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It was ten o'clock. The time that teachers and students eagerly awaited. The time for the break. The time for the students to find their usual corner, their friends, boyfriends. The time for teachers to share, between two sips of coffee, the latest horrors found on students' papers. The math teachers were indignant about the distorted and reinvented formulas, the English teachers about the worrying level of spelling.
From the teachers' room, Verso had an unobstructed view of the students. It was located on the first floor, overlooking the hall of the high school amphitheater. From his perch, he could see everything. The students who did their homework at the last minute, copying from their classmates. The students who rushed to find their favorite bench to play video games, with or against their friends. Those who took advantage of the break to snack, those who crammed, those who read their notes just before a test.
Verso paid little attention to all these things. If he rushed, every day, at every break, to stand in front of that window, it wasn't to spy on the high school students.
He was waiting for someone.
Indeed, from where he stood, Verso could see which teachers were arriving. Those who went up to the teachers’ lounge, those who came out of it.
His colleagues were the first to be surprised not to see Mr. Dessendre rushing toward the gates, his electronic cigarette nestled between his trembling hands. No one knew why, since around September, Verso had traded his cigarette for a sugar-free espresso, the green fence of the high school for this window that seemed to fascinate him more and more each day. Even the students below wondered what had gotten into him. Mr. Dessendre, the teacher known to students as "The Vaper," had suddenly put an end to his favorite activity.
No one could guess that it was Mr. Arsenault, the new physics teacher, who was behind this sudden urge to "quit" smoking. Verso didn't count. Missing a cigarette break was just less serious than missing him.
Gustave rarely came to the teachers' lounge, and irregularly. Verso could never predict when he would show his face. And even when he came, it was never for the same reason. A coffee between two classes, a last-minute document to retrieve from his locker, a quick word slipped into the ear of the few colleagues he dared to talk to. He never stayed long enough for Verso. But he could spend hours waiting, just to catch a glimpse of him.
Verso was going crazy. He even wondered, sometimes, if it wasn't the lack of nicotine that was making him lose his mind.
It had now been several months since the September back-to-school period had passed. Enough time for Verso to become a little too interested in his colleague. Their conversations could be counted on one hand, and had never lasted more than a few minutes. Their only interactions were simple "hellos" at the turn of a hallway, or a small nod from afar.
Verso had even started wandering aimlessly around the school just to run into him, "accidentally." He knew Arsenault's schedule better than his own. To the point that he had already walked into a classroom that was not his, but that of his colleague. The worst part was that he had been tempted to repeat the experience, just to have an excuse to get his attention.
He remembered the first time he had met him. A far too hot August day, a few days before the students returned. Verso was in a bad mood that day, as he was every year. He had never liked this stupid habit of gathering the entire faculty to welcome the new teachers, and pretending that everyone got along wonderfully. He didn't like the meetings, the ones where you make resolutions for the year that you won't keep for two measly weeks. "I'm going to grade my papers faster." False. They will always wait for the students to complain before actually getting to it.
"We will take reports of bullying more seriously." Also false.
His bad mood was short-lived when his eyes fell on the newcomer.
Verso couldn't say if it was his long eyelashes, or that little rebellious lock of hair that adorned his forehead. The way his nervousness made him play with his glasses. Or that unique curve formed by his eyebrows, which betrayed his so clumsily camouflaged anxiety. Or maybe it was his embarrassed and sincere smile. Maybe he recognized himself in that innocent smile, which had not yet encountered the weariness of the profession? Verso had already lost it. He had lost it, between two reforms and unfulfilled promises of pay raises.
Dessendre gave him a few weeks to live, at most.
But it was always there, that smile. Even months later. Not an ounce of weariness, not an ounce of demotivation had ever grazed it. A smile that Descendre dreaded encountering at the turn of a corridor, lest it dictate his thoughts. Under penalty of letting himself be distracted.
Dessendre believed neither in unicorns nor in love at first sight.
But what he had felt that day was…special. An interest, an unexplained curiosity for Gustave. He was one of those people you find beautiful, without knowing why. He didn't particularly fit the beauty criteria (or so Verso thought), not even the type of guy he was used to liking.
