Chapter Text
The story you are about to read, dear reader, is one of many Christmases ; past, present and future – and the story of two determined best friends and their woes in love.
For, you see, for as much as our two protagonists (the lovely Lune and the amiable Gustave) tried, they were never truly lucky when it came to love, and could only find comfort in knowing they were not alone in their misery.
But fear not, dear reader; for I know from a trusted source that this year, unlike what they both could have foreseen, everything was about to change: and for good, this time.
For what would a Christmas tale be without a little bit of magic?
All you need is a lovely prince and princess, and two wonderful and beautiful knights in shining armor, who even though they take some time – too long! – to realise their feelings, eventually come around to sweep our prince and princess off their feet.
…But I must not reveal the whole story yet. Some things are better enjoyed in due time after all.
Where was I, again? Ah, yes.
Our tale begins in a little unassuming café – more of a hole in the wall, really – in a small cobbled street in the city of Paris, on the twenty-fourth of December. The weather was rather cold outside, with snowflakes slowly falling down, and the air was heavy with the collective impatience and eagerness of the coming festivities…
***
Lune sat by the booth closest to the window of their favourite café, paying more attention to the occasional car passing by the foggy window than to what Gustave was saying. Her coffee cup was long since empty, but she busied her hands by playing with it, and taking a drink out of it when the tension got too much.
She sighed, brushing a long black strand of hair out of her scarf, sitting up straighter against the old leather.
“I don't know what you want me to say.” She averted her gaze, looking at the imitation red brick wall, the magazines on the overflowing wooden shelf next to them. An annoying festive tune was playing on the radio, drowning out the sounds of the other regulars of the café.
Gustave slammed his latte down, with a bit too much strength. Scalding hot coffee fell on his hand, and she thought it lucky that it was his metal prosthesis.
“You're only hurting yourself, Lune,” her friend said in a judgmental yet devastatingly soft voice. “It was one thing to celebrate with them last year, but again? You pretend that you're so strong, but I know how much it hurts y-”
“Don't,” she cut him as she crossed her arms over her empty cup. “You couldn't possibly know.”
“Last year was a disaster. As was the year before.”
She glared at him. Gustave returned it fearlessly.
“Sciel's my friend,” she said. “And I love Célestine. If anything, their absence hurts me more.”
“Lune… two things can be true at once.”
“Well, I've already decided. And I talked with Sciel. We planned out gifts for her, and something nice for Célestine's second Christmas. And I wouldn't miss it for the world.”
Gustave wrapped both hands around his mug, the sleeves of his jumper falling over his hands. He bent his head and his round glasses fell down slightly along the bridge of his straight nose.
“This is not a good idea.”
Lune was growing angry with him. For his disgusting lack of faith and for, a tiny voice whispering within her, how absolutely correct he was.
But by this point she wore anger like a second skin, even more familiar than her own.
“As if you're one to talk, you hypocrite.”
Gustave frowned. “What did you say?” He politely – and coldly – asked.
“I said,” she bent forward to look at him face to face, forcing his dark green eyes on her own, “that you're one to talk, you fucking hypocrite. You just get rejected by your so-called soulmates, then come gravelling at their feet. How many have refused to talk to you in the past year alone, now? I mean, I expected Sophie to go no contact, that was a given. But you seemed so sure about V-”
“Fuck you, Lune,” Gustave bit out harshly. “Fuck you. I'm only looking out for you. You're in a worse situation than mine.”
She scoffed. “And you think I don't know that? But it's not like I can get away. She's- she's-”
“You've been hanging around, always on the periphery of her life but never fully integrated. Forcing yourself into her private life, her family, trying to fill a space that was never asked to be filled.” He breathed out deeply, fiddling with his glasses. “Look, Lune, I liked Pierre too. And Sciel is my friend. But you need to know when to stop, if not for your sake then for theirs.”
Lune stared into the empty contents of her cup.
“You don't know anything,” she denied.
“Well,” he retorted, “then neither do you about my own relationships. And yet here we are.”
“...”
“...”
Lune sighed and hit her head against the back of the booth, all fight having left her body. “Say, Gustave. Wanna get back to my apartment and get drunk?”
Gustave made no attempt to finish his drink and immediately stood up and pulled on his winter jacket.
“Oh yes, thank God,” he mumbled around his scarf from where he was nearly strangling himself in his haste. “I was waiting for you to suggest it.”
“I only have cheap beer, though.”
“Lune,” Gustave said gravely. “You are my very best friend.”
