Work Text:
“And you’re carrying a weight
That’s hard to hold
You wanna wake up one day
And just unfold
And start to grow
But isn’t that all you do?” Your Mouth is A Garden - Raynes
—
Gustave: Do you want to come over?
Verso: Julie’s in the common space.
Gustave: How long do you think she’ll be there?
Verso: Don’t know
She was loud. Every day, talking to her friends without going out, taking up space in the common room until late, and Verso couldn’t stand to be around her for longer than ten seconds. The thought of being in the same room— of hearing her voice in the same air, of having to deal with the disarming gentle tone he knew would needle away at his resolve for separation and force him to open up again— unnerved him to the point of oxygen loss.
The last time Verso talked to Julie, it wasn’t because he’d wanted to. Frankly, he’d already given up on having any modicum of normalcy around her after everything, but it wasn’t that easy. They’d been close for almost ten years. He wanted to forget her, and she wanted to hold on. That was normal. It’s normal to be unwilling to let go of someone you loved. And as much as he loved her, after his breakdown that winter evening, something hardened in him even in spite of the constant flux between wanting to forgive her and wanting to forget her.
I don’t want to be caught in a conversation and forgive her the second she talks to me.
He was weak. He’d always been weak.
Sharp laughter cut through his thoughts, and Verso grimaced at the sound. Part of him, childishly, felt bitter. Bitter that she could still be so happy, that she could deign to be comfortable, while he was sitting in the dark, dreading the moment their eyes met. It was an unfair thought, and one he refused to allow to take root. Instead, he reached out blindly for a case somewhere on the clutter of his desk, opening it once he found it.
You’ve lost weight.
I just don’t really want to hear her and she doesn’t leave the area.
Maybe… Maybe you should start carrying earbuds around? Play some music so you don’t have to hear her. You need to eat, Verso.
I will. I just don’t want to be around her when I do.
His eyes were heavy and his stomach burned. Verso stubbornly remained in his locked room, music loud in his ears.
Thank god for remote work. At least he had the excuse of working to not have to leave his room, even if it decimated his ability to differentiate home from job. Even if he leaned so far into it that he wouldn't eat some days, opting to stockpile on several bottles of water and salted crackers. It was safe, his own little bubble of escape.
The laughter died down, and after half an hour of complete silence he finally unlocked his door to check if he really was alone.
Julie was gone, and Verso finally breathed. He pulled out his phone to check the time, and found it had been three hours since Gustave invited him over. The window was surely passed now, and whatever it was his friend had planned was a missed opportunity. It was a bitter feeling, but it was no one’s fault.
Verso: I love you.
The response was immediate.
Gustave: Are you okay? Did you do something?
Verso: Yes, no. She went out. I’m going to cook.
Gustave: Nowait don’t do that, we’re coming over.
Gustave: I mean please eat a little bit, but also we’re bringing The Goods.
Gustave: “The Goods” being food. We have food.
Gustave: It’s your favourite. Depress-to.
Gustave: (That’s pesto, but the one you eat when you’re really sad.)
It was as if the past twelve hours of stress melted away, and Verso smiled down at his screen.
Verso: You’re so stupid.
Verso: I love you guys.
Gustave: I know (:
Verso: To which one?
Gustave: Shut up.
It was less than half an hour when his friends knocked at the door, inviting themselves in and filling in the space where Julie’s voice still whispered from the corners. Lune put her hands on his shoulders, frowning at his state of being— and Verso realised in that moment he hadn’t looked in the mirror at all the entire day. “You’ve lost weight again.”
He shrugged and with a wry smile he said, “At least it saves money when we go out?” She pinched his cheek in response, and— yeah, he deserved that.
“Sol has a spare small fridge, it’ll fit in your room. You will take it until she’s gone.” He must have made a face, because Lune patted his cheek just over where she’d pinched him. “He only knows that you’re incapable of taking breaks from your work.”
It was a losing battle to try and convince Lune that he didn’t need it, that he could take care of himself, because he knew it was a lie and she’d gotten terrifyingly good at learning when he lied.
If you express guilt, they'll think they need to comfort you.
He smiled. “Thank you.”
