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Verso slammed his hands hard against the keys. A discordant sound echoed through the manor before a silence fell. Despite the slight satisfaction of venting his frustration, he instantly regretted it. His mother had taught him to treat his things with more respect than that.
His hands trembled as his fingers gripped the piano bench, stopping himself from touching the instrument again. After an hour of practice he had seen no improvement in his ability to play. The piece was not too difficult, yet he had stumbled at the same part over and over.
It wasn't long after his outburst that there was a knock on his door. He didn't speak or move to acknowledge it. Whoever it was would just let themself in regardless.
He heard the rattle of the door handle, footsteps getting closer. They were softer than Papa's heavy feet, but louder than the featherlight touch of Clea, who walked with graceful silence. How he hated her ability to sneak up on him unexpectedly.
That left only Maman.
He wasn't sure what to expect from her recently. Since Alicia's birth, her mood wavered from day to day. She looked happy earlier in the day, but it was late into the afternoon, and Verso noticed how his mother's weariness tended to grow as each hour passed.
"Verso," she spoke softly, "you shouldn't do that."
"I know, Maman. I'm sorry." Verso hung his head.
She stepped closer, stopping behind her young son, and ran her hands gently through his hair. Her soothing touch released the tension in his arms, and he loosened his grip on the bench.
Letting out a deep breath, he allowed himself to relax, leaning backwards until the back of his head pressed against his mother's belly. It was smaller now that she no longer carried his baby sister, but also softer.
"You should take a step back when you're struggling. Think on the basics, focus on the fundamentals. If you don't know how to paint something, start by drawing the shapes."
"This isn't a painting," Verso sighed.
"The concept is the same," she replied. "I could hear you, playing the whole melody, stopping and restarting when you got to the tricky part."
"So what should I do?"
"Did I ever tell you how terrible your Papa was at painting portraits when I first met him?"
Verso held back from letting out another sigh. Not only was she changing the topic, but was talking about painting again.
He nodded, recalling his mother's words. "You said they didn't look human."
"Did I really say that?" Aline chuckled. "I suppose I was quite critical of Renoir's art back then. But I taught him, not how to paint an entire face at once, but each part that makes up the face. Eyes, nose, mouth, but also the cheeks and jaw. Understanding each piece separately, and putting the whole image together are two different steps required for creating the final work of art."
Verso finally understood her meaning.
"So I should practice only the part I'm having trouble with?"
"When you get the hang of it, try playing the whole piece again."
"Thank you, Maman." Verso tilted his head back to smile up at her.
She pinched his cheek gently, smiling at him in return. "Good practice makes for perfection, but poor practice only leads to bad habits."
He took her words to heart. Determined to try again, he sat upright and reached for the keys. Inches from the ivory, Aline took him by the arm.
"Maybe take a break from the piano for now," she said. "We've only just got Alicia to settle. Perhaps you could do something a little quieter, like painting."
Verso didn't dislike painting. It was fun, playing with Clea in his canvas, flying around on Esquie. Yet his mother's insistence that he paints made it suddenly seem a lot less appealing.
"But I want to play the piano," he whined, letting his arms slump to his sides.
“Verso, hobbies are fine, but painting is your real gift. That’s where your focus should be.”
“But piano isn’t just a hobby,” Verso protested. “I’m getting better at it.”
“And I’m proud of you for that,” Aline said patiently, “but painting is different for us, you know that."
There was nothing he could say to change her stance. While she had been the one to teach him to play the piano, painting would always remain her top priority.
"Yes, Maman," he said, defeated.
She bent down to plant a kiss on the top of his head. "There's my good boy."
Even after she left the room, Verso remained seated in front of the piano. His fingers grazed the keys, but he dared not press them. Not trusting his self-restraint for much longer, he stepped away from the piano and sat on the floor in the corner of the room, where his train set had been left in a messy scatter of tracks and carriages.
He played with them for a while, connecting the tracks, selecting which engine had the honour of transporting the tiny people he imagined to be inside the carriages. Turning the corner with a little too much force, the end carriage toppled on its side. Verso pictured the horror and devastation of the scene inside the carriage.
He was the one driving the train. It was his fault. Just another thing he had failed at that day. The train came to a stop, and not a single passenger reached their destination.
Glancing at the canvas across the room, he told himself he wouldn't paint today, even if just to spite his mother who refused to reason with him. However, the trains failed to improve his mood, and hugging his small plush of Esquie was never quite the same as hugging the gentle giant in his canvas.
