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The fire was getting hotter, moment by moment, and the smoke was so thick, Verso couldn't see.
Smoke and debris clung to his clothes and his jacket, but he was almost to Alicia's room, and she was all that mattered.
Verso ripped his jacket off and wrapped it around the knob, forcing it open with a quick shove.
Alicia was curled on the bed, her small form wracked by coughing, and Verso grabbed her and wrapped his jacket around her, covering her up as much as he could. He pulled her up and into his arms and turned for the door, recoiling from the flames that immediately started to consume the doorway. He cursed, spinning around to look at the window, but there was no way he could safely jump from there either. He looked at the fire in the doorway and took a deep breath, held Alicia tight and ran through it, even though he felt his shirt catch fire and turned, heading for the front door. The fire had started in the back of the house, if he could get her to the front, she could, she could get out.
~!~
"Where's Alicia? Where's Verso?" Aline cried out, spinning around to turn to her husband. She recoiled from the house as another explosion racked the kitchens, making them all duck. "Renoir, we must-"
"Move!" A voice roared.
Aline flinched away from it and watched the man charge past them, the brown curls and prosthetic arm looking mildly familiar before stopping before the inferno growing in the front room of their lobby. The staircase was burning, and it meant that Alicia and Verso would be trapped upstairs, would be unable to-
"Putain de merde!" The same voice swore.
Aline caught a flash of gold in the hand of the man before there was a cackle of lightning, the scent of electricity, and then a wash of an all-too-familiar scent.
Ink.
Ink flooded into the foyer, extinguishing the worst of the flames and carving a path forward.
Gustave dashed up the stairs, heading for Verso's room, the room that he'd been snuck into more than a dozen times that the Dessendre parents had never noticed, in the family wing that would be where Verso had gone to rescue his sister. The sight of Verso stumbling out of the ink-filled smoke, ink and fire clinging to his clothes, his eyes wild, flooded him with relief. He grabbed Verso's shoulders, shoving him forward and down the corridor that was growing thicker and thicker with smoke. "Move, move!" He shouted.
He got Verso and Alicia out of the manor, shoving them at their parents and the swarm of people that was approaching the house, ready to watch it burn. Gustave stumbled, coughing, soot, sparks, and ink staining his clothing. He was filthy. They all were. But they were alive, maybe hurt, maybe burned, but they were alive, and that was all that-
"Monoco!"
Gustave swung around and looked up at the upper balcony where he could see the dog trapped behind the glass door, barking and scratching at it, trying to escape the fire creeping into the room. He looked at the mansion, and at the fire that was once more steadily consuming the foyer. He couldn't risk going back in again. "Verso, give me a hand up," Gustave shouted, curling up to cough out a spatter of ink, his chest seizing with the reminder that he would pay for what he'd done tonight.
Verso ignored the look from his parents and rushed up to Gustave, staring up at his dog who was starting to panic now, clearly terrified, and met Gustave's clear eyes. "How are you going to get back down?" He held out his hands, lacing them together, and watched Gustave take several steps back.
"Tell me which bush looks softest!" Gustave ordered, looking up at the balcony behind Verso and took two running steps, placing his foot in Verso's hands, trusting him not to drop him and reached for the balcony banister, his left arm with the prosthetic screaming in agony at the immediate full weight of his body as he scrambled up and over the balcony. The fire behind Monoco had grown and the dog had laid down, scratching limply at the bottom of the window.
Curling his prosthetic into a fist, Gustave punched the handle and ripped the door open, hitting the deck as flames rushed through the room, covering Monoco from the worst of it, scooping the dog up and into his arms, before throwing himself over the balcony and into the bushes, trying to keep him from the worst of the damage. He could hear Verso shouting, he could hear sirens, but Gustave was exhausted, and his body was giving out after the stress he had put it under, and nothing else mattered, now that he'd made sure Verso had made it out of the fire.
~!~
They were all filthy.
They were disgusting, and none of them had had time for a shower.
War had been declared, and then ended almost immediately after, because the Writers had given up the parents and remaining children who had assisted with (Gustave's family - the Écrivain's, in a mad grasp at power on the Writer's Council) the attack on the Dessendre's without order.
The discussions, the peace contracts, the punishment of those who had attacked his family, all of it was long, and exhausting, and all Verso wanted was to be with the one person who hadn't woken up after he'd fallen unconscious rescuing his damn dog. Monoco, at least, hadn't left Gustave's side (Gustave Écrivain as he had since learned), and that was a mild reassurance that nothing would happen to Gustave when he wasn't looking.
At last, though, they were released from the Painter's Council meeting, his testimony no longer required, and Verso had had the briefest of moments to catch sight of Emma Écrivain, and reassured her that her brother lived, even if the rest of her family would not, on her orders. Verso didn't wait to see the Writers executed, even though his mother and father did, he made his way back to the bed, the safe house that they had been brought to for all of these discussions.
Verso sank into the chair beside Gustave's bed and reached out to take one of his ink-stained hands, pressing a kiss to the back of it with a sigh. He hadn't known that Gustave was a Writer, hadn't even considered it, with how kind and sweet he was. It didn't match what he knew about Writers. It didn't match what he knew about anyone else in this godforsaken city that he wanted to run away from and never look back, as long as Gustave would come with him.