She rolled her eyes but smirked.
Before long, our two companions found themselves sat on the floor, back resting against Lune's beaten up black leather couch. They were both looking out at the slow falling tendrils of snow outside and the bright artificial lights of the decorations on the buildings outside. They had not even needed to turn the lamps on.
They were nursing some more of the disgusting cheap beers Lune had promised – the taste was awful, but they got you drunk fast – and had somehow ended up in matching reindeer pajamas. Though it got slightly mixed up and Gustave was the one wearing the shorts and Lune the long-sleeved pants. She snorted inwardly; he was in the middle of such a passionate boozed-motivated rant that he had not even noticed.
Well, she was not about to be the one telling him. Plus the bastard always talked so vainly about his ass… it only served him right.
Lune interrupted Gustave before he could finish his next sentence.
“Wait,” she said with confusion, genuinely trying to understand. Her messy ponytail swished with the tilt of her head. “So, let me get this straight: he invited you over for Christmas, despite it all? That same Christmas dinner where only his family will be present? Oh my God. You're so fucking screwed, dude.”
Gustave groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose and yet juggling his beer with surprising grace for someone currently with only one arm.
Lune looked around and noticed his left arm currently charging next to their phones on the floor.
“When- when did you remove your arm?”
Gustave dragged his good hand down his face. “Can we focus back on my relationship problems so you can give me advice?”
“I don't think I can give much advice,” and she hiccuped around her next gulp.
“That… that's surprisingly humble of you.”
“I'm always humble.”
“No you're not. But then, I'm not either. We're like a terrific catty gay duo.”
“I bet you'd like to be a terrific catty gay duo with someone else, though.”
Gustave took a big swig of his beer. “Urgh,” he complained over both the taste and her sentence, “you think I don't know that?”
“Why'd he invite you over, though. I mean, no offense-”
“-Full offense taken-”
“-but he hasn't even looked your way in weeks. Or like, not how you want. And from what you've told me, he pretty much pretends your feelings don't exist when you talk.”
Gustave frowned. “Okay, first of all, you're right but ouch, and second of all I'll have you know that technically, Maelle was the one who invited me.”
“...That's barely better. That means you're still going and that Verso still won't properly talk to you.”
He hitched his knees up to rest his arm on them, ducking his head not long after. Soft brown curls fell in a depressing manner over the Rudolf-adorned long sleeves.
“I… I know,” he said in a small voice. But I couldn't refuse.”
“I could have asked Sciel to bring you as a plus one.”
“Well, she has a baby, and you know how I am with babies.”
By that he meant that he got the most tragically intense baby fever known to Mankind.
“And,” he continued, “I don't really fancy third-wheeling the whole night.”
“Gustave-!”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, not really third-wheeling, blah blah blah. My point still stands, though. And…” A small smile, as fragile as the frost, appeared on his face. “They're a big family, in a big house, and they actually love each other. It's like all the Christmases I've never experienced. That I- that I haven't had, for years. You know, Maelle, I don't really know how, maybe through Alicia. She learnt about my parents… and… how it's been years-”
Lune rested her head on his shoulder, rubbing his arm and the bare skin of his knee.
“Yeah. I know. You don't need to tell me again.”
“Thank you.” He paused, staring at the patterns on the wooden floor.
She could feel that there was a question he wanted to ask her. Maybe a distraction, maybe genuine curiosity.
Before she could ask him to get it over with, she heard him say under his breath;
“You're celebrating with the girls again, huh. No changes to your plans.”
She closed her eyes. “No, no. No changes to my plans. I'll stick to what I've announced weeks ago. Even if I wanted to, last minute changes have never been my style.”
“It really would be for the best if you had a last minute change of heart, though. Lune,” he said with a great deal of exasperation, particularly insisting on her first name. “I can see how much this is hurting you.”
“They're my family, Gustave. I don't care if Sciel, if she'll never…” Her voice broke at the end of her sentence. She was much quieter when she continued, strands of black hair falling over her face in a veil. “If she'll never love me back. I have her, and Célestine. I was friends with Pierre, once.”
She rubbed one hand over her eyes and she tried very hard to pretend it was not to rub away tears.
“Taking care of them is the least I can do,” she whispered in a very small voice. “For them both and for his memory.”
Gustave's voice was not accusatory as he set an understanding gaze on her face. “For your sake, rather,” he added simply.
She felt ire grow within her. A part of her knew it was misguided but she was so tired.