He pulled himself to his feet and made his way over to the canvas. He wouldn't paint, he'd just get a much needed hug, then turn in for the night.
Esquie flew to him immediately upon arrival.
"Verso, mon ami," Esquie called out. "It's good to see you."
He landed in front of Verso, and looked down at the boy. "Oh, you look sad."
"Yeah, I've had a bad day."
"Do you want a hug?"
Verso nodded and let himself fall forward into Esquie's large, soft belly. Giant hands wrapped around him, holding him close. His eyes fluttered shut as he relaxed. He was tired, and Esquie made for an excellent pillow.
"Do you want to nap together?" The oversized pillow asked.
"Knowing you, you've already been napping all day."
"I'm a napping expert, Ver-ver." Esquie spoke proudly. "I can nap again and again."
"Then, yeah, a nap would be nice."
Esquie held Verso a little tighter, keeping him pressed against him as he toppled backwards. With Esquie lying on his back, Verso was lying on his front on the centre of the giant's body. Like this, Esquie was more like an entire bed than just a pillow.
Nuzzling his face into the plush fabric of his friend's body, Verso felt warm and safe with Esquie's hands over him. Sleep found him easily.
He didn't know how long he had napped, but woke up feeling refreshed. With renewed energy, he didn't feel like leaving the canvas right away. And so, he instructed Esquie to fly him to his own secret lair inside the canvas, his colourful land of candy and balloons. A place where every day felt like a birthday party.
During the flight, he wondered if Alicia would like to play in his canvas when she became old enough. He wouldn't mind sharing his world with his second sister. Perhaps she could create her own friend, just as Verso had Esquie, and Clea had François.
Maman would probably start teaching her to paint from the moment she's able to hold a paintbrush. It would be forced on her just as it was for her siblings, though Clea never seemed to mind.
Verso hoped she'd enjoy it, that it would bring her so much joy she'd wish for nothing else, because painting was all their parents would allow anyway.
When they entered his private painted corner of the canvas, he ran through fields of lollipop flowers, and past the pools, until he reached his treehouse.
He wasn't sure why he'd painted the interior to be the same, boring, black and gold walls of the manor, not when this was where he came to escape. He had already drawn over one of the walls. A scribbled image of himself and his dog, Monoco, playing on a sunny day.
Maybe when the mood to paint finds him again, he would cover the rest of the walls, and even the floor, with other happy images. Alicia in her crib, Clea painting, Papa taking him on adventures until the sun set, and Maman, listening to him play the piano with a smile on her face.
He walked out onto the treetop balcony where his piano waited. Balloons drifted endlessly in the distance, filling the sky with an array of colours. If he couldn't practice at home, at least he could make as much noise as he pleased inside his canvas.
Stepping closer to the piano, he realised he didn't remember the notes. Lacking his sheet music, he could only play so much, and certainly couldn't practice that one part he struggled with.
That defeated feeling from earlier returned.
He never knew what to do with his negative emotions. Ignoring them never seemed to help, and finding distraction in the things he loved was only ever a temporary fix.
Papa had told him that art could be used to express emotions. Well, really, he said something about mirrors and windows, but Verso somewhat understood what he meant.
He had always painted joy, spread it across his canvas in abundance, but sadness remained trapped inside him. He needed somewhere else to put it, somewhere it couldn't follow him like a shadow.
Taking one of his flying trains to the top of his haven, he made his way to the giant Esquie mask that overlooked the land like a sun. If he was going to put his negativity anywhere, he would conceal it inside his symbol of joy. That way, his despair had a home, but would remain hidden, somewhere the image of Esquie could shield him from it.
He painted a new domain inside the giant face, and dubbed it the "root of all evil". It had similarities to Esquie's nest, but the lanterns didn't shine brightly for him. Instead they lay shattered on the ground. Spikes protruded from the sides of the pool, and even the water was ominously dark.
Reaching the pool at the top, fire spewed from the surrounding statues. He had one more thing to paint into his pit of despair.
If Esquie was a vessel for all things good, then Osquio would be his counterpart, his evil cousin, an expression of all the negativity he had bottled up inside.
Blue spikes came into view as Osquio emerged from the pool. His purple body rose from the water, and he stood, large and intimidating in front of the young boy.