A kiss brushed against his cheek, and Sciel gave him a knowing look, but voiced nothing. He was grateful for it. They pulled him to the living space and… existed. They talked about nothing, complained about petty inconveniences and gossiped about workplace dramas. Gustave, overplaying the dramatics that Verso would often bring to the table, stretched out over their laps lamenting the strife of being “the only individual with greater emotional maturity than a packing peanut” in his workplace.
“She’s giving and taking responsibilities on a whim and every department coordinator in the building has been caught in the middle of her nonexistent communications. We email her exactly what we can and cannot do and she— I don’t know, ignores them? Every day, like clockwork, it is the exact same issue, as if she hasn’t read anything at all. I think this is a ploy to get us all to lose our jobs, but Catherine thinks she just hates us all and wants to look good to the clients by making us all look bad— which is the same thing, just fancier.”
Verso nodded along, idly combing his fingers through Gustave’s hair. “If we eat her hands, she’ll really have an excuse to not be checking her emails,” he mused aloud, earning him a low snicker.
It was a nice thing, to be able to exist again.
He didn’t hear the front door open until it was too late.
Seemingly, without thinking, Gustave reached up to cup his cheek and help him keep his head down— to give him an excuse not to look at the person who’d walked through the door. As if protecting him, his friends huddled just a little closer, and there was no confrontation. They continued to talk, trading stories of their dogs until the gentle click down the hall solidified safety.
Verso let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Thank you.”
Gustave smiled up at him. “We’re here. We love you.”
I know. I know, I love you, too.
—
The first fourteen days after Julie’s departure, Verso continued his routine as if she was still there. Avoided the common space like his life depended on it, avoided going outside, deafening himself with music until he’d realised he really was alone. She hadn’t texted him if she’d safely arrived at her new destination, didn’t reach out to him to tell him much at all, and in turn he did not contact her. It took fourteen days for it to sink in that it was over. He’d given up on her and she knew it, and for whatever reason neither of them made the decision to cut the other off.
Fourteen days of silence, and Verso saw offhand, a post on social media.
Engaged.
A photo of Julie with another, happy, engaged.
A sort of bitterness and anger rose within him— not that she was engaged, no, but that she had stayed with Verso when someone else was more than capable of loving her, wanting to marry her. When he’d grown exhausted and afraid to even look her in the eye, she could have left. She could have been happy away from him and she stayed, she stayed, she stayed.
She used you. She had to have used you. You provided everything, free home, free food, free everything.
She was protecting herself, she was scared of moving in with him if she wasn’t sure he was safe.
Torn between anger and empathy, he all but slammed his phone onto the couch. Dread settled in, when he realised he knew the man Julie would marry. He knew how confrontational he could be, and Verso wanted none of it.
If they contacted him ever, if they chose to berate him for the past year, for not trying hard enough, for giving up, for hating her—
Verso’s fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to someone, to talk or cry or something.
How are they not tired of you? They must be. You did this to yourself. You should have known better.
I miss them.
Don’t say anything.
I want them here.
He said nothing, nothing, for fear of becoming the one his dearest loved ones would dread to be around, he said nothing. Over the next few days, they would check in on him, worried that he'd been absent longer than usual.
Gustave called and asked if he’d needed company, Verso cracked a half-hearted joke and cited exhaustion. Lune called and asked how he was feeling, he spoke in half-truths and said, “Hungry. Sleepy. I think I need a nap.” Sciel called and asked if he wanted to go out with them, he chuckled and said he’d needed to rest, having been unable to sleep the past few days.
Emma and Sol visited one day, holding Bones and Patte in their arms. They said nothing, did not ask, did not pry, just let Verso lie on the floor with the dogs for a couple of hours before they had to head out. Leaving behind food from Gustave and Lune before they departed.
They love you. Don’t be sorry for letting them love you.
He wouldn’t eat until later.
—
It was a difficult thing to write down everything that had happened. The words repeated to him over and over again, chipping away at his sanity and sense of self worth, his own thoughts and words and failings. Difficult, but so sorely needed.
Writing down the day he gave up on Julie. Writing the day he'd realised she only ever expressed an urge to harm herself when they had conflict.
Venting out his anger that she had gotten her hands on another of Alicia’s mugs and continued to use it even knowing what it meant to him.
