant look on her face, but Verso had nothing else to say, and due to the festivities, she thankfully had a hard end time to this sibling bonding session.
Hours after she’d left, he found himself standing by the open windows, the harbor just visible in the distance between buildings. He could see the stages all set up since early that morning, with people dancing and enjoying shows as the surrounding area steadily filled with people.
On the street below him, people hurried along to join the already gathered masses, young and old moving in clusters, their joy near overflowing. It would be simple enough to join among the groups and blend in, just another faceless body in the crowd. The people of Lumière had seldom seen him since his resurrection, and, though Maelle said the general public did not know the extent of his involvement with the tragedy that had permeated all their lives, he knew he put them on edge at the best of times. Whenever he’d stepped outside, he had tried to go completely unnoticed, which was achieved by going out so deep into the night that the only other living things around were the alleycats. But today, he could make an exception. With all the tumult in the air, it would be easy enough, and he made his way down the stairs to slip into the shadows between buildings just as soon as he’d made up his mind.
(This was not, in fact, true. He’d made up his mind the moment Maelle had brought up Lune’s speech, if he was being honest with himself. That was the only reason he had been bathed and wearing the new clothes his friends–could he still call them that?–had provided. But Verso had never been good at being honest with himself, especially regarding her.)
As he made his way toward the harbor, he made sure to stick to alleys and backstreets, both the ones he remembered from a lifetime ago as well as the most recent ones he’d discovered in his incursions into the city, but as it was, no one was sparing a glance his way.
The city was in a strange mood, something reminiscent of the long-ago year when its citizens had been made aware of the Gommage for the very first time. The air was heady with apprehension, but this time there was also hope, and an undercurrent bordering on excitement. He guessed such a mix of emotions was warranted considering the circumstances.
He made it to an empty ledge in one of the still condemned buildings, away from the crowds but still within a good enough distance that he could have a vantage point of the stage where Emma was speaking.
The small group of his friends sat near the main stage in a place of honor, surrounded by the other expeditioners, the ones he had not saved. For a moment he couldn’t spot her, eyes scanning the long table over and over until he did; Lune’s head was bent as she hunched over a packet of papers, seemingly doing last minute adjustments up until Gustave nudged her and her head snapped up; for a split second Verso was sure he’d been spotted but her eyes did not linger in his direction. It felt strange, bearing witness to their event from the shadows, as if one could somehow intrude on a public event.
Her voice carried clearly in the breeze, the gathered crowd quiet in near reverence. “... The road ahead might be long, but it is a road of hope, its bricks laid by every single one of you, every day.”
Being able to hear Lune’s voice after so long only added to the depth of his guilt, and he resolved to speak to her tonight, to tell her, at least, that his feelings for her had been–and were still–genuine.
As he suspected, what everyone had really been waiting for was the sunset, the air a collective hush as they lined up along the harbor, on stages, and platforms. Even he wasn’t immune to the tension and found himself holding his breath along with everyone else, releasing it only as people erupted into thunderous celebration. Every single soul gathered seemed to be celebrating in its own way.
And then there was Lune, standing impassively at the end of the dock. She’d not jumped for joy or turned to the person beside her to show her elation as so many around her were doing. She merely stood there, buffeted by the movement around her but becoming infinitesimally less tense as her posture relaxed. When she finally moved, it was not to join in the celebration but to move away from it at a slightly hurried pace.
His eyes followed her as she wove her way back to where tables were set up and grabbed two bottles of wine by their necks, only to dive back into the crowd, where he lost her momentarily. Unsure as to why this filled him with dread, Verso climbed down from his perch with practiced ease, his eyes flitting furtively amongst the mass of nondescript people until he’d lost proper sight of the event. He did not run towards the harbor, but his steps were quick and efficient.
Once the crowd was back in his line of sight, he resumed the search, eyes straining against the deepening shadows as the streetlamps slowly came on one by one. And then finally, he spotted her again, her long black hair dancing in the wind as she reached the edge of the gathering, on the complete opposite side from him and getting farther still.