He didn't look friendly at all, but that was exactly what Verso had intended. His eyes angled in a way that made him appear constantly angry. He looked to be the type of being that would eat all the cake before anyone could get a chance to take a bite.
Esquie appeared unperturbed, offering his new cousin a friendly wave.
"Have you come to challenge me?" The menacing giant boomed.
Verso hadn't thought that far ahead. Defeating the embodiment of his sadness and pain, it certainly was an appealing prospect.
He summoned a sword using chroma and pointed at his new creation. His companion took up a fighting stance beside him.
"I do challenge you!" He bravely declared.
"You little baby," Osquio roared. "You think you can defeat me?"
Verso lunged forward, but his blade never reached the villain. Osquio's large hands swatted him away before he could get close. They weren't soft and comforting like Esquie's. A hug from Esquie could soothe his pain, but the only hugs Osquio could offer were the kind that would crush his bones.
Fallen on the ground, his sword knocked from his hands, Verso trembled. His legs refused to stand.
Then Osquio spoke once more in that thunderous voice.
"You will never be a good musician."
Verso could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His breathing ragged. Panic setting in.
"You have no choice but to paint."
Tears welled in his eyes as he struggled to breathe.
His own creation struck a fear in him that not even Clea's devious creatures could achieve.
"Esquie!" He called out, his voice cracking. "Take me out of here."
The friendly giant immediately turned his attention to the child, sweeping him up in his arms and flying him out of the evil domain.
The light hit him hard when they returned to the joyful land. Everything was suddenly too bright. Verso buried his tear-stained face against Esquie to block out the world.
He sniffled through uneven breaths as tears continued to pour. There was no doubt he was getting snot all over his friend, but Esquie didn't seem to mind. Esquie's arms wrapped around him, providing the comfort he needed.
"Don't be sad, Ver-ver," Esquie crooned. "We'll take down that big bully next time."
Verso nodded to agree, though truly he wasn't sure he had the courage to face that beast again. When the crying stopped, Verso pulled out of the hug.
"Thank you, Esquie." He tried to smile, but his lips still trembled slightly, making it impossible for him to control his expression. "I think I'll head home now."
"Bye-bye, Verso." Esquie waved at him. "I'll be here if you need another hug."
Verso nodded, forced a smile, and pulled himself from the painted world.
He collapsed to his knees on the hard floor of his room, and rubbed his chroma-ridden eyes until they returned to normal. Still shaken by Osquio's words, he remained on the ground.
Painting was something he could never escape, it was foolish to think his canvas would be where he could find freedom. If he truly wanted to break free of the fate his parents had chosen for him, he would need to leave, go somewhere where nobody would force him to paint. Somewhere he could play piano all day, and if he ever picked up a paintbrush again, it would be only because he wanted to.
He waited until night, when he was certain everyone was asleep. The sky was dark and the manor was silent. With the quietest steps he could manage, he made his way to the front door and put on his shoes and coat. Glancing over his shoulder, he half expected to be caught. He pictured Clea standing at the top of the stairs, telling him to stop being foolish and go to bed.
Shaking the image from his mind, he opened the door slowly, and slipped outside, closing the door with equal carefulness. The air outside was uncomfortably cold. He shoved his hands in his pockets and began to walk.
He had no real destination in mind, he just wanted to get away. The streets were eerily quiet. The darkness was unsettling. Following the path ahead, he remained in the light of the streetlamps.
It wasn't long before his legs grew tired. A nearby bench provided him a place to rest for a while. There he sat, unsure just how much further his legs could take him.
He hadn't seen anyone thus far, it was like the whole city was sleeping. Then a figure came into view in the distance, headed his way. He looked away, hoping they wouldn't pay attention to him if he didn't acknowledge their presence.
It wouldn't have surprised him if the person stopped and questioned what he was doing out so late, but he didn't expect them to take a seat right beside him.
Verso turned his head to look at the stranger, an older boy with short brown curls. He was bundled up in a worn brown coat, and a bright red scarf. But what caught Verso's attention was the left sleeve of his coat. It was pinned up in a way that made it obvious there was no arm to fill the lower half. He didn't mean to stare, but he had never seen someone with a missing limb before.
"Kids shouldn't be out on their own, especially late at night," the boy spoke, apparently unbothered by Verso's staring.
"You're out on your own," Verso retorted, looking up at the stranger's face.
The stranger let out a small chuckle. "I am, but I'm older than you," he said with a crooked smile.
"How old?" Verso questioned.