He remembered they'd made eye contact when he saw her using the mug. And Julie smiled at him.
The paper nearly tore beneath the weight of his pen.
Did she know what she was doing? Did she do it on purpose? I hate her. I hate her I hate her I hate her. What gave her the right— she's tainted Alicia’s memory, I hate her I hate her
I wish I never met her, I wish she would just disappear.
The first day of therapy, he brought the papers into the office. Verso did not sit. He should have, but the stress kept him standing. He was handed a small bar of chocolate, and in turn he gave the therapist everything he wrote in preparation for day one.
She smiled at him, and promised she would read it carefully.
He watched her expression shift over every line, from careful neutrality to frustration, to concern, and he did not know what to think.
It took her twenty five minutes to finish reading what took him five days to write down. The next smile he received from her was a sad one. “You have lovely friends, Verso. I'm glad that you weren't alone. I'm sorry to hear about your sister.”
Something was wrong. At the mention of Alicia, there was emptiness where grief should have been.
Verso glued his eyes to the paper he gave to the therapist. “They’re good people. I love them. They are— they’re why I’m here.” Alive. Breathing, eating, existing.
Getting help, instead of worsening himself.
“You are part of that.” He shrugged. The therapist gestured for him to sit, offering palm sized bears with beady eyes and little bow ties. “We'll work on it together.”
Yes.
Work on it.
Verso tried to smile, and it was weak, but hope settled in him that he could be normal again.
—
He’d been enjoying himself, for once. After four weeks of trying to move on, to get over that creeping dread of loneliness, Verso mustered up enough energy to let himself step out of his apartment and face the outside world— not for work but to live.
The sky was clear, the people around him smiled and laughed, enjoying the company of the people they loved, the world moved on. It was as comforting as it was disheartening. It was a reminder, for better or for worse, that the world was too big to bend to the sorrows of one person— that all it could allow him was the air to breathe and the space to walk forward.
His newfound energy pulled him to the nearest bookstore, where chairs were set up for anyone to sit and read for as long as they'd liked. Alicia used to frequent such places, hiding in obscure corners with as many romance novels she could get her hands on. Good or bad, it was of no consequence. Verso hadn't— not since that night.
It's okay. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.
Heart heavy, he stepped into the building, naturally gravitating towards his little sister’s favourite genre. He'd been idling at one of the shelves, skimming the pages, revelling in a silly love story and silently judging a character’s poor choices when—
“You know this one is going to be bad. The cover has that generic art style to it.”
“I'd still like to take a look and see for myself.”
He froze.
I told you, Verso. These books are always the same.
The air turned frigid. His fingers trembled, and his heart sank.
I don't understand how you could enjoy something like this.
He turned his eyes to the next passage, but he couldn't read it.
Look, they're all exactly the same. Even the people have the same faces, same hairstyle and hair colour.
His lungs—
These are awful. Honestly, you're just wasting your time.
Breathe, breathe, breathe—
Mechanically, he put everything away. Walked out of the bookstore, with the strangers’ voices fading away, catching only the faintest, I told you so.
She was here. She was still here.
It was a pathetic thing. He'd found an empty spot somewhere, somewhere under the shade, somewhere in a park,
Somewhere,
Tears burned his eyes, his face, and he wept.
—
The last box unceremoniously dropped onto the floor of the new apartment, Verso looked around the space and felt something akin to regret. Deep down, he knew Julie wouldn’t waste her time coming back. Wherever she was now or wherever her future led her, Verso would not be part of her life. It was part of their silent agreement, when in the aftermath he’d gathered the courage to finally remove her from every part of his life. Photos they’d taken together, works of art they’d collaborated on, socials and numbers and emails— all of it gone. Untethered down to even his old phone games where they’d added one another as friends a lifetime ago, he’d ensured she could never contact him again.
She removed herself from group chats he’d forgotten about, and maybe it was irrational but a bitter feeling followed. That angry part of him that whispered little things of how easily discarded he was, but he knew better. He knew better. His behaviours in the end were clear enough that he’d given up on their relationship, too tired to keep trying only to be knocked over. Too tired of feeling as if he was the only one who wanted to try and being too afraid or hesitant to say something about it.