She swung her now empty beer until it hit Gustave in the chest. Her friend did not react.
“You're not going to the Dessendres for Maelle, or Alicia, and we both know it,” she hissed. “So kindly, cut your bullshit and your noble talk of wanting me to preserve my heart. Because you're the last person I should take this advice from.” She bit her lip. “Fuck, you idiot. I care about you too. I don't like seeing you hurting either.”
Gustave laughed, a sad little thing that was barely more than a wheeze. He downed the rest of his beer before settling the bottle down and put his right arm fully around Lune's shoulder.
They could not see the stars with all the Christmas decorations. The blinking and fading street signs attached to the streetlights served as their back-up.
“We're a pair of idiots, aren't we?” Gustave murmured.
She hummed, neither confirming nor denying.
“Look at us,” he continued. “Two lovestruck fools on Christmas Eve, pining after our straight best friends.”
Perhaps the alcohol and the intimate atmosphere of the night made her more honest.
“I like to think of you as my best friend. It makes it… it makes it all seem slightly less miserable.”
She tucked her head into his shoulder while his hand gently pinched the top of her arm.
“Yeah,” he said calmly. She could not decipher his tone. “Yeah, I guess you're right.”
Her old television made a crinkling noise. She could faintly hear her neighbours celebrating some floors below. The clock had not even struck twelve yet but she knew they would miss it.
“Merry Christmas, Gustave,” she said, surprising him.
He pressed a kiss to her hair and sighed.
“Merry Christmas, Lune.”
***
Dear reader, you would be most pleased to learn that the true miracle of this particular Christmas Eve was that neither of these two woke up with a horrendous hangover, or much of a hangover at all. Although they were were so late on Christmas morning that it was a bit of a panic.
They both got ready at Lune's apartment, giving each other very necessary pep talks about their upcoming Christmas lunches, and promising to call if anything (at all) did ever go wrong. Their smiles were a little strained at the edges but it was nothing eye makeup could not distract attention away from.
With Gustave having to make a second stop by his own apartment, Lune reached Sciel's house first.
She had taken a deep breath, and knocked on the door…
***
“Come on in!” A melodic sounding voice shouted from inside. Sciel's.
Lune dropped her hand and took a moment to compose herself. The house, even from the exterior, was as welcoming as always.
She had seen it before, as was habits. Had helped to decorate two weeks ago and to arrange the lighting.
The faint glowing red light of the Christmas decorations shone onto the snow and the plastic snowman guarding watch at the door. One of those fake Santas hung from the roof, although Lune would proudly note that Sciel was not, in fact, one of those people too lazy to store it away during the Summer months.
She could not help but smile; Sciel was amazing like that.
She dusted off invisible snowflakes from her immaculate black coat and softly opened the door with barely a tremor to her hand.
The interior was even more welcoming and festive, even more, dare she say of somewhere that was not her home, homely. All warm orange lights and soft decorations – all baby-proofed, of course – and Sciel had even started a fire in the chimney.
Lune was afraid that if she opened her mouth she would start to weep.
She slowly removed her scarf and coat to hang them by the door, announcing her presence with a very lame and very inappropriate,
“Starting a fire? My, Sciel, aren't you afraid of Santa getting burnt? Think of poor Céleste.”
Sciel stepped in from the kitchen. She was holding her daughter and still dressed in the baby pink apron she had been gifted on her register, her hair was put up in a quick braid that hung along her back. Illuminated as she was by the lamp and the chimney behind her, smiling softly at Lune, her adorable daughter in her arms giving her a soft, she glowed in that maternal way of hers that made her look like the sun.
Lune felt her knees grow weak all of a sudden and had to catch herself discreetly onto the wall.
Fuck, she thought while trying to calm her beating heart. Gustave was right.
“Célestine's too young to remember, anyway.” She booped her daughter’s nose with hers, who cried a cheer of delight. “Yeah, isn't that right, my little Céleste?”
Lune nodded uselessly. Her face was bound to be as red as Rudolf's nose.
Luckily, Sciel had not noticed. She dropped Célestine into Lune's arms – ignoring Lune's cry of alarm – and dipped right back into the kitchen.
“OK, baby, hang out with Tatie Lune for a moment, yeah? Maman has to finish your lunch. I won't be long, mon ange.”
“What-? Sciel!”
Célestine started to frown as soon as she left her mother's arms; her hazel eyes began to immediately fill with tears and she was reaching with one hand to tuck one of her own little black pigtails into her mouth.
