Archive of Our Own

Gustave had decided, a little over a year ago, that he was never going to drink again—but he was going to make an exception for tonight.

The last time he drank, he was still together with Sophie. She was one of the guests of honor at a party that was thrown ostensibly to celebrate the advancements that had been made on the Aquafarm. But it was, more than anything, a political affair, as most of the attendees were not workers at the Aquafarm, but members of their local government. The prospect of socializing all evening, in the small and crowded venue, with the possibility that he might affect the careers of both his sister and girlfriend, felt overwhelming. So, he kept accepting the glasses of champagne that the waitstaff offered him throughout the night, and when Sophie’s boss had heard how long they had been dating, and asked them how many kids they wanted to have—perhaps unaware of their age—Gustave had slung his arm around Sophie’s shoulder and responded, unthinkingly, “Two, at least, but wouldn’t three be something? Maybe if we could have twins…”

The look of shock and betrayal on Sophie’s face—though it lasted only for a moment—was etched into Gustave’s memory, as was the subsequent argument they had when he had sobered up the next morning. That had been their last argument, their last conversation, because it had led to their breakup.

But, merde, he wasn’t going to think about that right now. There was no use in torturing himself—especially not now, when he had more important things to do.

This afternoon was the gommage, and he had been tasked by Emma to have Maelle look “as beautiful as possible, since she was representing the family of the new Assistant Councilor.”

It was Em’s first gommage as a high-up member of the local government, and she was very nervous, so the least he could do, he thought, was help her in this small way.

Unfortunately, Maelle didn’t want to cooperate. Em had instructed him to be as patient with her today as possible, because she was probably going to be “in even more of a mood than usual,” to which he’d replied, “When isn’t she?” It wasn’t unusual, he’d said, for an almost-teenager to be moody.

But, Em was right, as usual. Gustave had never seen Maelle pout before today.

“This looks so stupid. I look stupid,” she said, crossing her arms as she glowered at her reflection in the mirror.

She was wearing a purple gown with a tulle skirt and bodice covered in bows. It certainly, Gustave thought, wasn’t her usual attire—but Em had had it made just for the occasion. Though, it was obviously her style and not Maelle’s.

“I know it’s not the first thing you’d pick out, but Em had it made just for you,” Gustave said, and gave her a small smile. “And you look beautiful.”

Maelle’s cheeks flushed faintly.

“Why do I need to look beautiful, anyway? I still think it’s ridiculous that people dress up for this.”

“Well,” Gustave said with a smirk as he tied his necktie, “the answer Em would give is that we do it to respect the rich traditions of Lumiére and honor those who are going to leave us.”

“Yeah?” Maelle said. “And what’s your answer?”

“Of course I care about the rich traditions of Lumiére,” he said with a wink, “but, for Em, this is…It’s politics. If we don’t seem sufficiently reverent, it reflects poorly on her. And then she’ll have a harder time at work.”

Maelle sighed.

“Okay, but, why? Why does everybody just go along with this song-and-dance?”

“It’s nice to…Having some formality to…Something to break up the monotony…”

He sighed.

“It’s complicated,” he said. “Let me brush your hair.”

Maelle rolled her eyes.

“I can do it,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “But it’s easier if I do, right?”

“I guess,” she said.

Gustave retrieved the brush that lay on top of the drawer next to them, and began gently, carefully brushing sectioned-out strands of her thick, red hair.

“The adults all get wasted afterwards, anyway. What part of that is ‘honoring those who came before us?’” Maelle said.

Gustave felt his stomach turn. He was going to be one of those people tonight.

His life had become increasingly unraveled after breaking up with Sophie. His work wasn’t progressing as steadily as it used to, and it was getting harder for him to find joy in it—only a spiral of anxiety as he found it more and more difficult to focus. One of his apprentices was dying, growing weaker every day due to some sickness that nobody understood. And, of course, the looming of his mentor, Julien’s, gommage weighed heavily on him, as every day Gustave was closer and closer to being the most senior chroma-mechanical engineer in Lumiére. If it weren’t for the thought of coming home to Emma and Maelle, he wouldn’t have been able to make it through each day.

So, he thought, he deserved a chance to let loose a little. He had worked so hard all year. He deserved it.

“We’re not meant to be miserable,” Gustave said after a pause. “It’s important, sometimes, to celebrate—celebrate that they lived. Celebrate that we’re still here.”

Maelle rolled her eyes.

“And sometimes it’s nice to have an excuse to relax,” Gustave said with a sheepish smile. “I’m not gonna use the old, ‘You’ll understand when you’re older,’ but—”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “So, are you gonna leave me alone tonight?”

Gustave felt his stomach sink.

“I was planning to have some drinks with my friends,” he said. “But, Emma’s going to—”

Maelle groaned loudly.

“Fine,” she said. “Whatever.”

Maybe, thought Gustave, he shouldn’t meet up with his friends after the gommage. Maybe he should just go home with Maelle, and rest. He was going to need it, certainly, for the days ahead.

Gustave gave Maelle a small smile as he finished brushing her hair.

“So, what are we thinking?” he asked, gathering some hair into a small ponytail. “Half-up, half-down?”

“I don’t care,” Maelle said.

“Half-up, half-down it is,” Gustave said. “We can use some of the flowers that the boys picked for us.”

After a pause, Maelle smiled up at him.

"Only if you put one in your hair, too,” she said.

“Oh, I was going to do that anyways,” he said, grinning at her, and he picked up the largest flower—a light pink peony—and stuck the stem behind his ear.

Maelle laughed, and Gustave began placing small flowers around the crown of her head. He felt his stomach flip when his fingertips brushed against the bright, red poppy his apprentices had picked for Julien.

What was it like, he thought, knowing you were about to die? Had Julien made peace with it? He seemed to, when they had talked about the future of their workshop. But wasn’t he terrified? Gustave certainly was.

His apprentices were going to look to him, and only him. So was the government. So was the city. If he had a problem he couldn’t solve, there was no one to go to except himself.

Gustave felt his throat starting to close up.

His apprentices wouldn’t just be looking to him for career guidance, either. He was no longer sharing the responsibility of mentor, confidant, role model; he was going to be the only man in their life who they saw on a daily basis, other than their fathers (except for Marcel, whose father had already gommaged.) The boys were mature for their age, intelligent and eager to work, but they were still boys—they needed gentle but firm guidance, a strong and steady presence, a model of who they could become.