"Sixteen, practically a grown-up." He sat up straight, as if trying to appear a little bigger. "And how old are you?" The teen asked in return.
Verso looked away with a pout before giving his reply. "Ten."
"You should go home to your parents."
He knew this so-called 'grown-up' would say that. He also knew he should go home, but he didn't want to.
"Parents are stupid," Verso huffed, furrowing his brow.
The boy didn't respond right away. Verso turned to look at him only to see a pained expression on the stranger's face, but Verso didn't understand it, and didn't question it.
"You'd miss them, if you never got to see them again," he spoke with a solemn tone.
He was right. He'd miss Clea and Alicia too. He hadn't even said goodbye, but only because he wasn't really going to run away. He knew he'd only get so far before turning back, returning to the life his parents had carefully planned. The excursion was more a way to satisfy an urge, getting away for a few hours, pretending he was free.
Perhaps his parents would notice he was missing if Alicia were to wake them in the night with her crying, as she had done all week. He wondered if they would be angry at him, or if his little act of defiance would open their eyes to how he truly felt.
Nonetheless, by morning he would be back in his bed, cozy and warm, and out of the midnight chill that prickled at his skin.
Verso was pulled from his thoughts as he felt something soft and warm touch his neck. The stranger had tugged off his scarf, and was gently wrapping it around Verso's neck where his coat didn't quite cover him.
He looked up at the older boy, puzzled by his kind act.
"You were shivering a little," he said, as if he were simply providing a solution to a problem presented to him.
"Thank you," Verso replied, not one to forget his manners.
The warmth was comforting, like a reassuring hug. He pulled the scarf a little more snug, not that the teen had done a bad job with the use of only one hand. The length of the scarf hung down Verso's front, like Esquie's banner.
"No gloves either?" He asked, watching Verso's hands finish adjusting the scarf, then returning to his pockets. "You didn't come prepared at all."
"I'm still not going home," Verso declared. Not yet anyway.
"What are you running from?" The kind stranger asked.
Verso took a moment to consider his reply before speaking.
"So, there's this evil villain," Verso began. "He's called Osquio."
The older boy looked at him curiously, but didn't interrupt as Verso continued.
"He says things I don't want to hear."
"What does he say?"
"He tells me I'll never achieve my dreams." You will never be a good musician. The words repeated in his head.
"What do you dream of?"
"Music."
"That's a good dream," the stranger smiled.
Verso only frowned. "But my parents say I was born to paint, so I can't..."
"I was born with one arm." The teenager gestured to the pinned up sleeve. "People have always told me I will never achieve anything, but it's not up to them to decide what I can and can't do."
"And what do you want to do?" Verso curiously asked.
"Me? I want to invent things," he spoke with joy and enthusiasm. "Practical things that can help people. Maybe even build myself a working arm, so I can use two hands like everyone else."
"You can do that?" His eye opened wide in amazement at the concept.
If this world were a canvas, perhaps he could paint him one, but this was reality. It would be an impressive feat to create something functional, something real.
"I don't see why not." His voice resounded with confidence. "But I can't just dream it, I have to chase after it." His tone softened. "Is this Osquio stopping you from chasing your dreams?"
Verso nodded. "I couldn't defeat him. He's really big, and scary." A deep sigh escaped his lips, his breath turning visible in the cold air. "It would take some sort of... warrior of legend to take him down."
"So you're running away?" The boy questioned.
Verso shook his head this time. Trying to outrun his pain only brought him more sadness. His happiness came from music, but his happiness also came from family. It wasn't possible to escape his shadow, but as long as he faced the light, he could at least keep it behind him.
"I can't actually run away. I promised my baby sister I would protect her. I can't do that if I'm not by her side."
"Now that sounds like a job for a brave warrior."
"Do you think I could be brave?"
He needed to be, to protect Alicia. By the time she reached his age, he would be an adult. He could have his own house, and if Maman and Papa made Alicia paint when she didn't want to, he would let her live with him, giving her space to enjoy the things she loves.
"I do," the stranger playfully ruffled Verso's hair. "Now, would this brave warrior like to be escorted home?"
Verso nodded and stood from the bench. The teenager followed suit, and Verso pulled his left hand from his coat pocket to reach for the older boy's hand.
They walked at a slow pace, hand in hand, with Verso pulling him along, leading the way, since the teen didn’t know where he lived.
"Why were you outside on your own?" Verso asked.
They walked a few more paces before an answer was given.