Lune began to panic, trying to juggle both the baby, the baby's safety, and the baby's little hands deciding that Lune’s own hair would make the perfect toy.
“Ah-ah-ah, Céleste, listen to Tatie Lune, don't eat your hair. Or mine. Don't eat any hair, please.”
She walked with the baby to the living room, to where one of the twin fabric couches stood by the chimney’s crackling fire. Célestine let herself be placed unceremoniously on one of the cushions, her little red and white dress making her look like an adorable little flower, or the world's biggest candy cane.
Even though she did not look very happy to see Lune it was hard to remain poker-faced in front of, and Lune was sure of that fact, the objectively cutest baby in the entire world.
As soon as Lune found one of Célestine's various teddy bears (which was not hard to do, given that by now half of the entire house was covered in toys), a soft knitted violet rabbit, she showed it to her niece.
“Oh?” She cooed to the little girl. “What's this?”
Célestine's hazel eyes widened with curiosity.
“Yeah?” Lune continued. “Oh-oh-oh, I think it's Monsieur Lapin!” She shifted her hands to make it seem like its ears moved, “and I think he wants a nice big hug!”
The baby reached towards it with both hands, mumbling some nonsense but very enthusiastic syllables.
“Yeah? You want to hug Monsieur Lapin?”
Lune gave her the toy and Célestine immediately tucked it into her chest, her little pigtails hiding part of the bunny's ears.
The woman smiled proudly to herself.
“Ha, if my parents could see me. I always knew I had it in me.”
Célestine babbled happily in her direction.
Lune nodded sagely. “That's right. I am the best aunt ever.”
She heard some noise from the kitchen and raised her head.
Sciel was standing by the entrance, next to the microwave. It was making a little humming noise as it heated up Célestine’s lunch. But Sciel was not looking in its direction.
Instead she was watching both Lune and Célestine with very soft eyes, her gaze slowing down on her daughter.
Lune's breath was stuck in her throat. She felt a bit foolish knowing that Sciel definitely heard her talk like a baby.
She stood frozen, averting her eyes to focus solely on her niece playing silently with the bunny, making it do little hops on the couch.
“Y-yeah, good, ma chérie, you're doing so great,” she cheered in a strangled voice.
She heard Sciel take the plate out of the microwave before it could ring, the sound of soft plastic on a ceramic countertop.
Then, footsteps, stopping only when she felt a presence next to her.
“Monsieur Lapin is always a big hit,” Sciel commented.
Lune nodded a bit dumbly.
“Did you h-?”
“And I think coupled with your great cooing voice, it was bound to charm Céleste.”
Lune lifted her head just in time to see Sciel wink before her friend went to sit on Célestine's other side, softly talking with her daughter.
She was not sure of what to do, and suddenly felt like the stranger she was in this house.
She wanted to reach out to Célestine, to Sciel, to them both; she wanted to tell Sciel that she looked as beautiful as always, even when she did not have the time to groom herself nicely on Christmas. She wanted to kiss Célestine on her cute little freckles she had inherited from her mother; she wanted to feel like she belonged.
There was barely half a meter of distance between them, but to Lune it might as well have been the entire sea.
She lifted her eyes away from her hands. It would not stop her from kneading them but she could lie to herself more easily, then.
The bright fire in the chimney caught her eye quickly.
But even it could not fully thaw out the feelings inside of her swallowing her whole.
She lifted her eyes up, minutely, and it was only then that she noticed the three socks hanging on the mantle. Three identical-looking socks, handmade with Christmas-themed patchwork fabric. She could remember clearly as day the way their seamstress had proudly and excitedly shown Lune her latest creation.
Lune closed her eyes briskly and tried to ignore the lump in her throat, the burns behind her eyes.
Three identical-looking socks, one slightly smaller, nestled protectively between the other two.
She quickly rubbed at her eyes to make sure that there were no tears.
Three identical-looking socks, all bearing names.
Sciel, Célestine, and…
She breathed out deeply, hoping the worst of her panic was over.
Her eyes opened, reading the last name.
Pierre.
***
Gustave was in more than a bit of a panic as he all but ran out of the private taxi allowed to him, running one hand through his tousled brown curls to hopefully tame them and loosening the tie at his throat.
He had learnt a bit too late Maelle's – or rather the Dessendres’, he assumed – definition of a ‘family dinner.’ Whereas such affairs back when Gustave used to celebrate with his parents and sister were an occasion to gorge on the greasiest and most heart-burn inducing food possible, all while wearing ugly jumpers over their pajamas, the Dessendres, were… well.