That ugly part of him whispered, If she dies it’s no concern of mine anymore. I hate her. I hate her. It was as freeing as it was terrifying, the thought that what had happened made him less human for it.
Not less human, his therapist had corrected before, Normal. It's normal to feel this way. What do your friends tell you, Verso?
He closed his eyes, breathing in the new air, imagining he was in the office again clutching a palm sized Esquie his friends made for him.
I sounded tired.
Verso turned to face the three of them, taking in the sight of his friends already pushing boxes into the corner, setting up a makeshift blanket on the floor. He remembered the night Alicia died, how they did the same thing, grabbed a gigantic bear from God knows where and used it as some makeshift seating.
Suddenly, Verso was back in his old apartment. Sitting in the blanket, Sciel holding him from behind, Gustave’s arms around his middle, Lune brushing his hair out of his face. Emma and Sophie were navigating his kitchen for something light to eat, water, because he hadn't eaten all day and his head was stuffed with cotton balls from all the crying he’d done.
Julie was holding his hand. Louise was drying his tears, even as they kept falling and falling and falling.
It doesn't feel real. Nothing feels real. When I wake up Maman and Papa will call me and tell me we're bringing her home. She's coming home, she's coming home, she's coming home.
He’d never heard his own voice the way it came out between sobbing. “I just want her to come home.”
Tears burned into his shoulder from where Sciel hid her face. “I know, Verso, I know. We're here.”
Nothing was real.
Nothing,
Come home, come home, please, come home.
A hand carded through his hair, pulled him into a tight embrace, and he was in his new apartment again. Verso blinked, vaguely recognising tears streaming down his face, and, “Come back to us, Verso.”
Nothing ever went away immediately, no matter how much he wanted it to, and god he wanted it to. It wouldn’t, maybe for a long time— if ever. And he was so busy being angry and tired of his situation with Julie he’d forgotten how to grieve.
Verso tried to smile, and it earned him worried frowns.
I used to be good at this.
“I’m sorry.”
Lune shook her head. “You're loved. That's not something to be sorry for. We're here, Verso. It's okay to let us love you.”
—
Visiting home was difficult, as it always was. The grief of their family ran deep, and Verso’s heart was shattered in the wake of his baby sister’s passing, but he knew it was different to what Renoir and Aline were going through.
If he was shattered, they were completely decimated. His maman and papa, both wading through the waters of their own sorrows, living through the waking nightmare that they outlived their youngest.
For all their petty differences, none of it seemed to matter anymore.
They welcomed him home every Friday with open arms, held him a little tighter, loved him a little more openly, and Verso understood.
It shouldn't have cost Alicia her life for us to learn to get along.
It was a regret he would never be able to move past. Alicia had always wanted— hoped that they could heal one day. She would be happy to see them now, learning to laugh among each other again. Learning to love each other— properly— again.
Aline cupped his cheek, examined him a little more closely, and Verso smiled at her. “You look tired,” she whispered, and his smile fell away.
Verso raised his hand to her wrist, fingers curling around it. “I am tired.”
He hadn't told them about Julie. He hadn't told them how close they'd gotten to grieving another. He couldn't do that to them. It was lonely, but for once he didn't doubt that they would have loved him all the same. That if he'd come to them sooner, confided in them as they once wanted him to, they would have comforted him, too.
Visits visited weekends, sometimes ending with him stealing Monoco away from them— because it was always a promise that he would return. And he liked the company of his beloved dog. Monoco huffed and puffed at him for his prolonged absences, yet somehow Verso managed to maintain his status as the dog’s favourite human being.
In his childhood bedroom, his worn Esquie plush sitting in the corner of his bed, Verso curled up on the floor with Monoco pressed against his side. Verso idly ran his fingers over Monoco’s fur, back up to his head to rub his thumb along the dip between his eyes. Monoco raised his head to rest onto Verso’s stomach, staring at him with such intense focus that he laughed.
“What thoughts do you have in your little head, I wonder…”
“He probably thinks that if he stares at you enough, you won't disappear.” Verso looked up to see Clea looking down at him with a wry smile. “How are you feeling?”
Verso waved his hand briefly before returning it to patting Monoco’s head. “Better,” he mumbled, “Settling.”