"-erso..."
Verso's attention snapped to the figure on the bed and he saw Gustave's eyes flutter and he held onto his hand tightly. "Gustave, I'm here, I'm right here, mon coeur."
Gustave hummed and opened his eyes slowly, meeting Verso's worried eyes with a tired smile. He'd managed it. There was a streak of white in Verso's hair that hadn't been there before, and there were streaks of soot on his cheeks and suit. But he was alive. His body was unbroken and untouched by flames, and that was what he needed to see and make sure of. "Monoco okay?"
Verso laughed weakly, lifting Gustave's hand to kiss the back of it. "He's not going to be running for a couple more days, but he is going to be okay."
Gustave nodded and huffed, turning toward Verso. "Saw a vision. In the ink. You, trapped. Burning. Had to come help you." He coughed and tightened his hold on Verso's hand, clinging to him, lifting his eyes to Verso's. "Meant to tell you. C-couldn't. Didn't want you to hate me."
The admission was everything he had suspected - a horrific and real confession all in one. Gustave, the man he had been falling in love with ever since he had played an impromptu public piano performance. Ever since Gustave had applauded longer and louder than anyone else, and been effusive and yet heart-achingly honest about the music and what it meant to him to be able to hear it out in the park. Who had called him beautiful without ever knowing his name, and had smiled at him in the shy way that had had Verso kissing him without even asking. They'd fallen into each other after that, and had only gotten closer, sharing whatever moments they could scrape together.
He'd wanted to introduce Gustave to his parents, had thought absently about running away to somewhere where they could live by the sea, together, happy and separate from all of the drama that liked to continue to linger in Paris.
And now...
Now he wasn't sure about anything, but Gustave had saved his life, Alicia's life, had saved Monoco's life, and that meant something. It meant more than he was willing to admit, and he wanted to wrap Gustave in his arms and never let go. Not ever.
"I could never hate you," Verso admitted, nuzzling into Gustave's palm again. "Alicia and I are alive because of you. I don't think we would have made it if you hadn't come to get us."
Gustave sighed in relief, turning toward Verso with a happy sound, his eyes fluttering shut. "My family were setting the fire. They'd seen me meeting with you. They wanted to teach me a lesson." He exhaled roughly. "As soon as I knew, I came to rescue you all."
Verso nodded, swallowing hard. "You, you don't hate us. Painters, that is."
Gustave chuckled and focused on stroking Verso's face, where his hand was being held. "Why would I hate the most beautiful man I've ever seen, playing piano in the park for children so they could dance? I fell in love with you, right then and there, Verso Dessendre. Your name didn't matter, your Craft didn't matter. Only the smile on your face, and the smiles you were giving to others mattered."
"No wonder you've such a way with words," Verso chuckled weakly. "Gustave."
Gustave let out a small cough and soaked in the sight of Verso's face, but he knew they were on borrowed time, would be on borrowed time until whatever end was coming for him. "Have the Painter's Council demanded my death? Once I'm strong enough to stand for the guillotine?"
Verso inhaled sharply and pulled back to look at the exhausted resignation in Gustave's eyes. "What? No!"
"I know how the world works, mon amour. No matter how thankful they may be to me for helping to save the Dessendre heir, I am a Writer, and I am a Writer from the family that tried to kill you," Gustave corrected, his voice soft. "It's all right, I promise it's all right. I knew the choice I was making when I rushed into that house after you."
Verso stared at Gustave, realizing, all at once, the choice Gustave had made, had truly made. "You can't go home."
Gustave shook his head. "They'll kill me the second I step out of wherever we are. For causing the death of my family, to be put to death by the Painters? They will make it hurt."
Verso swallowed, watching as Gustave leaned back into the pillows, still staring at him with that heartbreaking expression. "Why?"
"The grief of your family would have torn worlds apart," Gustave said, covering his mouth as he started to cough. "I could see flashes of it. Of the future you'd be sentenced to. I had to stop it. Had to keep you safe. You, I didn't matter, you did, your family did and-"
"And you have left us in a very strange position, Gustave Écrivain," Aline Dessendre said, stepping into the room, followed by her husband.
Gustave held onto Verso's hand tightly and sat upright in bed with a grunt, watching both of them, even as he didn't let go of Verso. "Monsieur, Madame Dessendre," he breathed, inclining his head. "I apologize for how we met."
Aline raised an imperious eyebrow. "You apologize for saving two of my children?" Her lips twitched. "And our family dog?"
Gustave flushed and shook his head. "No, I, I meant..." He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "In another world, another lifetime, where I allowed myself the luxury of imagining meeting Verso's parents, it had been over, perhaps, dinner. It would have included praise for your Paintings, for your Craft." He swallowed. "It would not have included fire, death, and ash, an attempted murder from my own family."
"There's that Writer eloquence," Aline said, her eyes sharp. "Do you love my son, Gustave Écrivain?"