Strangely, his bitterness quickly returned. Verso knew himself well enough to know that this physical attraction, if he didn't get rid of it quickly, would turn into a thorn in his side.
This thorn had blossomed into sumptuous brambles, which kept him glued to that damn window every day. In the hope of catching a glimpse of the one who had fed and watered them.
No, Verso was not in love.
You don't fall in love with someone you barely know. Gustave was just, for him, a way to alleviate the boredom of his work. He was simply another distraction, just like his cigarette. He was just another guy in his life. Like those people you meet on the bus, tram, subway, and whose beauty you admire. Arsenault was like them, except that they crossed paths every day.
Verso was naive. He was convinced that it was just a passing fever. That if he never spoke to him, Gustave would leave his mind as quickly as he had arrived.
He still hadn't packed his bags.
It was a poisoned gift. As long as he didn't get too close to the sun, he could enjoy its warmth and beauty. One step closer and he could lose his feathers. Stay away. Do not approach. Don't get attached. Here are the rules that Verso had set for himself, for his own good.
The teachers weren't so different from the students, after all. Verso wasn't so different from his students. The rumors, the betrayals, the childish arguments. Crushes on people he barely knew. Verso remembered that even when he was a student, he had this habit of being attracted to people he passed in the hallways, without even knowing their names. He hadn't really changed.
Even on the other side of the classroom, he hated going to high school. Whether you're sixteen or thirty-two, whether you're a teacher or a student, it doesn't change anything.
Teacher or student, they hate going to class. There was only one thing Verso hated more than that. Class council. And, apparently, the students also remembered that theirs was today.
He had barely let them into the room when they were all already seated, in religious silence. The first-year technology students were usually a bit more lively. The students' mood made Verso believe he was not in his classroom but in a cemetery.
Dessendre had always had a special relationship with the technology classes. Since his arrival at the high school 5 years ago, he had always asked to have them in class. His request was systematically accepted, since no one wanted them. "Students with no future," "troublesome students," "insolent students"... It was perhaps his insolent youth that had driven him to make such a choice, but he was determined to bring these students, in whom no one believed, to the top.
Now, it was Verso's turn to put on a funeral face. Two hours of meeting, locked in a room with people he hated. Even his faithful cigarette could not cure his overwhelming mood.
Fortunately, Gustave was present. He had the annoying habit of systematically sitting next to him, as if he were aware of the effect he had on Dessendre. Maybe it was better that way. At least, no one would catch him staring lovingly at him instead of listening to Principal Renoir and his utopian monologs. Instead, he had a front-row seat to observe his wife, Aline, who always went along with him. "We will make this high school the cradle of the future elites of the region!" False. As long as the government doesn't understand that a "surge of authority" will only make the situation worse, we will always be reduced to lowering expectations and offering the baccalaureate to all students.
On the other side of the room, it was a completely different but just as disheartening spectacle taking place before his eyes. Sciel, the philosophy teacher, who made Lune blush with her lofty quotes and beautiful eyes. Dessendre found Sciel nice. He was just tired of seeing them flirt all the time. She had well understood that Verso couldn't stand hearing her fantasize about Lune during every lunch break, and she tried hard to find other topics to discuss. He had promised himself not to interfere in their little love stories, but it had become pathetic. Six months of daily flirting, and still nothing had happened. Maybe he should push his colleague to try something? For her own good, and that of all her colleagues. His good deed of the year, in a way, even though he felt that the others didn't deserve his kindness.
Sciel was indeed the only colleague he could imagine hanging out with outside of work. He had never been very well-liked by the faculty, due to his positions rarely aligning with the majority, but also because of his young age. Sciel, on the other hand, although not always sharing his opinions, had always been respectful of their differences and took the time to listen to him. She was simply harmless, incapable of inflicting the slightest harm on anyone.
Their friendship was born from a request from Sciel: she wanted Verso to teach her how to gain respect from her students. What had started as a simple favor turned into a sincere friendship. It was that same friendship that gave birth to the high school's music club. Verso had always wanted to make his passion accessible to the students, but had never managed to convince another teacher. Or rather, he had never had the courage to ask. The principal refused to allow its creation as long as the club was not managed by at least two teachers. Sciel was his savior.