Julien had excelled at filling that role. He was patient and kind, and never showed a hint of frustration, even when they had been working 14 hours without a break, even when their experiments failed miserably, even when the boys came up in tears because they realized they only had a few years with their parents before their gommage.

Gustave’s chest felt tight. He wasn’t taking in enough air. When he picked up the next flower, with trembling fingers, the petals shook and he feared they would fall out.

Gustave didn’t have half the mental fortitude, he thought, that Julien did. He was in no way a suitable replacement for him; he wasn’t a quarter of the man that he was. But, Gustave would have to pretend, and hopefully the boys wouldn’t notice what a fraud he was.

“Is that for Julien?” Maelle said, her voice soft. She had turned her head and was looking at him.

Gustave took a deep breath and nodded.

“Marcel picked it out for him,” he said, his voice coming out quiet. He cleared his throat.

“He has a wife and son, doesn’t he?” Maelle said.

“Belle and Hugo,” Gustave said. "She’s a year or two younger than him, I think, so Hugo won’t be an orphan for a few more years.”

“How old is he?” Maelle asked.

“Seven, I think,” Gustave said.

“So he’ll be, what? Eight? Nine? When both his parents are gone,” Maelle said. “Better than three, I guess, but, merde, how selfish can people be?”

Gustave felt his heart throbbing against his chest, the hollowness in his lungs replaced with a burning sensation that traveled up his throat.

If he was going to have children—if they magically appeared in front of him, today—he would have, at most, three years with them, or maybe four if he decided to gommage instead of going on the expedition that he had spent his life preparing for.

“I…I don’t think it’s…It’s not selfish,” he said.

It was too late, he thought, as he took in a shaking breath and felt the heat overtake him.

“Of course it is,” Maelle said. “People behaving like animals. Fucking and not caring about the consequences.”

“Maelle,” Gustave said, his voice coming out harsher than he had intended. “Language. What if Em heard you say that?”

She rolled her eyes.

“She’s not here,” she said.

But, it couldn’t be too late. He wanted, more than anything, to have a family with Sophie.

“You know, some people have children on purpose,” he said, trying to smile at her.

“Then that’s even worse,” Maelle said, grimacing. “Intentionally bringing a kid into the world when you know you’re just gonna abandon them.”

He took a deep breath. His right hand shook and he grasped at the hem of his waistcoat, the fabric crinkling in his balled-up fist.

He still had time to have a family.

“I mean, isn’t that what all parents do when you think about it?” he said with a forced chuckle.

“What? Of course not,” she said. “Most parents don’t intentionally leave their kid when they’re still basically a baby.”

He still had time. He had to.

It hurt to breathe.

“The parents are leaving them all alone when they need someone the most,” Maelle continued. “They’ll never know where they came from. They’ll never get to know their family.”

Gustave’s muscles twitched, and the brush he was holding clattered to the ground.

Maelle looked up at him, again, her eyes slightly widened.

“You still getting used to the new—”

“You don’t think of Em and I as family?” Gustave said bitterly, his voice shaking.

He felt his chest sink as the heat left his body. He felt hollowed-out. Empty.

You fucking asshole, thought Gustave.

Maelle’s eyes widened and filled with tears.

“No! No, Gustave,” she said, her voice trembling. “You know that’s not what I—”

“Fuck, Maelle, I’m sorry,” Gustave said. “I know that’s not what you meant. I’m sorry.”

She grimaced and turned away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, smearing the makeup that had taken almost half an hour for Gustave to apply.

“Merde,” he muttered. “We’re going to be late.”

“Who cares?” Maelle shouted, standing up.

“Hold on,” Gustave said, grabbing her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Maelle, today is…I’m…”

“What?” she yelled. “Why can’t you ever just fucking say what you want to say? No wonder Sophie left you. It’s so fucking annoying!”

Gustave closed his eyes and took several slow, deep breaths, not opening his eyes until his heart had stopped pounding.

“She liked that about me, actually,” he said, giving her a weak smile. “What’s up with you, today, Maelle? Are you feeling okay?”

She glared at him.

“What’s up with me? What’s up with you?”

Gustave sighed softly.

“Well, let’s see,” he said, and paused for a moment. “I’m feeling nervous about today. It’s the last time I’ll speak to Julien. That’s…It feels like a lot of pressure. When he’s gone, I’ll be in charge of everything at work. And…And I…I guess that just makes me feel old. But, also, not ready. I feel too old and too young at the same time.”

That was, he thought, perhaps the most articulate he had ever been. Maybe he could rise to the occasion…sometimes.

Maelle’s gaze softened and she crossed her arms.

“Geez, which one of us is the teenage girl, again?”

“Hey, you’re not gonna be 13 for another two months,” he said. “That’s a lot of time.”

“I guess,” she said. “Sorry I yelled at you. I know this sucks for you, too.”

Gustave shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Maelle,” he said. “I’m feeling weird today. Nervous.”

“Is there anybody who isn’t?” she said, and looked at herself in the mirror. “Let me just wipe the rest of this off. I don’t need makeup. Then, we can go.”

Emma, Gustave thought, was going to have to be okay with that.

A short time later, the two made their way to the harbor. A few of the townspeople stopped them to tell Maelle how lovely she looked, and she, through gritted teeth, told them thank you.

“I am never wearing a dress again,” she whispered.

“Deal, as long as I don’t have to, either,” Gustave said, and Maelle rolled her eyes.

The town square was packed with people. Gustave anxiously twirled the stem of the peony in his hand as he searched for his apprentices or for Julien, Maelle at his side. Based on the position of the sun, they had about half an hour until the Paintress appeared.

He felt his stomach flip as he laid eyes on Sophie, and a dull and familiar ache spread through his body. He was being pulled toward her. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, hadn’t spoken to her in almost a year, outside of a quick, awkward “hello” when they passed by each other on the street. She would probably want to talk a little more, today. She always felt particularly introspective during the gommage. He wanted nothing more than to hear her voice, to hear her say his name as she gave him a little smile. But what would he say? Where could he even begin? He couldn’t just start a conversation after a year with nothing in mind. He would stammer over every single word. What would his opening line be? “You look beautiful?” “I haven’t gone a day without thinking about you?” “Nothing like the gommage to remind us life is short, do you want to maybe–”

Sophie’s light blue eyes locked onto his. He felt adrenaline surge through him, lighting every inch of his body up, and his brain, through the fire, issued him a single command: get out of there.