"With everything in me," Gustave answered, meeting her gaze, feeling Verso's eyes on him. He squeezed Verso's hand again. "With all that I am, Writer, man, and soul."
Aline stepped forward. "The Writers will come for you."
Gustave nodded. "I know."
"They will see us as having stolen one of their own. They will fight to get you back," Aline continued. "Perhaps viciously, as your talents do not appear to have been exaggerated."
Gustave tightened his hold on Verso's hand. "It is likely true, yes."
Aline tilted her head and looked at him. "Could you stop them?" She glanced down at his prosthetic. "You are powerful. Writers have always answered to power. You have the eloquence needed. Could you do it?"
A hint of the future he had imagined, a future that he had desperately wanted to write, but had not been able to, not alone, not under the thumb of their parents, glimmered at them. "Not alone," Gustave rasped. There was consideration in Aline Dessendre's eyes, and desperation in Verso's. "I am a twin, Madame Dessendre. Not only am I a twin, I am a Written Twin."
"The rumors are true," Renoir breathed.
Gustave glanced at Verso and saw the confusion on his face, and lifted his hand up to kiss the back of it. "Emma and I are born of Ink," he explained, his voice soft. "Ink, intention, and conception, all tangled together under one, desperately written demand. End the war with the Painters."
"You..."
Gustave turned to look at Aline again, at the revulsion and intrigue on her face and fought down a laugh. "Whatever our origins, I assure you we are fully human. Manifested with ink, but if you cut me, I bleed." Of course, his blood was much darker than a normal human's, because it was also filled with ink, but Aline Dessendre didn't need to know that in this moment. "If you want the Writers stopped, if you want this war stopped. You will need my sister and I. We can end it."
"We will discuss this with the Painter's Council," Aline said. "You will get a message to your sister."
Gustave nodded. "I will." He waited until the Dessendre's were gone and turned back to Verso with a relieved sigh. He gave Verso a cheeky grin. "Ready to meet my sister?"
"What?" Verso asked, snapping to attention to look at Gustave.
Gustave reached into the air and with a breath, drew his pen into his hand, and scratched Emma's name into the air with floating ink. "We've been able to do this since we were children. Something that is unique solely to us. It's what makes us dangerous." He pressed the pen nib to the ink and watched it flare gold and disappear. "She'll be here shortly." The pen faded away from his fingertips and he squeezed Verso's hand again.
Verso turned back to Gustave and was glad for the tight hold they had on each other, and for the steady presence of Monoco at the foot of Gustave's bed. "We could still run away," he offered, his voice. "Run far from this conflict, far from all of the demands of us, find somewhere I could play piano for children in the park on weekends."
Gustave reached out and tangled his fingers in Verso's filthy shirt and tugged him down and into a kiss, savoring the soft press of Verso's lips, a touch that he never thought he'd be allowed again. "I want a better world for our sisters," he whispered, lifting his eyes to Verso's. "I want to create a better world for them, Verso." His lips twitched. "Then we can escape to somewhere, just the two of us, and you can play piano for children on weekends."
"Well, if this is what you summoned me to show me, a simple dinner would have sufficed," an amused voice called.
Gustave sighed and pulled back from the kiss. "Verso Dessendre, meet my sister, Emma Écrivain. Emma, meet the love of my life, Verso Dessendre."
Emma crossed her arms over her chest and looked pointedly at Gustave. "A Painter? The son of the Head of the Painter's Council?" She sighed and shook her head. "You enjoy making my life difficult, Gustave."
"Aline Dessendre wants to end the war," Gustave said, meeting Emma's eyes when they snapped immediately to his. "With our help. She wants to end the war."
The air around Emma Écrivain shifted, and Verso watched it happen, any of the relaxed ease that she'd had gone in the face of what Gustave had just said. There was something heavy there, something that existed only between the two of them.
Emma turned to look at her brother, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes falling to his prosthetic. "You're sure."
"Sure enough that I'll fight left-handed if I have to," Gustave answered softly.
Emma inhaled, and turned her head to the side, closing her eyes. "Gustave."
"Whatever it costs, Emma," Gustave repeated. He could feel the question gathering in Verso and turned to look at him again. "I'm naturally left-handed. Wielding my Writer powers with my left hand cost me my arm." He gestured to the prosthetic. "A device, Written into existence by Emma and I. It's powered and functions on ink, now. It is a pen, in every way that matters."
Emma sighed and sagged. "It will not be easy."
Gustave smiled faintly. "You've never liked easy. The challenge of the perfect turn of phrase to bring people to our side, to see their eyes light up in understanding? The rush of knowing you are perfectly understood, that you have selected the right words to not only convince them, but to inspire them-"
Emma laughed and shook her head. "Stop selling me, you know I will help." She leaned back in the corner of the room. "While I wait for the Dessendres, why don't you two tell me how you met."
Verso looked to Gustave and raised his eyebrows. "Why don't you start, mon amour?"
Gustave crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, before turning to Emma. "A handsome man, playing piano in the park for children?"
Emma laughed, her head falling back. "Oh, you were gone immediately."
"Merde," Gustave muttered. "I was gone, immediately," he agreed.