His chances of catching up with her grew slimmer by the second, and he knew attempting to go around would mean losing her definitely.
With a curse uttered under his breath, he began wading through the mass of bodies, mumbling apologies and steering clear of the few familiar faces; his head kept down for the most part, only looking up to make sure he could still make out Lune’s retreating form in the distance. Just as he himself was reaching the last of the crowd, a voice to his left said his name in the form of a question and his head snapped towards it instinctually, his eyes meeting Gustave’s inquiring gaze—but the frown disappeared just as immediately, expression shifting to one of understanding; almost as if he’d solved some kind of complex equation that had been nagging at him. Verso had no time to analyze what this reaction meant and did not care to find out, so he started moving again.
Thankfully, no one else stopped him, and he was now home free, just a handful of people scattered along the street he’d seen Lune disappear into, which veered off to the right at a slight curve. His footsteps became just a little more hurried in fear that she would turn down one of the many streets outside of his view, and he’d be unable to find her again.
Just as Verso came around the bend, something crashed in the alley behind him, calling his attention before instinct kicked in and he took a quick half-step back, blades out just as a bottle of wine whiffed past his head by mere millimeters.
“Lune, it’s me!”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She hissed, bottles still up as she leveled a glare at him. Her face was flushed, and her hair dancing in the wind—all at once, he remembered why he had fallen, unwittingly, for her all those months ago.
“I’m not the one swinging bottles around,” he shot back, resuming a more casual stance and stowing away his weapon with what he hoped was a charming smile. Lune remained frowning, but lowered her improvised weapons, one seemingly half-empty.
“I’m not the one following a lone woman in the dark like some sort of creep,” she all but spat out the words, clearly carrying something more than simple startledness, though he could admit he had not considered that particular angle.
“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to spook you.”
She glowered at him for a beat before speaking, causing him to shift awkwardly on the spot. “What do you want, anyway?”
Though not the first time she’d been beyond cross with him, the tone this time was ice-cold, as if she’d detached herself completely from the feeling—it cut right through him. If anyone could die from guilt, he surely would have in that moment, only to come back to suffer some more.
“I wanted to see you, to explain—”
“Did it cross your mind that if I wanted to see you, I would have done so already?”
“Lune, just let me—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Verso.” Again that flat, dry tone. People began trickling into the street, perhaps to their own private celebrations, and he knew neither of them wanted this to be witnessed by any. “There’s nothing you can say that will make me forgive you. So go back to wallowing in your self-pity, I’ve got better things to do.”
Before he could respond, she’d turned on her heels and picked up a brisk pace down the nearest street up ahead while he remained rooted to the spot, willing the ground to open up beneath his feet and swallow away his entire existence.
She was gone in the blink of an eye, the few people around giving him a wide berth as he tried to think of something–anything–to do to put off returning to his sad little apartment, which was somehow even more demoralizing than what had just transpired. Instead, he decided to stick around for the rest of the evening. Getting lost in the sea of people was almost too easy, as if no one was able to see him at all, which was a blessing he did not deserve but was nevertheless grateful for.
Late into the night, with only the stragglers left around the perimeter of the harbor, he got his hands on a couple of abandoned wine bottles and found a nice park bench to sit and drown his sorrows.
While Lune had always leaned toward logic rather than emotion, she’d never had a problem letting it color her voice or her body language when she was upset. To have her speak in such a removed manner–almost calmly–when she was clearly upset was off-putting, if not worrying.
Did he have any right to worry, after everything? Would her life not be simpler, happier, without him in it? He was certain it would be, but he was also aware he had not achieved his one goal of the evening out of cowardice.
He would let her excise him out of her life completely if she so desired, make himself a ghost she would not be haunted by, but only after he was certain he’d told her his feelings had never been part of his plans—they had been utterly unexpected and even problematic, but never untrue. If that made him selfish, then let it be so, but perhaps then he would be able to sleep a little better at night.