“Putain de merde,” he murmured, grabbing Maelle’s wrist. “Come on. Come on.”

This was the woman you were dreaming of starting a family with? Gustave thought. A woman you can’t even look in the eyes anymore?

“What?” Maelle said. “Where are we going?”

Gustave dragged her along as he weaved through the crowd until he found a building to hide behind.

What the fuck are you doing? Gustave thought. Go talk to her, you coward.

“Gustave,” Maelle said. “What’s going on?”

He realized he couldn’t breathe. He took several short, gasping breaths.

“I saw Sophie,” he said after a moment.

Maelle crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Gustave.

“Seriously?” she said. “Your breakup was so bad you can’t even look at her anymore?”

“It wasn’t bad,” Gustave said after he had caught his breath. “I just…I don’t want to say something stupid.”

“Didn’t you date for, like, two years? Or longer?” she asked. “She’s probably used to you saying stupid things.”

He gave her a weak smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, probably, but–”

“Gustave!” came a familiar, high-pitched voice behind him.

He turned and saw Adrien, one of his apprentices, beaming at him. Instinctively, Gustave knelt down, and the boy leapt into his arms.

“Hi, Adrien,” he said, embracing the boy for a few moments before standing back up. “Don’t you look nice today. You’re all dressed up.”

Adrien beamed at him, and then turned to Maelle.

“Not as nice as Maelle,” he said.

If only, Gustave thought, he had half the confidence of that boy.

“Woah,” Gustave said with a laugh as Maelle giggled and rolled her eyes. “Slow down, buddy.”

“Adrien,” Maelle said. “You know I’m a lot older than you, right?”

“I’m like my dad,” Adrien said. “I like older women.”

Gustave slapped his hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing too loud.

Of his apprentices, Adrien was the one Gustave felt the closest to. He was probably the least technically-skilled, but he was sweet, and funny, and Gustave felt strangely jealous of —or maybe inspired by—the boy’s confidence.

“Have you seen Marcel and Alexandre and Guillaume?” Gustave asked.

Adrien nodded.

“They’re talking to Julien,” he said.

Gustave felt his stomach sink. He needed to talk to Julien, he thought, while he still could. He should have gotten here earlier. He should’ve been the one to take the boys to see him, to guide them through their last conversation with their mentor. He was already failing them. Their last conversation. Their last conversation…

“Want me to show you where they are?” Adrien asked.

Gustave smiled at him.

“Yes, please. Lead the way.”

“Only if I can hold Maelle’s hand,” Adrien said, beaming up at her.

Maelle laughed.

“Fine,” she said.

Adrien proudly marched through the crowd with Maelle on his left and Gustave on his right. Gustave felt himself grow tense when Julien came into view. His wife and son were standing with him, and he was knelt down, eye-level with the boys, beaming at them, his black curls bouncing gently as he laughed. He looked carefree. He looked young.

Gustave’s breath was caught. He tried to smile as Julien turned to them.

“Hello again, Adrien,” Julien said warmly, as he stood up and smiled at Maelle.

“Maelle,” he said, taking her hand lightly. “It’s always a pleasure. What a lovely dress! Let me guess—Emma picked it out?”

“She sure did,” Maelle said, and looked down, a faint blush on her cheeks.

She wanted to say something, thought Gustave, but she wasn’t sure what was appropriate. “Bon voyage” certainly wasn’t.

“Gustave,” Julien said, turning to him. “It’s good to see you, mon vieux.”

“Sorry,” Gustave said sheepishly. “We—I was running late.”

“Late? You’re right on time,” Julien said, and he looked, again, to Maelle. “Ma chérie, would you mind terribly looking after the little ones for a few minutes? The old-timers need to talk.”

Gustave chuckled politely, but he felt his lungs shrinking even more.

There really wasn’t much time, now. This was the last time they would ever speak.

“Sure,” Maelle said, giving him a nod.

Julien gestured to the tree a ways away from the crowd, and he and Gustave headed there, Gustave walking not quite shoulder-to-shoulder with his mentor.

He had been rehearsing what he wanted to say for weeks. He needed to be comforting, to assure Julien that their work was going to continue, and that the apprentices would be safe and successful under his care.

But when he started to speak, his voice faltered.

“Julien,” he said, hoarse. “I…The boys—”

“Take a breath, Gustave,” Julien said, grinning at him. “Merde, I’ve never seen you look so tense.”

“Sorry,” Gustave said. “I mean…Fuck, I’m apologizing too much.”

Julien chuckled, and smiled at him. He stopped walking when they had reached the tree.

“Is that for me?” Julien said, pointing to the flower Gustave was clutching tightly.

“Right,” Gustave said. “Yes.”

“Thank you,” Julien said, and Gustave carefully pinned it to the man’s necklace, full of red and white and pink flowers.

“Forgive me for getting a little sentimental,” Julien said, and put a hand on Gustave’s shoulder. “But I’ve earned it.”

Gustave smiled weakly.

“I remember when you were ten years old, and you told me you wanted to save Lumiére,” Julien said.

Gustave felt his cheeks burning.

“You reminded me of me,” he said. “I took a little detour—or, maybe the scenic route—with Belle and Hugo, but…We’ve done some really good work together. And look at you now. You’ve grown into a good, smart, hardworking man.”

Gustave resisted the urge to shake his head. When Gustave was ten, Julien had only been 17–hardly an adult. But he had been smart with his time. He had done things right. He figured out a way to improve the efficiency of their weapons, reducing the amount of chroma they needed by ten-fold. And then, just a few years later, he married Belle.

Julien had confided to Gustave, one night not long ago, that his only sorrow—not regret—was that Hugo wasn’t born earlier. He and his wife had wanted a child immediately after marriage, but it wasn’t until almost ten years later that their son was born.

“I think you’re to thank for that,” Julien had told him. “You really stepped up. Took a lot off my plate. Once I could relax—”

“I—I don’t need to hear the rest,” Gustave had said, blushing furiously as he tried not to picture what the man was alluding to.

“What I learned too late,” Julien had told him, “is the importance of relaxing, mon vieux. We always feel the need to go, go, go. But life is a gift. We need to enjoy it.”

That had shocked Gustave at the time, because the man had, ever since Gustave was a boy, seemed completely unbothered by everything. But perhaps that was all a facade, a careful construction, meant to make his wife and his son and his apprentices feel as secure as possible, amidst a terrible and cruel reality.