Given that the twins had arranged for Gustave to be dropped at the house by a chauffeur, with Gustave himself wearing an honest to God three-piece suit on Christmas morning;
Well, he figured that ‘disgustingly rich and fancy’ might cover it.
Although no snow was falling down anymore it was still much too freezing for his tastes. Especially given that he had kind of completely forgotten his coat and gloves at his apartment, in such a rush as he was when the chauffeur had honked outside of his building to inform him of his arrival.
(He had originally been running slightly too late for his own comfort as he donned on a nice pair of dark blue trousers and a cream shirt beneath a dark grey jumper with light Christmas patterns, before he received a message from Alicia warning him that Maelle was a ‘sneaky liar you shouldn't trust too much, Gustave’ and that ‘our parents always make us happy elegantly for family dinners. You have to wear a suit; please tell me that she didn't forget to tell you that?’
And he could not retell her response about her twin sister when he answered negatively, even to his own mind. She had been very creative.)
He all but ran down the beautiful alley and gardens that led to the front door, which opened before he could announce his presence.
Maelle looked up at him with a giddy smile as she held it open, making quick work of tucking him in by the hand and shutting the door.
Gustave blinked a few times, trying to focus on the stark change of temperature, lighting, and company.
“Gustave! Merry Christmas!” Maelle cried as she hugged himself, the man in question protesting a bit at his sudden lack of air.
Blessedly she detached herself just as quickly – she really was a spitfire today – to be able to gawk at him.
“Oh. My. God. You look so good!”
Gustave adjusted the lapels of his dark blue vest from where her red head of hair had rubbed against it.
He chuckled over her contagious joy. “Hi Maelle, Merry Christmas.”
Before he add the time to say anything the young girl had already yelled, “Alicia! Come quick! Gustave's finally here!”
Gustave frowned, “what do you mean finally?” He checked his watch, “you told me to be here for- oof!”
A second red head of hair had decided to barrel into him, this time almost knocking him square off his feet.
He glanced to see a familiar young girl, silently hugging him in greeting.
He laughed and ruffled her braided hair, “Merry Christmas to you too, Alicia.”
She detached herself from him with a smile, moving to stand next to her energetic sister. The hallway of the house was decorated with a giant tree in the right corner and an array of pine garlands, gold and light stars and lights. The result was a sober and restrained decor that did not clash with the harmonious Art Déco style of the architecture.
He… he strangely found himself liking it.
Gustave turned his gaze back towards the twin, Maelle rambling a mile a minute about her class and what she wanted to study with him next, with Alicia occasionally nodding. He bit back a smile; for although the twins had explained to him more times than he could count on both hands how much they hated when their parents made them match, they had decided to wear matching dress shirts and trousers; all elegant cream for the frills and brown corduroy, though Maelle wore a distinguished burgundy bow, and Alicia a dark emerald.
He silently gushed. They were so cute.
They made their ways up the stairs to the dining hall and Gustave could not prevent himself from loudly gasping in pure awe.
As the girls’ private tutor – admittedly mostly Maelle's – he had been to the Manor a lot in the past year. But their sessions were reserved for the library and the girls’ rooms, with him only straying once or twice to other areas of the house. The rest he had to see in passing. And as this was his first formal event, he had never before seen the full splendor of this place.
And oh, what splendor ignited the dining hall.
He was first struck by the set of shining silverware on which the flickers of the candles and chandelier shone, the array of matching cutlery and china plates spread harmoniously over cream and white tablecloths. Star decorations of various sizes, though always in a pale gold, completed the feeling. Even though the dining table was very long, the quantity of dishware (and the space for the upcoming dishes to be served) for seven people felt both too small and too large at once. Gustave started to fear his clumsiness, already picturing knocking his elbows into the delicate glass carafe.
Much like the hallway this room of the house was too decorated in garlands and light, still in a silver and pale gold theme, and there not much furniture left unscathed. Gustave noted with both admiration and humour that even Verso's grand piano in the adjacent wing was not spared.
But his true favourite part was the chimney, and the gigantic Christmas tree next to it. It was much bigger than the one he had first seen as he came in and was artfully decorated using stars and angel motifs. At its feet hung a pile of gifts in matching wrapping paper, adorned with perfect little bows. Though he noted pleasingly that it was not too big of a pile, given a family of their size and wealth.