Unfortunately, no one could save him from the intersidereal boredom that this class council was. A Class council that looked like a court trial. Renoir banged his fist on the table like a judge bringing down his gavel. If he had followed well, the accused was Maelle, one of his technology students with a sharp tongue. Verso knew that the other teachers didn't hold her in high regard, and that he would be the only one willing to defend her.
He sometimes wondered if he wouldn't have been better off becoming a lawyer. Renoir was going to insist on her lack of discipline and her defiance of his authority, without even wondering if it wasn't a little bit his fault. Maelle was a brilliant student who didn't like being walked all over. She was used to get fired up at the drop of a hat whenever she needed to defend her classmates. He trusted her, and knowing Renoir, she very likely had very good reasons to stand up to him.
Dessendre nervously chewed on his pen, eyebrows furrowing more and more as Renoir spat on his student. That alone should have been enough to prove he had never been a competent headmaster. He had always been seduced by the idea of treating the school like a military camp. "You defy authority, we teach you to respect it," he liked to say.
However, the anger was quickly replaced by surprise.
Gustave Arsenault, the physics teacher whose voice few have ever had the pleasure of hearing, leaned over the large table, looking serious. For the first time since the beginning of the meeting, Verso allowed himself to look at his table neighbor. If he wasn't sitting next to him, he could have been fooled by his false confidence. His left hand was fiddling with the buttons of his shirt with such aggression that it betrayed his fear. The silence had taken over the room, all eyes fixed on Gustave's deceptively stocky figure.
They were used to seeing Dessendre in the role of the defender of the oppressed. A role he proudly claimed, a suit that fit him perfectly. They were used to hearing him, with his fiery youth, give great speeches about the persecution suffered by technologists, about his utopias of equal opportunities. They were used to seeing Gustave stammer, stumble over words. They were used to a Gustave in the role of the invisible. He was the one we didn't hear, the one we didn't see.
For the first time in his career, Verso no longer felt alone. He was no longer alone in his fight against the injustices his students were victims of. Someone, finally, was joining him, sharing his vision. The man he had so idealized without knowing him had materialized before his astonished eyes. One of the reasons he had promised himself never to form any kind of bond with Arsenault was simply that he didn't want to be disappointed by discovering that he wasn't the person he had imagined. He wanted his colleague to remain a mere fantasy, without impacting his professional life.
The fervor with which he asserted himself was not unlike his own. The impression he had of seeing in him a reflection of himself, but at the same time completely different. Where Verso had that biting aura, Gustave moved with a certain self-control. His indignation could be read in the substance of his words, not in his demeanor. One ran on emotions, the other on logic and composure. It didn't take much more for Verso to fall even more under his charm.
"You cannot, Mr. Simon, change your behavior toward your students based on unfounded prejudices." It's simply unprofessional on your part.
"You talk to me about professionalism, Mr. Arsenault, but where is yours? You can't even make yourself heard in a meeting, let alone get teenagers to respect you!” A personal attack. What a lack of seriousness.
It wasn’t even true. Gustave was well-liked amongst the students. He was young, passionate, and took all the time needed to make them love his subject. He prioritized them having fun over forcing their brains open to fill them with the academic program.
Not being used to confrontation, Gustave paused. It was therefore quite naturally that Verso rushed to his neighbor's rescue.
"You are a hypocrite! Keep your two-bit remarks to yourself! And we will avoid mentioning the fact that every year you invite your senior students to your home to celebrate the end of the year! Is that professional?" He spat out, the chair he had been sitting on ten seconds ago falling over backward, in a fit of anger and a dull thud.
"Look at our famous vigilante! Strangely, when it was Lune who was being reprimanded, you didn't say anything! Something to announce to us perhaps, you gays, no? Given how you stick together!” Simon had also stood up, a completely odious look plastered on his face.