Julien, now, was smiling the way he always did—crooked, wide. Like he was about to burst into laughter.

Was it an act? Was it genuine?

“I’m proud of you, Gustave,” he said, and pulled him in for a hug.

Gustave hadn’t, he thought, received a hug from another man since his father died. It felt solid. Secure. Safe. He took a deep breath and blinked rapidly as he felt tears welling in his eyes.

“You don’t need to worry, Julien,” he said.

He was surprised by the strength and conviction in his voice. He could rise to the occasion when he needed to. He could give Julien the same comfort and peace that he brought to him.

“I’m going to look after the boys,” Gustave continued. “We’ll all keep working hard. We’re going to figure out the Lumina Tech. We’re going to. I promise you.”

Julien was silent for a moment, then he burst into laughter and stepped back and clapped Gustave on the shoulder.

“Listen to you,” he said. “I’m not worried at all. Mark my words. You're going to get your Lumina Converter working, and it’s going to fit in the palm of your hand. And, soon, you’ll be the one testing out the boys’ inventions.”

Gustave smiled at him.

“If I can make one selfish request,” Julien said, and Gustave nodded vigorously. “Check in on Belle and Hugo from time to time for me. I know they can take care of themselves, but…”

Julien’s face fell, for just a moment.

“I don’t want them to be lonely,” he said.

“Of course,” Gustave said. “Of course. I was already going to do that anyway. You didn’t have to ask. Emma and Maelle and I are going to visit them every week. We already have it scheduled out for the next year.”

Julien laughed.

“Of course you do,” he said, and his face turned solemn. “Thank you, Gustave. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

Gustave nodded in response.

What else could he say? Should he say? Did Julien know how much he meant to him? Could Gustave say it in a way that wasn’t painfully cheesy? He hadn’t practiced anything like that. Why? It wasn’t like what he just said had taken more than thirty seconds. He should have thought about this more. Should have practiced more.

“Julien,” he said, loudly. “I…Do you…I owe you a lot. So much. You’ve done so much for all of us. Lumiére wouldn’t be what it is without you. You inspire us all so much. I hope you know that. I hope you’re proud of everything. You deserve to be.”

Julien’s smile softened as his bottom lip quivered.

“Oh, mon vieux,” he said, softly. “How kind you are.”

Gustave felt himself startle as the crowd around them began to shout. The sun was beginning to set. They had about ten minutes left until the Paintress appeared.

“That’s my cue,” Julien said. “I already spoke to the boys. I owe the rest of this time to Belle.”

Gustave nodded, and the two walked back, briskly and wordlessly, into the large crowd.

Gustave nodded to Julien as he headed toward his wife and son, and then Gustave spotted Maelle, who was chatting with the boys not far from Belle, still holding Adrien’s hand.

“Thank you, Maelle,” Gustave said when he reached them.

He knelt down and looked at each of the boys.

“Go find your parents,” he instructed, and they all nodded and ran off.

Gustave tried to breathe deeply, but he could feel himself shaking as he stood up. He hoped Maelle didn’t notice.

“It’s about to start,” Gustave said. “Do you want to hold my hand?”

Somehow, his voice came out steady and nonchalant. Was he starting to relax? After 28 gommages, was the Paintress finally loosening her grip around his throat?

“No,” Maelle scoffed. “I’m not a child.”

Gustave gave her a small smile.

“Let me rephrase that,” he said. “I want you to hold my hand.”

Maelle rolled her eyes, but he felt her small, soft hand wrapping around his.

It was getting even darker. He felt himself moving toward the harbor, slowly, Maelle moving with him. He wanted to see Julien. Maybe Gustave could give him one last smile, one last reassurance, as he faded away.

But did he really need it? Julien had looked and sounded like he was truly at peace. And why wouldn’t he be? He had lived a full and meaningful life. He had made an indelible mark on the city, had ensured, through his hard work and invention, that they were one step closer to breaking the Paintress’ cycle. He had said everything that needed saying, had given Gustave one last bit of encouragement, and had given the boys a friendly sendoff. He was going to spend his last moments in the arms of his loving wife and child. Gustave could only dream of such a perfect ending for his own life.

Gustave spotted Julien in the crowd. One arm was wrapped around his son’s shoulder, as he clung to his leg. The other was wrapped around his wife’s waist, her head buried in his chest. Neither of them could see his face. But Gustave could.

Julien’s lips were trembling. His green eyes were wide, and full of fear.

Gustave felt the Paintress’ hand tightening around his throat. He was shaking. He held Maelle’s hand tightly. He took in short and shallow breaths, but no air entered his lungs. His eyes were burning. His vision was starting to blur. The sky was filling up with red petals.

Shrill wails and sobs and screams pierced through his eardrums and made him feel dizzy. His chest was aflame. The air was thick and he could taste it, could taste the death and decay. He wanted to cover his mouth with his hand, but sometimes, his new arm wouldn’t move the way he wanted it to, and now was one of those times as it stayed motionless, weighing him down so much that he felt he might fall over. He could feel vibrations in his burning throat. He could feel his chest convulsing. His head was pounding. His eyes stung.

He felt Maelle squeeze his hand.

“Gustave?”

She sounded panicked. He looked down at her. Through his swimming vision, he could see that she looked pale and her eyes were wide.

Julien was gone, as was a large portion of the crowd. Gustave’s core ached. His throat felt raw. His entire body was trembling. His cheeks were soaked with tears that mingled with thick snot that gushed from his nose, and it ran down his lips and his chin, smearing in his beard.

He was, he thought, a fucking mess. He clenched his eyes shut, and the tears continued to pour out of his stinging eyes. He tried to shut his mouth, but whimpers continued being ripped from his throat. He hadn’t done this before, not even at his parents’ gommage. He had shed a tear or two in public, but for the most part, had waited until he was home, alone, to cry–and even then, he didn’t cry much. He simply wasn’t a crier. In retrospect, he had become depressed after they were gone. For months, he barely ate, and all he did after work was sleep, and he only came in to work because Julien came to pick him up every morning.

And now, Julien was gone, and Gustave sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, powerless to stop the despair and death that would surely continue, powerless to stop his own body as it tore his dignity to shreds.