He knew just by looking that the gifts were bound to be personal and thoughtful. He felt a pang in his heart at the notion.
And yet, that was not his reason for liking it. Without realising he stepped closer to the tree and away from the girls.
On the branches at the bottom, the only ones truly in the reach of tiny arms, hung handmade paper decorations. Red, orange, in dubious shapes of stars and hearts, some with purple, not entirely properly drawn in… The tiny pieces of ropes to attach them were showing signs of wear from repeated use.
He hitched a breath.
The youngest children in this house nowadays were teenagers who would murder him for even entertaining the thought that they were kids. In spite of this, years after years, they had been carefully placed on the tree, just like they had once been.
Gustave was mesmerised.
He was so lost in thoughts that he did not register the presence next to him until a voice broke through the mist.
“Hello Gustave, Merry Christmas. I had not realised you had already arrived.”
He turned around to fully face the newcomer, a greeting on the tip of his tongue.
He would be lying if he said he was not disappointed.
Clea raised one eyebrow as she smiled softly, no judgment to be seen on her face. She had braided her long dark hair back like her little sister, though she had opted for a very nice dark blue indigo dress unlike the twins’ more tomboyish style.
“Ah, Clea,” he stammered, before clearing his throat. He kissed her cheeks in greeting. “Hello to you too, Merry Christmas.”
She was now looking at him with a slightly amused expression. Her grey eyes were shining, not just with her glittery eyeshadow.
“Were you, perhaps, expecting someone else?”
He felt himself flush to the tips of his ears.
He waved one hand dismissively and denied, “n-no, I'm very happy to see you as well. It's, uhm, always a pleasure to be invited to the mansion.”
She crossed her arms casually. It was pretty evident even to one deaf and blind how much of his speech she actually believed.
Her teasing smile lost some of his bite.
“My brother hasn't come down from his room yet,” she said softly. Kindly.
“Oh? R-really?”
In a rather uncharacteristic manner, Clea looked to the side, gaze lost in the direction of the piano. She tucked one strand of hair behind her ear.
“Maelle had mentioned to him, very eagerly at that, when you would be arriving. But he, I can not truly conceive why, he mentioned being busy with… something.”
Even though it is Christmas was strongly implied.
He was not sure what expression even was on his face.
She winced with sympathy, something pitiful and forlorn in his gaze.
“Listen, Gustave, I don't know what happened between you two, but-”
“Nothing,” he cut dryly, before realising he was protecting his anger onto the entirely wrong person. He licked his dry lips and sighed. “It's… you wouldn't understand. It's okay.”
Clea sighed as well.
“For what it's worth, I'm pleased to have you over for Christmas. As are the twins. They have not stopped mentioning it.”
He took the obvious attempt at distraction for what it was.
“Really?” He attempted a smile.
“Yes. They wanted you to have the best impression of us, you know? And to properly meet our parents.”
“They… they do know that I have met both Aline and Renoir before, right? …they're aware?”
Clea chuckled. “They say that it is different, for a Christmas luncheon. I believe… I believe that they wholeheartedly do see you as-”
They were cut off by Maelle's shriek of joy and they both turned at once towards the door closest to the kitchen.
Verso had arrived.
Beautiful, tempereous, mysterious, dark and brooding Verso.
Gustave felt his heart beat faster inside of his chest. He felt his hand grow clammy in a manner he could not truly explain.
Verso was busy lifting both of his sisters, as the pest of a big brother he pretended he was not, and all three siblings were looking amused and content with one another.
A subtle glance revealed that Clea was watching her younger siblings with a content gaze.
Gustave felt himself relax, though only minutely.
Perhaps… perhaps his sisters’ presence could serve as a buffer. Perhaps against all reason and logic Verso had forgotten.
Perhaps-
Verso must have felt his gaze on him. The man raised his head sharply and caught Gustave's eyes from across the room.
His grey eyes narrowed and the smile slipped from his face entirely, until only a perfectly blank mask remained.
He averted his eyes immediately, flinching like he had been burnt, and focused on the twins.
Gustave felt his heart drop in his chest.
His mind felt foggy; his head was spinning. He could barely register Clea's hand on his shoulder gently guiding him towards one of the seats, her soft reassurance left unheard,
“Papa and Maman will be here soon, and with them the first servings. Gustave, are you o-?”
He exhaled shakily and nodded, once.
These past weeks had all been a fucking mistake. He could not wait for the entire day to be over.
Distantly, he hoped that Lune, at least, was having a better time than him.