"My sister and I are moving tomorrow." There was sadness in his voice, like he didn't want to leave, but not being an actual 'grown-up' meant he didn't have a choice in the matter. "I wanted one last look at the city before I have to go."
"Oh, so I won't get to see you again?"
"Did you want to?" He asked with a surprised tone.
"Yeah, you're nice," Verso said with more energy than a child past his bedtime ought to have. "I was going to ask if you wanted to hear me play piano. I'm getting good at it."
"How about this? When you achieve your dream, I'll come to your first concert."
Not 'if', but 'when'. In the brief time they’d known each other, this stranger already carried more belief in him than he had in himself.
"Will you really?"
"I promise."
Verso believed it.
They eventually reached the Dessendre manor, and Verso, now feeling his exhaustion seeping in, released his grip on the older boy's hand. There was no light coming from the building, everyone must have remained asleep the whole time he was gone.
"This is your home?" He asked, eyes flicking over the size of the building, a mix of surprise and awe in his expression.
"Yes," Verso replied, reaching to tug the scarf from his neck.
A gentle hand caught his wrist, stopping him.
"You can keep it."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Thank you," Verso said softly. "For walking me home, too."
"You're welcome." He ruffled his hair once more. "Go on, get inside and warm up."
Verso stepped towards the manor, turning around to wave goodbye to the boy. He waved back. Upon reaching the door, he paused, and took a deep breath, bracing himself to open it carefully, to avoid waking his family.
When he turned around once more, the one-armed teen was no longer there. Too late, he realised that he had never asked his name, or given his own.
He managed to slip back into his room unnoticed. After shedding his coat and tucking the scarf into a drawer, he crawled into bed, his legs aching, and let sleep claim him.
The following day, he was feeling better. There was at least one person in the world who believed in him, who had confidence he could achieve his dreams.
He practiced the piano again, taking his time with the part he was struggling with until he understood it. Mistakes were made, but he didn't let it discourage him. Eventually, for the first time, he successfully played the entire piece without fault.
Brimming with confidence and renewed courage, he decided to be brave. Donning the red scarf, he borrowed strength from the stranger, and entered his canvas once more.
Inside, he found himself by that giant Esquie mask that beamed over his land. The wind blew the length of the scarf over his shoulder. It flowed behind him like a cape.
With Esquie by his side, he entered the root of all evil to face Osquio again.
He strode up the steps with confidence, stopping at the top and staring at the centre of the pool where the fiend was resting under the water. He summoned a sword.
"I am the Warrior of Legend!" Verso declared. "I am here to challenge the dastardly Osquio, most villainous of all villains."
The ground shook violently, but Verso stood firm.
"Oooooooh," Osquio boomed as he emerged from the water. "Back to challenge me again?"
"I'm going to defeat you."
Verso leapt towards the villain with Esquie howling with joy at his side. The duo did their best to get some hits in while also avoiding Osquio's attacks.
This time, when the villain knocked him down, he stood back up, pointing his blade at the giant once more.
"Time to end this." He prepared to attack again.
Osquio, standing menacingly before him, repeated exactly what he had said the last time.
"You will never be a good musician. You have no choice but to paint."
Verso clutched the red scarf tight in his fist. He could do this. He could be brave, he could believe in himself, shape his own future. His negative thoughts wouldn't be allowed to hold power over him any longer.
Hopping on top of Esquie, they flew in closer, a trail of red flowing behind him.
He pointed his sword once again as they swooped in, attacking Osquio in the face with the blade, while Esquie landed a punch of his own, causing Osquio to cry out in pain. Their combined attacks were enough to take him down.
"Aaaagh, foiled!" The villain groaned, sinking back into the pool. "But I'll catch you next time."
Verso understood this victory would only be the first of many. Life would continue to throw challenges in his way, but he was done running away. Whenever Osquio arose, he would don the red scarf, and with Esquie at his side, take the villain down, again and again.
Sixteen years passed.
Verso couldn't believe it, even when staring at his name on the poster promoting the event. For the first time ever, he would be playing at the opera house.
It didn't seem real, like the world was another painted creation in which he could live out his desires. But he had stopped painting fantasies years ago, and this was reality.
Years of hard work led to this. It was worth his fingers aching from practicing for hours. It was worth the arguments with his parents when he decided to give up painting for good to focus on his career as a musician.