Renoir struck the table, appalled by the turn the council had taken. "Come on, gentlemen! A little calm, I beg you. Don't get so carried away.” He continued, pointing an accusatory finger at the gym teacher. "And no such talk in my establishment, I implore you." The principal signaled the teacher to be quiet, then turned to Verso. "You, I want you in my office after the meeting." Great. I'll have to wait another eternity before I can go vape in peace. He's going to hear from me, that fucking homophobe.
The injustice he had just experienced was the last straw. Not only had he just been summoned, but he had also been insulted? He was defending his colleague, got a clearly homophobic remark, but he was the one getting screwed?
Verso was ready to retaliate, but a hand placed on his forearm made him lower his weapons. Arsenault offered him a smile, just for him, only for him, and he felt all his rage vanish. If a simple gesture was enough to make him smile foolishly like that, he couldn't imagine what being in his arms would do to him. Damn, he found himself pathetic. He looked like a hormone-crazed teenager.
The silence that followed was heavy, and was only broken by the awkwardness with which Dessendre picked up his chair. The class council resumed its course, but he was elsewhere.
"The gays?" In the plural?
Could it be that...?
Verso didn't know if he should rejoice if the information turned out to be true. On one hand, he would be happy to know that he might have a chance with him. But on the other hand, he didn't want to get attached or try anything. He would have preferred to learn that he was just another straight man among many others, to come to terms with it and stop this childish obsession. Laziness kept him in this in-between: no desire to make any kind of approach, but not enough determination to move on. Verso needed that motivation that made it less painful to get up in the morning to do a job he couldn't even appreciate anymore. Gustave was just a placeholder trying to replace the love he had for his teaching position. One drug replaced another, both in the hope of curing a deeper malaise.
The class council finally came to an end, and Verso would almost rejoice if he hadn't been summoned an hour earlier by the principal, in his office. If he hadn't been summoned, he would have spent the evening thinking about the encouraging words of Sciel and Arsenault, who left him to his sad fate. Perhaps he would have noticed the tenderness with which Gustave’s gaze lingered a bit too long on his slumped figure as he left the room.
Only the coldness of the principal's blue eyes contrasted with the heat of the hell he had gotten himself into.
The "care" with which Renoir had decorated his office was simply sickening. Photo frames of his friends, his family (and especially his wife) cohabited painfully with all his diplomas and medals, in a mix that reeked of pride and an oversized ego. Even the chair Dessendre was invited to sit on disgusted him. It was a faded pink and falsely retro, and Verso could pretty much imagine who had begged Renoir to put them here.
The conversation that followed was not as infernal as that. Yes, Renoir had angered him and Verso was upset at having been treated like a student who is being told that no, throwing water balloons in classrooms is not okay. The headmaster was mostly falsely worried about the homophobic insults against him. Let's be honest, it didn't bother him at all. It was mostly with the aim of being perceived as the superior concerned about the well-being of his subordinates that he worried about it.
Homophobia. Renoir didn't care about it. Verso had lingered on unnecessary details, like the fact that he didn't mention the homophobia he had experienced in the singular, but in the plural.
"I know it's not something you'd like to be defined by, and Gustave shares your point of view. But maybe you would like to somehow use your experience to lead an awareness campaign within the institution?”
"Well, as you just said..." He didn't want to participate in a hypocritical LGBT greenwashing campaign. And he was lazy too, incidentally. "Why not talk to the student representatives instead? I think the communication will be better if it's students who handle it, you see? Rather than making them experience it like a class, the student reps can lead to a real discussion on the subject.” Hypocritical or not, the idea could not be dismissed out of hand.
"That's funny. I talked about it with Gustave a few days ago, and he told me the same thing. You are very different from each other, but you also have a lot in common.” The principal smiled. Dessendre also, but not for the same reason.
"One last thing before I let you go. I mentioned to him the possibility of a collaboration with you, but he told me that you weren't very close.” He frowned. "You know Verso, I'm worried. I understand your anger, and I want to remind you that it is completely justified, but you need to integrate. That you reintegrate. I understood that you were close to Sciel, and that's a very good thing. But you can't isolate yourself from others like that. You're only making your situation worse.” The principal began to pack up his things, under Verso's distant gaze. "Go talk to your colleagues, make friends with them. Starting with Gustave, for example. He seemed grateful for your ‘help’ earlier.” His superior had already reached the door. He was still sitting, motionless.