At some point, Maelle let go of his hand as Alan appeared in front of him, pulling out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently pressing it into Gustave’s now-empty palm. Gustave brought it to his face, and Alan patted him on the shoulder and walked away. It was silky, and quickly became drenched with mucus and tears, sopping, drooping against his hot face. He balled it up in his fist and slipped it into his pants pocket, and continued to sob.

Finally, when the crowd had begun to thin out and the people had begun making their way to the other end of the town square for the festivities, Gustave was beginning to catch his breath. He didn’t dare look Maelle in the eye. He didn’t dare look anywhere. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. His hand was still shaking.

“Gustave,” came a soft, but firm, voice from behind him. It was Emma. “People are staring. You’re making a spectacle.”

“Sorry,” Gustave choked out.

“Get a hold of yourself. Breathe.”

She modeled it for him, taking slow, even breaths, as if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He knew what he wanted to do, but his body wouldn’t let him. He heard Maelle, beside him, matching her inhales and exhales to Emma’s.

“Good,” Emma said, though Gustave’s breaths were still shallow and shaky. “Let’s go. Come on. Let’s go down there. The Chief Councilor is about to give his speech.”

Gustave nodded, and wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve.

The three walked, slowly and silently, to their destination. By the time they could see the Councilor, Gustave could breathe normally again.

“Sorry, Maelle,” he said, finally looking at her.

She gave him a weak smile.

“That was…I don’t know where that came from,” he said.

“No, I’m sorry,” Maelle said softly. “I…I didn’t–”

“Quiet down, you two,” Emma said. “I’m going up there. He’s about to start.”

Gustave watched as his sister took her place, standing behind and to the right of the most powerful man in the city.

The Chief Councilor had a loud and commanding baritone voice.

“Expedition 36,” he said. “Can you believe that Lumiére has been doing this for 64 years? Time flies. Time flies, but we make good use of that time, don’t we? Don’t we?”

There were scattered claps from the crowd.

“Each and every one of you–current and future expeditioners, and those who choose to devote themselves to other pursuits–all of you are an indispensable part of our war against the Paintress.”

“Is he gonna say anything original?” Maelle whispered to Gustave.

He gave her a small smirk.

“No. No, that would require him to actually plan his speech in advance,” he whispered back.

Maelle gave him a large grin, while Emma glared at them both.

“Oh no, we’re going to be in big trouble,” Gustave murmured, and Maelle placed a hand over her mouth to suppress her giggling.

The Councilor went on for another 15 minutes, speaking in saccharine platitudes. Gustave made sure to clap, convincingly, at the end of the speech.

“When I’m the one giving the speech, I am not going to take that long,” was the first thing that Emma said when she reunited with Gustave and Maelle

“Actually, I think yours should last even longer. I think you should really milk it. Read out every single expeditioner’s name,” Maelle said.

Emma smiled at her.

“We’re going to have plenty of time, tonight, for you to give me advice on my future speeches,” she said, and looked at Gustave. “Right?”

“Uh—right,” Gustave said. “Thanks, Emma.”

If, he thought, he hadn’t needed a drink before, he certainly did now. Maybe if he drank enough, he could forget that the last hour had ever happened.

“I’m gonna go find Lucien,” Gustave said, and bowed slightly. “Have a good night, you two.”

Maelle did not look pleased, but she didn’t say anything more. He could feel her and Emma’s eyes on him as he started to walk away.

———————————————————-———————————————————-———

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you tonight? It’s really no trouble at all,” Sophie asked, looking at Sciel the way she often did, with a care and concern that was almost overwhelming.

“I’ll be fine,” Sciel said. “I mean it.”

“Really, Sciel.”

“I’m gonna stay up a little longer. I might even go for a walk. But you’re about to pass out. I know you’re exhausted.”

Sophie gave her a small smile. She never outright lied, Sciel thought, so she wasn’t going to try and deny it. The gommage was immensely emotionally draining in and of itself, and even moreso for someone like Sophie, who was so sensitive to the feelings of those around her.

It used to be that way for Sciel, too, but ever since Pierre died, she had been numb to it. Or, at least, numb as it was occurring. A few hours later, it was like a switch flipped inside of her, and all the emotions of the day would come rushing out of her.

Or so they normally would. But, she felt strangely stable, now. Maybe because she had someone to be stable for. Poor Gustave was on her mind. She had never seen him display such strong emotion. She had seen him at the other end of the square, and had been so touched by his pain that she nearly started crying alongside him.

“Are you going to look for Gustave?” Sophie asked.

Sciel chuckled.

“You know me so well,” she said. “Yes, I think I will.”

“I was wondering if I should do the same,” Sophie said. “I haven’t ever seen him like that.”

“He’s been under a lot of stress, lately, I think,” Sciel said. “Marcel—that’s the youngest of his apprentices—is really sick.”

“I heard,” Sophie said, her face falling.

“And having to take over for a legend like Julien—that’s got to be a lot of pressure,” Sciel said.

Sophie nodded.

“I can’t imagine he gets a break at home, either,” Sophie said. “You can just feel how tense Emma is. The pressure’s been on for her lately. And Maelle is…Well, the only people who have it harder than someone going through puberty are the people who have to live with it. I’d rather gommage right now than be 13 again.”

Sciel grinned.

“I think I’d be willing to go through with it if I could get Pierre back—but I’d really have to think about it.”

The two laughed together, and then Sophie frowned.

“I saw him earlier,” she said. “I smiled at him from across the way, and he…bolted.”

Yeah, Sciel thought, that sounded like Gustave.

“He’s still in love with you,” Sciel said.

Sophie sighed deeply.

“I hope not,” she said. “I need him to move on. He has to know we can never be together.”

Why, Sciel thought, was Sophie so sure of that?

“You’re still in love with him,” Sciel said.

Sophie nodded.

“Love is not enough,” she said. “I told him that.”

“Well, when I find him tonight, is there anything you want me to tell him?” Sciel asked.

Sophie shook her head.

“Nothing from me,” she said. “I don’t want to get his hopes up. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“I’m never gonna understand you, mon amie,” Sciel said, giving her a small smile.

“What can I say?” Sophie said dramatically. “I’m like the Paintress. I’m unknowable.”

“You are nothing like the Paintress,” Sciel said.

Sophie gave Sciel a hug.

“Goodnight, Sciel,” she said. “Don’t stay up too late. And if you need anything, come by. I mean it. I really mean it.”