Whenever he had a moment of doubt, he would reach for the red fabric that brought him comfort. The colour had faded over the years, the edges frayed, but he had sewn them to prevent the damage from spreading.
On the day of the concert, sitting backstage, eagerly anticipating his first professional performance, he ran his fingers against the worn fabric. Wearing it on stage was a tempting idea, though the tattered material would clash terribly with his elegant black suit.
He supposed he didn't really need it anymore. He had confidence in his abilities, and courage to pursue the life he wanted. Still, he kept it close, like a good luck charm, and wondered if its original owner remembered his promise from all that time ago.
He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, like a metronome set far too fast. Lost in the performance, he hadn’t noticed its frantic rhythm until the concert came to a close and the music gave way to the audience's resounding applause.
The gathering after the performance drew a stream of people eager to greet him, congratulate him, and offer him opportunities to perform around the country. Though it was a great chance to make connections, the greetings and praise all blurred together.
"An outstanding performance, Monsieur Dessendre."
"I look forward to hearing you play again."
"Magnificent."
"Spectacular."
"Incredible."
He thought he would enjoy being showered with kind words, and he did not doubt their sincerity, but the repetition was getting a little tiring.
Another stranger approached him. A man with brown curls, neatly trimmed facial hair, sporting a blue suit. He wore a fond smile that felt more gentle than the pleased grins of businessmen just looking for another act for their shows.
The man reached out his hand and Verso instinctively shook it, just as he did for everyone else who had come over to greet him. But unlike every other hand he shook that day, this one was cold and hard.
"The warrior of legend finally achieved his dream."
Verso gasped in surprise, frozen on the spot. He glanced down at the hand, metal fingers curled around his flesh. That was enough to confirm it must be him, the kind, one-armed, boy from all those years ago. They both released their grip and locked eyes.
"You came." A small, incredulous smile tugged at his lips.
"I promised I would," the man said with a steady voice.
"You didn't even know my name."
"It wasn't hard to figure out who you were when you led me to the home of the Dessendre family."
Their pompous manor did stand out in that city, of course everyone knew it belonged to the family of renowned painters.
"I never knew your name."
"Gustave."
"I couldn't have made it this far without you, Gustave."
"I didn't do anything." He spoke modestly, not realising how much of an impact that single night had on Verso. "It was your own hard work that got you here."
"You believed in me," Verso said softly, "that was enough."
Verso's gaze fell back to his left arm. It felt unfair that the mechanical arm was concealed. Gustave had gotten to hear a full performance of Verso's skill at the piano, yet he only received a glimpse of Gustave's own achievements.
"I see you built yourself an arm. Looks like you've been working hard all these years, too."
"I had a lot of help from my apprentices," Gustave admitted with a small shrug. "It's not the easiest putting things together with only one hand."
"I can imagine." Verso nodded. "Apprentices? Sounds like you're doing well."
Someone let out a bellowing laugh from across the room, and Verso realised just how suffocatingly loud and crowded it was. At any moment, someone else could approach him for a chat, pull him away from the only person in the room he wanted to speak with.
His eyes scanned the room. Faces, names, offers. None of them seemed to matter at this moment. His sight landed on the exit.
"Want to get out of here?" Verso asked.
"Sneaking out again, are you?" Gustave raised an eyebrow.
"Only if I can spend the night talking with you again," he replied. "Preferably not on a cold bench this time though."
"Agreed, I didn't bring a scarf this time."
“I still have it,” Verso said, his voice low, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “The red scarf you gave me… I’ve kept it all these years."
Gustave's eyes widened. "Wow, you only spent an hour with me, yet you've obsessed over me for over a decade."
Verso felt his cheeks heat. He wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or something else. He couldn't deny he had thought of Gustave over the years, he had been the first person to believe in his dream after all. If Gustave hadn't moved away, he was sure they would have become friends. Instead, he had chased his dream alone, wondering if the kind stranger he had met was having success with his own.
"I'm only teasing you," Gustave chuckled. "Shall we get going?"
"Yes," Verso quickly replied, eager to avoid anyone else from stopping him, hopeful that the cold air would cool his heated face. "You can tell me what you've been up to all these years."
They made their way towards the exit.
"It's not nearly as interesting as you might think."
"Even so, I'd like to hear about it."
The cool night air hit his face, sharp and grounding. He exhaled, feeling his body relax as the noise of the opera house faded behind them.
They were two men who had achieved their dreams, but somehow, that felt like the beginning, not the end.