"I...will think about it. Thank you. And sorry for getting carried away like that." He stood up, retrieving his jacket which he nonchalantly threw over his shoulder, as well as his bag.
"Good. Ah, yes, before I forget. I will take care of Mr. Simon, you have my word. With that, I apologize for intruding on your Friday evening in such a way, and wish you an excellent weekend.” He held the door for him, and locked it before leaving his interlocutor alone with his inner turmoil.
It was past six o'clock, and Verso sighed deeply. What he had taken for a summons from the principal had actually been a disguised appointment with the psychologist. Except that he already had one, and she was doing very well what she was paid for. Well, she was trying. He wasn't the most patient man, and he easily managed to exasperate her. Stubborn and withdrawn. Here are two words that described him well. Stubborn, because he refused to change even when he knew he was wrong. Withdrawn, because his mental health pushed him to avoid any contact, which he perceived as a chore. With a few exceptions.
One of the exceptions in question was currently in the teachers' lounge, a half-empty cup in one hand, the other preventing his head from colliding with the table.
The principal's words came back to him. Gustave hadn't noticed his presence yet, he could still slip away discreetly and—
"Ah, Verso! Glad to see you alive. Are you okay?”
Shit.
"Um, yes, yes, it's fine." Silence. Gustave was still watching him. "What are you doing here so late?" Please, let this conversation not last.
"I was waiting for you."
Oh.
"I wanted to thank you for everything earlier."
Oh.
“And then, I wanted to be able to work in peace, and since there's no one... "
"Ah, well... I won't bother you any longer, then…”
"No, no, that's not what I meant. You never bother me, on the contrary.”
A smile. A simple smile is enough for him to want to lock himself in here with him and never come out again.
"Sit down. Well, if you're not in a hurry? Someone waiting for you at home, maybe?” Verso hesitated for a moment, not knowing how far to sit.
"Um, no, no one." His smile lingered a bit too long on that information. He pointed to the chair closest to him, and Dessendre complied. His hands were already sweaty.
"Since you were with the principal, I suppose he talked to you about his idea for an awareness campaign against homophobia within the school? Your opinion?” He gesticulated painfully under Gustave's gaze.
"He told me that my answer was identical to yours." He also said that we have a lot in common...
"Really? I’m delighted. I must admit that his way of approaching the subject was clumsy. Asking his two gay teachers to take care of it..." He stopped himself from saying that learning Verso was gay had made him a little too happy.
"So, up for organizing a meeting with the student reps?" He nodded. "I'd like your schedule, in that case." Dessendre began to list his availabilities, and he scribbled them down on a post-it. He couldn't help but notice that Gustave was right-handed. His handwriting was small and irregular. "You teach French, right?"
"Yes. And you, it's physics, right?”
"Exactly. These are two subjects that go rather well together, don’t you think?” Dessendre felt himself blushing as the discussion progressed. After spending months observing him in his corner, he had been convinced he had managed to figure out the man in front of him. But the person who was revealing himself before him in no way resembled the one he had secretly spied on. He was at ease, approachable, almost talkative. He had imagined him as discreet, shy and withdrawn. He led their discussion and directed Verso's heartbeats like a conductor.
The colleague he had imagined had never existed. But given the real one's character, he couldn't even be disappointed. He savored each smile, each glance. Maybe the principal was right. Verso could imagine being friends with him.
Their discussion continued for a few minutes on lighter topics, until Gustave took out a cigarette from one of his pockets.
"I need to take a smoke break, are you coming?" A cigarette hung from his lips, and Dessendre felt his legs buckle. Fuck.
"Um, yes. But how do you know I smoke?”
"Sciel told me. Beside, a number of colleagues told me that you had suddenly stopped going to vape during breaks. Are you trying to quit?"
Is this a joke?
"I...No, not really." They left the room and went down the stairs before reaching the building’s main entrance.