“Thank you,” Sciel said, and wished her goodnight.

Once Sophie was out of sight, Sciel made her way back to the town square. The clean-up committee—which she had made it a point not to volunteer for—was not going to have a fun time tonight. Shattered plates and broken bottles littered the streets. Tables were overturned. Everyone had partied hard, it seemed, though there were very few people still around. She had a feeling, though, that Gustave had not yet gone home.

She was right. Sciel continued her walk, and found him on the pier.

The man was sprawled out on the ground, clutching a wine bottle in his right hand. His necktie was loosened, his waistcoat was undone, his shirt half-buttoned and covered in dark purple stains, half-tucked into unbuttoned pants. His eyes were shut, and his messy hair stuck to his sweaty skin.

She had never seen him look this rough—not when his parents died, not even in the immediate aftermath of his breakup with Sophie. Though he and Sciel remained friends, she didn’t see him as often after those two split up—outside of training for the expedition, probably once every other week, as opposed to when they used to see each other every day. He had mentioned to her that he had been having trouble sleeping, recently. The stress, she thought, must have gotten to him.

She walked over to him and knelt down, and pressed a hand on his shoulder.

“Gustave,” she said in a singsong voice.

He didn’t stir at all. She began gently shaking him, continuing to call his name until his eyes slowly opened. They were red and glassy, and he stared at her for a moment until a large grin spread across his face.

“Sciel!” he exclaimed. “What’re you doing here? It’s late.”

“You know I’m a night owl,” she said. “I was taking a midnight stroll. What are you doing here?”

He raised his hand in a gesture to the sky, wine from the bottle he held spilling out onto the ground and his shirt.

“Speaking to the stars,” he said with a giggle.

Cute, thought Sciel. He was cute, even like this. She wouldn’t mind taking care of him. Sophie probably hadn’t either, on rare occasions like these.

His voice was slurred, but not so much so that she couldn’t understand it.

“Oh, really?” Sciel said, grinning back at him. “What are you saying to them?”

His eyes drifted upwards.

“Mm…I’m saying…I hope Emma isn’t too pissed with me for embarrassing her today. They can help with that, right?”

“Unfortunately, I think they’re just passive listeners,” Sciel said. “That’s what papa told me.”

She crossed her legs and sat down.

He couldn't have been referring to him crying as Julien gommaged, could he? she thought. It was more than normal to cry at those things. He must have done something funny earlier that evening.

“How did you embarrass her, today, Gustave?”

He frowned.

“I dunno what got into me,” he said. “I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t get a hold of myself.”

Poor thing, thought Sciel.

“Oh, Gustave,” she said tenderly, squeezing his shoulder. “You didn’t embarrass her. It’s normal to cry.”

He shook his head.

“I think I scared Maelle,” he said. “I worried Alan, too. Merde, I hope no one else saw me.”

She wasn’t, she thought, going to mention Sophie, or herself.

Gustave began fumbling through his pockets.

“Alan gave me his handkerchief,” he said, slowly sitting up. “I need to give it back.”

He put his hand on his stomach and groaned.

“He’s…He’s gone, right?”

Sciel chuckled.

“I think it can wait until morning,” she said. “You’re all by yourself out here.”

He nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, probably better to wait,” he said.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Sciel said.

“No,” Gustave said firmly. “No, I don’t want Maelle to see me.”

He was always thinking of others, thought Sciel. That was something she loved about him. It reminded her of Pierre.

“Then, let me take you to mine. You can sleep on the couch,” she said.

“I’m okay,” he said, frowning. “Sophie…I don’t want her to see me like this either.”

“She’s not staying with me tonight,” Sciel said.

“Oh, really?” Gustave said, his face lighting up again. “So you’re…I was thinking of you. I wanted to come talk to you earlier. Like an hour ago. Or two? But I saw you with Sophie, and I didn’t want to…Well, I did, but Alan wouldn’t let me…”

Sciel smiled at him.

“You should’ve talked to her,” she said.

“R—Really?” he said. “How is she? Did she mention me?”

“She did,” Sciel said, and Gustave’s face lit up.

“I think about her all the time,” he said. “The biggest fucking mistake of my life, it’s…D’you think I should go talk to her?”

“Right now?” Sciel said, crossing her arms. “She’s gone to sleep. Talk to her in the morning.”

“Maybe,” he said, nodding, and he took a long sip from the bottle. “I should. I should.”

“Gustave,” Sciel said. “If you think about her all the time, why haven’t you talked to her? It’s been a year.”

“Actually, it’s been a year and three weeks,” he said. “Fuck, I’d give anything for three more weeks with her.”

Sciel smiled wider at him.

“Then talk to her,” she said. “I don’t understand why you’ve waited so long. It’s obvious that you’re completely smitten with her.”

Gustave frowned.

“I fucked up,” he said. “I can’t…There’s no way she’d get back together with me.”

That, Sciel thought, was probably true. Though she didn’t know all the details, Sophie had said something tearily about how they had irreconcilably different views, ones that could never be compromised on.

Still, she had never seen Sophie as happy as when she was dating Gustave. It would be nice to see them back together. The two of them both deserved to be happy.

“Never say never,” Sciel said.

Gustave grinned at her.

“You’re so kind, Sciel. So wonderful. Do you know how great you are? Come here. Come here. Give me a hug.”

He spread his arms wide and lurched over, wrapping Sciel into a bear hug.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

How cute, Sciel thought, as she hugged him back. He would be mortified in the morning.

“Aww,” she cooed. “I love you, too, Gustave.”

He smelled sweaty and sour. She would make him take a shower, she thought, when they got to her home. She leaned back.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Gustave said. “I’m so glad…You know, Pierre would be so proud of you. You’ve done so much at the school. Those kids love you, too. He’d be so proud of you.”

Sciel felt herself tearing up.

“Oh, Gustave,” she said. “You’re too sweet.”

He was, she thought, absolutely wasted. He had probably never been this drunk in his life.

He smiled at her.

“You’ve been drinking,” she said.

He laughed, and nodded.

“You could tell,” he said. “Why don’t I do this more often?”

Sciel smiled at him. He didn’t drink often these days. At least, tonight, he’d been with Alan, which probably meant he was also with Lucien and Catherine and the others. So he wasn’t drinking alone.

“‘Sciel, what do you mean, ‘Take a break?’ I’ve got to figure this out, now,’” she said, lowering her pitch in an obvious attempt to mimic him.

