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His first thought, upon waking, is that his body aches. His neck twinges every time he shifts, and his back hurts in a way that he has heard Renoir complain about in the past. He is getting undoubtedly older, and yet his face remains the same in the mirror.
The scar is gone. He has tried to carve it back on himself, to wield chroma until he can return it to how it is meant to be, but every attempt only finds him fully healed, the pain never allowed to last longer than a few moments. It is only the blood that pools in his palm and drips down his wrist that is any indication of what he has tried.
He doesn’t want to die anymore. Verso wonders if Maelle realizes the irony of her actions; he doesn’t want to die, he just wants to suffer. He wants to hurt himself over and over again for the sheer reminder that he is, still, alive.
No one seems to notice how badly he is doing. Or no one seems to really care. It is hard to tell if anyone notices.
They are all out living their lives. Maelle smiles at the flourishing Lumière without seeming to notice the faces that repeat over and over again, the people who repeat only a few sentences, confused by their own inability to say more.
Sciel and Pierre walk their child every afternoon to the park across from Verso’s apartment. Sciel waves up at his window every day. He doesn’t know if she knows he hides from her, peering out from behind blinds where he is safe, ever safe locked in the apartment that no one can access but himself.
Lune busies herself with repairing the Dome. She has come to ask for his help before but he shuts down, leans against the door and holds his breath until she gets frustrated and leaves. A part of him feels bad for it, for the way she still tries.
Gustave is alive again. He walks side-by-side with his girlfriend (ex-girlfriend, his brain corrects, because he did hear them both correct Maelle more than once) and enthusiastically chatters about his apprentices, about whatever his latest work has been. Sometimes Verso sees him walking with Maelle through the market. His heart races every time, his breath escaping him until he is in a dark alley, doubled over and clutching at his chest and gasping for air that seems to escape him before it ever reaches his lungs.
And that’s the worst of it. The way he can’t quite look Maelle in the eyes now. The way his heart aches every time he raises his hands to the keys of the opera house and knows that he owes her everything that he has. Everything that he doesn’t want. Everything he wanted not even months ago to burn so the family would leave the canvas for good.
She had offered to go ask the family to paint his family back into the canvas. For Alicia and Clea and Renoir to join him again. She had meant well.
Verso had smiled tightly, had nudged her cheek and told her, “Nah, I’m a big boy.” He had held out until she’d left his apartment and then he’d collapsed to the ground, his hands shaking, his body trembling.
He knows what it was. The real Verso had these too. These moments where his entire life would shift into fight-or-flight, when he’d shut down. The real Verso had buried his face in his Monoco’s fur and screamed until he felt better. He’d channeled every ounce of that pain, that frustration into his music.
But music doesn’t even feel like it is Verso’s anymore.
Nothing feels like Verso’s anymore.
Verso sits on the cold tile floor of his bathroom. His hands shake too hard for him to try to put the scar to his face once more. Blood already stains his skin and his shirt and the floor underneath him.
A door opens and closes. The next apartment over, he thinks, a lovely older couple who greet him every time they see him and say nothing else. He doesn’t think Maelle knows what old people speak like; she’s never had the chance to know any.
Fingers gently pry the knife from his hands and set it aside. Hands he only vaguely knows. One cooler than the other. “Verso,” a soft voice says. “Verso, can you look at me?”
Verso looks up at Gustave’s worried face. “There you are,” Gustave says. “We’ve been worried about you, you know.”
“You shouldn’t,” he says automatically. Gustave chuckles. He shifts, sitting back on his heels at first, and then dropping down to mirror Verso’s posture, his legs extended out towards the tub. They rest over Verso’s, a comfortable weight.
“I thought I saw you the other day, at the market,” Gustave says. Verso is only vaguely listening. “Maelle said you don’t get out much, but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you out near the market before. I tried to say hi, to follow you, but I lost sight of you.
“Then I saw you again, yesterday. Managed to follow you this time, but you looked like you were having a rough way of it.” Gustave’s gaze feels as heavy as his legs do. Verso drops his gaze to his hands, clenched into fists in his lap. “I have them too, you know. Those times when you feel like you can’t breathe. When it’s like all you can do is just keep breathing, and it’s so hard.”
He’s surprised to find himself nodding.
“So I thought I’d come check on you. Well, thought I’d come talk to you. You’re a grown man, you don’t need us checking up on you like you’re a child.” Gustave smiles and it’s something self-deprecating and gentle, something so deeply genuine that Verso cannot help but stare.
A silence drags on, uncomfortable and unsure, for nearly a full minute before Verso realizes that Gustave is waiting for him to speak. “Oh,” he says helpfully.
“You aren’t doing too good, are you? Just sitting around?” Gustave asks. Verso shakes his head. “Thought not. I had an idea. I want to head back out onto the Continent. Another Expedition, of sorts. And I want you to come.”
“Another—” He licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “Another Expedition?”
Gustave’s lips quirk. “Yeah. Interested?”
Verso nods.
Gustave beams. “Good.” His smile is infectious. Verso cannot help but smile back, his first smile in a long while.
“Good.”
“Good.” Gustave’s eyebrow quirks up. Verso shifts, unsteady.
“Good.”
“Alright,” Gustave laughs. He stands and offers Verso his hand. “Let’s figure out some details then?”
Verso takes Gustave’s hand. “Yeah. Alright.”