"Ah... Well, don't hesitate to join us if you feel like it. I'm there almost every day. It would make me happy if you came. I’d love to get to know you better, Verso.” His heart was pounding so hard that he could feel it in his veins.
Since the beginning of the year, he had forced himself to stop taking cigarette breaks just to have a chance to run into him. He had done the opposite of what he should have.
Starting from Monday, he would go back, under the pretext that he was doing what Renoir had asked him to do: integrate.
Their belongings remained upstairs, leaving Gustave in his shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Verso’s eyes lingered on the constellation of moles on his arms. And on the metallic reflections of the moon adorning his metal arm.
No one had ever dared to address the elephant in the room. After all, it's not every day you see someone with a missing arm. Even less someone with a metal prosthesis. He wore it well.
Gustave’s prosthesis pressed on the door handle, but nothing.
"Verso. I think we're locked in.” Gustave moved out of the way to let him try, but nothing happened.
"What time is it? Do you know what time the high school closes?”
"No, I never stay late." Verso was more the type to bolt for the exit as soon as the bell rang.
"It's 7:08 PM."
Silence.
They both had trouble realizing what was happening. Verso was starting to worry, but Arsenault seemed unfazed. He lit his cigarette calmly, absolutely not bothered about smoking indoors. The other started vaping, out of mimicry, before realizing he had run out of vape juice. Dessendre moved nervously, while his colleague nonchalantly leaned against the wall.
Verso didn't know if it was being locked in a place he hated or being alone with Gustave that terrified him. The latter's relaxed posture was only a meager comfort. Too many questions overlapped in his mind. When would they get out of here? No one had classes on the weekend, and the staff didn't work either. How were they going to feed themselves? The cafeteria was probably closed, and even if it was open, they weren't even sure they would find anything to eat there. Could he take a shower? His last one was the night before, and anxiety tended to make him sweat.
"Hey, Verso. You're all shaky? Are you okay?” A hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality. He shivered, but not from the cold.
“No, no. It’s just… I ran out of vape juice.”
"Oh… That happens." His cigarette returned to his lips as his hand reached for a second one. "Sorry. I don't have another one, it was my last.” The sincerity with which he apologized tugged at his heart.
Gustave was one of those people who offered their emotions on a silver platter. His face was so expressive that he could make himself understood without saying a word. Unlike Verso, who wore a mask at all times. He almost wished Gustave was more like him, out of fear that someone would take advantage of his naive kindness to hurt him.
"It's not a big deal. Thanks anyway.” Verso's hands took refuge in his pants pockets to stop trembling.
His gaze was fixed on the ground when Gustave approached him, his cigarette still nestled between the lips he refused to look at. His breath froze when, with an incredibly delicate gesture, Gustave passed the cigarette from his lips to Verso's, slightly parted in surprise. After a few seconds, his fingers caught the cig that was about to fall.
If he had looked up a few seconds earlier, he might have noticed the intensity with which Arsenault's gaze had fixed on his mouth.
They were now side by side again, leaning against the wall. The room was still plunged in darkness. It wasn't dark enough to warrant turning on the light, but it was dark enough for them to consider it.
After an interminable minute of silence, Gustave turned toward him, his right hand extended toward him. His gaze had landed on the cigarette before moving up to his eyes.
"Can I...?" He asked him, his voice as shaky as Verso.
He nodded before giving it back. Gustave took it back with a snort, as one would laugh at a child asking a silly question.
And, indeed, it was perhaps a silly question.
Since it wasn't the cigarette he took between his lips, but rather Verso's.
It was only when Gustave stepped back that Verso realized what had just happened was real.
Arsenault had just kissed him. Quite simply.
And he had just backed away because Verso did not respond to his advances.
Before he could leave his personal space, Verso grabbed the back of his neck with one hand, and his prosthesis with the other, and kissed him with a fervor that contrasted with Gustave's delicacy. The last thing he wanted was for him to think that Verso didn't want him.
He wanted it. Surely much more than Gustave did. Did he even know how much he had invaded his mind? Did he know that his mere presence shattered all the masks, all the precautions he had taken to prevent anyone from getting close? The hatred he felt for his own feelings contrasted with the love he had for him.