He burst into laughter.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it’s back to work tomorrow. Business-as-usual. Except…Except it’s not, because…”

His voice wavered as he frowned.

Oh dear, she thought. She shouldn’t have brought up his work. Not when his mentor and confidant gommaged today. That was foolish; she was being careless.

“I’m gonna miss him so much,” Gustave said. “I…He was so smart, and kind, and brave, and I…”

“Big shoes to fill,” Sciel said, giving him a small smile. “But, you’re all of those things, too.”

He leaned back and took another long sip from his bottle. Should she take it from him? He had certainly had more than enough already.

“I’m not,” he said, shaking his head and groaning. “I’m not. I’m…I’m a fucking coward. I can’t be an example for the kids. I can’t even fucking talk to Sophie.”

He, again, brought the bottle to his lips, and Sciel gently pulled it away.

“Share, mon ami,” she said, smiling at him, and she took the smallest of sips from the bottle.

“Sorry,” he said, frowning. “Sorry, I should’ve offered. Fuck, I’m so selfish.”

“What? No,” Sciel said. “No, you’re one of the kindest people I know.”

“Maelle said I’m selfish. Well, she didn’t, exactly, but…But I know…Merde, is it so horrible to want to be a father?”

Oh, thought Sciel. She saw the way he lit up when his apprentices ran up to him, the happiness in his eyes when a child would come up and ask him about why his arm looked the way it did. She had assumed that he, like Sophie, loved children but couldn’t bear to bring them into such an awful world. But, no—he wanted to.

Sciel felt her chest tightening. Pierre had, at first, felt the same way that Gustave did, but he had been willing to hear out Sciel’s reasoning, and the two had ultimately decided that it wasn’t right to have children and only have six or eight years with them. But, in that brief moment when Sciel had learned about her baby—before learning that she had died—she had felt overjoyed. They would have made it work. They would have loved her deeply and set her up for a wonderful life. But she took that from Pierre. She stole that joy from him.

She felt herself tearing up and wiped her eyes, though Gustave seemed not to notice. He, himself, looked on the verge of tears.

“If Sophie and I have a baby soon, we might have four years with him. Maybe three. But that’s…Maelle is amazing, and she only had her parents for three years.”

“Woah, there, lover boy,” Sciel said, giving Gustave a small smile. “If you and Sophie have a baby? You haven’t even talked to her in a year.”

“All I want…Not all I want…I just want us to…”

He trailed off, blinking slowly.

“It’s natural to want a family with the person you love,” Sciel said. “If we lived in a different world…Another life…”

He shook his head.

“I don’t want to give it up,” he said. His eyes were glassy. “I want it in this life.”

“You are a father, though, Gustave,” Sciel said softly. “You have Maelle.”

“I’m…not really,” he said. “And I’m shitty at it. I snapped at her today.”

Sciel had never seen the man look so deflated.

“Did you apologize?” Sciel prompted gently.

He nodded.

“Then, that’s fine. We all fuck up sometimes,” Sciel said.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, she deserves so much better than me.”

This wasn’t fun anymore, Sciel thought. She needed to get Gustave home and get him some water.

His lips began to quiver.

“It’s not fair,” he said, his voice cracking. “Fuck, I don’t mean to complain to you. You have it so much worse. I’m not…It’s just…”

A loud sob escaped his throat.

“It’s okay,” Sciel said, gently rubbing Gustave’s back in small circles. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” he said. “I’m almost 30. No family of my own. No Sophie. All I have is the damn Lumina Converter, and it doesn’t even fucking work. I didn’t want this responsibility. Not really. I didn’t want this.”

“Still…we continue,” Sciel said, giving him a small smile. “For those who come after. Right?”

Gustave continued to cry, and clumsily wiped at his tears with his right hand.

“I feel it, Gustave,” Sciel said. “It’s difficult. It’s a special kind of pain, the loss of something that can’t exist. The loss of that hope.”

“Do you?” he choked out.

She hugged him gently and took a deep breath. He needed some comfort, she thought. Some connection.

“I’m sure you already picked this up from Sophie, but you know I lost Pierre and I’s baby, right?” she said quietly, her voice starting to shake. “Just after he died.”

Gustave looked at her with wide eyes, and shook his head.

“Fuck,” he said. “No. No, I had no idea. I’m so sorry. Fuck, Sciel.”

“She would be three right now,” Sciel said, feeling herself start to cry.

They held each other and cried for some time, until he slumped against her shoulder and let out a long sigh. Then, he straightened his back, and gripped her by the shoulders.

“What if…Listen,” he said. “We could have a baby. Wouldn’t that be nice? We could have a baby. Think about it. There’s still time. We could do it. Don’t—Just think about it. Come on. We could.”

His voice was desperate and sad, and his face was drenched with tears. Sciel felt sick.

“No,” Sciel said. “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t do that to Sophie. Or Pierre.”

“No, I know. I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry. That was a horrible thing to…I’m sorry.”

His voice was trembling, and he began crying again. Sciel steadied her breathing, and then she rubbed his back.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s going to be okay.”

Sciel stood up, and helped Gustave to his feet. He was unsteady, apologizing profusely as they slowly made their way to her house. Once inside, he collapsed onto the couch and she dragged him into the shower. She hadn’t touched Pierre’s drawer in their armoire since he died, but she felt too tired to attempt to do laundry, so, with trembling hands, she retrieved an off-white cotton shirt and black pants and helped Gustave change into them.

Then, finally, she went to sleep.

———————————————————-———————————————————-———

Gustave’s ears rang and his head felt heavy. He tried to will himself back to sleep, but the creep of the early-morning sun through his window made it impossible.

Tomorrow comes, he thought, grimacing. His head spun as he sat up. His stomach churned as he gulped in air and swallowed down thick saliva. He didn’t want to get up. If he got up, he was going to have to face the woman outside. She was going to want to talk about what he had said last night, because that was the kind of person that she was. If he had it his way, they would act like he never said what he did. But there was no way she would let him.

He rose to his feet with a soft groan. He was too old, he thought, to be this hungover. He was pathetic.

Gustave stepped out into the hallway with quiet footsteps. Perhaps if he was quiet enough, he could further delay the inevitable. He padded down the hall to the bathroom, was sick, and splashed water on his face.