Clea nodded, then she sat beside him. “Your friend staying with you… she’s left, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He raised a brow. “Good?”
“Yes, good. Aline and Renoir tried not to ask, because they wanted to respect your need for space, but they worried about you when you suddenly started pulling away. I didn’t say anything, I know Aline would have marched right on over and thrown her out herself if she knew.” Verso smiled, and Clea lightly pinched his cheek for it. “I was worried about you, too.”
He shrugged. “It was my fault,” he said, “I should have known better.”
His sister raked her fingers through his hair. “The biggest thing you are guilty of is listening more to your heart than your head. Yes, you could have done it better, and yes of course you know that now. But let’s be absolutely clear: your wrongs pale in comparison to what she did to you.”
She was afraid. She needed safety. “I know.”
“Do you?” No. Verso mindlessly patted Monoco, choosing to say nothing, because Clea was also someone he could never lie to and it was foolish of him to try. “I don’t need you to know it immediately. This sort of thing takes time.”
“It wasn’t abuse, Clea. Julie couldn’t hurt me and we both knew it.”
“But she did, Verso. And you’re just continuing what she started by denying it.” Something to think about. Something to talk to his therapist about. He didn’t want to agree with it, but then Clea continued quietly, “If any one of us came to you… if you saw us breaking down at least once a month, feeling insane, rapidly losing weight because we were too afraid to interact with the cause of the insanity… tell me honestly, what would you do?”
Violent anger surged through him, and he knew Clea wasn’t really searching for an answer. She already had it.
—
The first day off that lined up with everyone else’s, they’d gone to get his new key replicated. As they piled into the car, Gustave slid into the passenger seat, and held out his hand to Verso with a small slip of paper. Tilting his head, Verso took the note and opened it.
There was a doodle of a little fish, a circle around its fin, and a question. Do you see the minnow fin? Underneath, another doodle of a medicine case. Yes. Acetaminophen.
It was stupid, and definitely something he’d seen online before, and in spite of himself Verso broke into a fit of giggles.
“You’re so stupid, Gustave.”
His friend grinned at him, all too easily. “Ah, but look at that! You’re smiling.” So he was. It felt good. He'd been doing it more lately, laughing more. Not every day, no, but more than before.
They went out to eat, and his appetite was rebuilding itself. Slowly.
In the afternoon sun, Verso raised his phone to get a photo. His friends huddled close and he took the picture without much care. It was a blurry thing, and of course they took another— a proper one, with beautiful smiles and warmth. He kept them both.
Verso went through every photo he'd taken of himself over the year, watched as he'd unknowingly documented his own smile fading and fading and fading, then slowly return after a certain day.
You look happy.
He faced the blue sky, taking in the openness of it. Breathing, listening to his friends joking with one another, basking in the warmth of the daylight and their presence.
I can be happy.
—
His phone vibrated, and Verso peered at the message on the lock screen. A new lockscreen, a picture of him with his friends underneath the shade of a tree, Sciel and Lune pressed shoulder to shoulder as Gustave poked his forehead in from the corner. It was imperfect. Gustave’s head was tilted too far back to capture anything more than a low perspective of his nose to forehead, Sciel’s head was in the middle of movement to turn to kiss Lune’s cheek, Lune’s hand had come up in a blur to stop her and Verso was halfway through blinking. It was maybe one of the most unflattering photos of him he’d ever taken, and it was wonderful.
VerVer Birthday (:
Gustave: Happy birthday 🎂 We will be there in 15. Bones got a little overexcited when I said Monoco and Patte’s names. He misses them.
Gustave: Also Emma is arriving separately with Sophie, so Maelle and I are going to be seeing you first.
Clea: [Photo] Monoco got a bath for your special day. We will be there soon. Aline and Renoir roped me into baking cake with them.
Lune: Stella says we can have Patte for the puppy play date.
Sciel: I am rapidly approaching your location, your door Will be collateral damage if you do not open it within the next three minutes
Sciel: ❤️
Verso smiled, reading and rereading the messages over and over again.
Verso: Thank you. I love you all so much.
The chat filled with various sappy messages, crying faces, and dog photos, until his loved ones piled into his apartment with little gifts, warm wishes and affection.
Love. He loves them. They loved him.
He could be happy.