Despite everything, his fear eventually took over again, and he pushed Gustave away with a bit more force than he intended. His fear immediately flew away upon seeing the trance Arsenault was in, who was struggling to find his voice.
"I... Wow. Wow. Fuck, Verso.”
"I... I rather feel like I should be the one saying that. I didn't know you... thought that of me." Gustave's laughter made his belly shake.
"It's true that... Even though I knew I had an effect on you, the fact that you didn't… respond right away scared me. But I see that I was scared for nothing.” Verso melted on the spot when Gustave ran his hand through his hair.
He didn't miss the way he had prevented himself from using his left hand, which Verso guided toward him before placing it on his hip.
"How did you know?"
"At the risk of upsetting you, no matter how hard you try to hide your emotions, it doesn't stop your gaze from following me as soon as I enter your field of vision. You're not very discreet, Dessendre."
"Oh."
"Sciel also confirmed it to me when I asked her."
"Oh." With each sentence that came out of his mouth, Verso became more and more crimson.
"Do you know how to say anything else?"
"... Yes."
"Like?" Verso had the feeling that he enjoyed teasing him like that.
"I... appreciate you. A lot."
"I knew that. But... Thank you.” He laughed. "To reward your courage, let me confess one to you in return." Their faces were so close that Verso could start counting the pores on his face. "You're adorable when you blush."
Excellent way to make me blush.
"And I really want to kiss you again."
"... That makes two pieces of information..."
Gustave sighed. "That's not what you're supposed to say! You're not very good at flirting, Verso.”
And this time, Verso immediately responded to his kiss.
"That's more like the answer I was expecting, Mr. Dessendre." Verso rolled his eyes.
"Is it a surprise quiz?"
"Given the look on your face, I think yes, indeed, it's a surprise."
"Yes, it is." Verso glanced around the room before speaking again. "I wouldn't want to spoil the mood but... We are still locked in the school.”
"Oh, that? It's not really a problem, is it?"
"Of course it is!"
"Shhh. Let me handle it.” And, just after saying that, Gustave quickly climbed the stairs leading to the teachers' room, leaving Verso alone.
Arsenault reappeared less than a minute later, a bunch of keys in hand. And, in the most natural way possible, tried a few keys from the bunch before finding the right one.
"After you, sir," he declared, holding the door open for him, as if he were a very important person. Or just if they were two people on a date.
“And our things? They are still upstairs.”
"Ah. Yes. I hadn't forgotten at all.”
"Gustave..."
"I think it's your fault. You are far too handsome. Too distracting." Verso did not give him the pleasure of responding, and just hurried upstairs to get their things.
“What a gentleman you are, Verso. That makes me want to take you home.”
“Please. Stop teasing me.”
“I am very serious, Dessendre. Let me invite you to dinner. Can’t take you to some fancy restaurant because it’s the end of the month and I still haven’t received my paycheck. So, my place?”
Verso stopped dead in his tracks. What was going to happen next? Was Gustave serious about this? Verso didn’t know how he’d react if he found out Gustave was just there for a quick flirt, a fling.
And even if he was dead serious. Was Verso even ready for anything? He had recovered from the few past relationships he’d had, but… It was never that simple.
“Are you sure you want to… With me?”
I’m a grumpy, pessimistic individual. You are a bright and loving person. I am closed-off; you are welcoming and warm. You deserve someone who will match your vision of life, of teaching, of—
“Verso! Verso. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but... I want you. I really do. I don’t know about your past experiences, and I will respect whatever decision you make, but… Let me tell you that I am very serious about this. About you. I would not date someone from my workplace if I weren’t sure. Trust me. And if you need more time or just don’t feel ready, then I can wait. For you.”
“I don’t deserve even an ounce of your kindness.”
Gustave planted a light kiss to the back of his hand. “Yes, you do. That, and so much more.”
Verso took a deep breath.
“Thank you.”
They left, Gustave's metallic hand held tightly in his own.
…
Maybe, just maybe, letting Gustave in wasn’t a bad idea.