Some sound between a sob and a snarl left his lips as he caught an unfortunate glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked terrible. His age had only recently begun to show on his face in the past year or so—small smile lines and creases in his brow only visible when someone was very much within his personal space—but today the lines looked so deep-set that they must have been visible from far, far away. There were deep, ugly, bruiselike bags under his bloodshot eyes. No one, he thought, should be subjected to looking at him. He should just disappear, right now. Right now.

But he wasn’t. He wasn’t, and so he had to step out of the bathroom, and continue down the hall and into the kitchen where the misery that he had caused himself awaited for him.

“Do you want some tea?”

Gustave cleared his throat.

“Sounds lovely,” he replied weakly. “Thank you.”

Sophie was too beautiful for words. Even as tense as she was—as she must have been all morning waiting for him—and even as measuredly as she moved, there was an elegance about her.

“How are you feeling?”

Her voice was soft and fragile-sounding.

“Shitty,” he said with a quiet and self-deprecating laugh.

His breaths were entirely too loud. He could hear hers, too, from across the kitchen, as he sat at the table, keeping his back straight. He didn’t dare approach her, didn’t dare wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her on the cheek the way that he normally did when he spent the night.

She retrieved a teacup from the top cabinet.

“Do you feel like breakfast?” Sophie asked. She still hadn’t looked at him.

“No,” Gustave said quietly. “But did you…Have you…You should eat.”

Normally, when he spent the night, he would wake up before her and make her an omelette.

“I’m…not really hungry, either,” she said.

When she was anxious—normally worrying about Sciel or something about the Aquafarm—she found it hard to eat. But she was usually able to eat some toast with a thin spread of blackberry jam.

“I could make toast,” he said.

“That’s okay,” she said, pouring the tea into the small cup. It was steaming. She had just made it.

“I…I might eat it,” he said.

“I can make some, then,” she said.

“No, I…Let me,” he said, standing up, letting out a quiet moan as his head reeled.

“Sit down,” she said, her voice firmer.

He sat down, immediately. She came over and placed his tea down in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said, and gingerly lifted the cup to his lips.

She had put in two spoonfuls of honey, like he liked. Honey was a rarity in Lumiére, which made it all the more special.

Sophie sighed deeply, looking straight ahead. Her hand lingered on the table next to his, as if she was fighting the urge to rub his back or put her hand on his shoulder, the way she so often did.

“Will you look at me?”

The words expelled themselves out of his throat with a force that made his body curl inwards.

With another soft sigh, Sophie turned to him, and she sat down across from him.

His chest swelled as she looked at him. She was, he thought, so beautiful.

“Gustave,” she said quietly. “I…I want to talk about what you said at the party last night, but I don’t want to force it when you don’t feel well.”

She was, he thought, so fucking thoughtful. She had given him an out, a temporary out. Did that mean that they could carry on like things were normal, for a few hours? Maybe even for a day? And maybe she would slip back into the rhythm of the life they were building together, and not bring it up, and never bring it up.

“That sounds…Thanks,” Gustave said.

That would be perfect, he thought. Never bringing it up would be perfect. Maybe he could convince her that she didn’t need to.

He took another sip of his tea.

“Of course,” Sophie said softly.

“But…It wasn’t…It wasn’t anything. I didn’t mean anything. I was just drunk.”

Sophie frowned.

“Do you want to have this conversation now? Or later, when you’re feeling a little better?”

“I’m saying, there’s no conversation. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Sophie took a deep breath.

“I think you did, Gustave.”

Gustave felt himself tensing.

“No, I…I didn’t. I didn’t. I know that you…that we…We’ve talked about how we weren’t sure what we wanted to do.”

“No,” Sophie said. “I’ve talked about how I’m not sure what I want to do. But, I…I told you last week, I’m feeling more and more sure that I just can’t, in good conscience, bring a life into this world. I just can’t.”

“I know,” Gustave said quietly. “But, the week before that, you said you thought, maybe, it might be okay.”

“And you said that you would be happy with whatever I decided,” Sophie said, her voice growing insistent.

Gustave took a deep breath.

“I…would,” he said.

“I don’t think so, Gustave,” she said. “I don’t think so. And I don’t know why you couldn’t just be honest with me about this. I’ve always, always told you that I’m on the fence.”

Merde, he thought, she was right. She always was. He owed her honesty.

“You have,” he said. “I just…I’ve always thought…I thought at some point you’d hop off to the other side.”

Sophie narrowed her eyes at him.

“Gustave, why couldn’t you have said this to me sooner?”

She never yelled, but this was as close as he had ever heard her come to it.

“Because, I…I wanted…I…”

I figured if I bided my time, you’d come around, he thought. Which was a horrible thing to think. As if he knew her better than she knew herself. But it wasn’t that he thought he knew better; it was that he wanted the possibility to be true so badly—his envisioned future, his family—that he convinced himself that it was only a matter of time.

“Just say what you’re thinking,” Sophie said. “Tell me exactly what you’re thinking.”

Gustave sighed.

“I…”

A sharp pain pierced his head as his heartbeat pounded, hard against his ribs, loud in his ears.

“Gustave!” Sophie shouted. “Just tell me.”

He was making her sad. He was making her upset. He was making her angry. Sophie, who had all the patience and all the grace in the world.

Maybe he was angry, too—sad, upset, angry. Why hadn’t Pierre’s death lit a fire under her the way it had for Gustave? It had been two years since Pierre died. Two precious years, years filled with beauty and joy and laughter, and there weren’t many more left together. Four. Four, and that was if everything went the way it should go, if no disaster struck, if no storm came tearing through Lumiére the way it had when he was a boy and wiped out half of all their food and buildings, if no Nevrons came and attacked the city the way they had when he was a teenager, after which he, at 19 years old, worked with Julien to develop a chroma-enforced force-field to keep them away.

Why was he, he thought, the only one who seemed to feel any pressure at all? She was the one with one less year to live!

“Fine!” he exclaimed. “You know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking that we’re running out of time. Merde, you more than me!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Sophie cried, tears welling up in the corners of her glistening eyes.

Gustave immediately felt shame pooling in his gut, felt himself shrinking, and he looked down into his cup of tea.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—"

“No, you’re absolutely right,” Sophie said, a clarity to her voice even as it wavered. "There isn’t much time left, for either of us.”

“Right,” Gustave began. “So—”

“I don’t want to be the one to stand in the way of what you really want in life,” she said. “You deserve to have what you want. Even if I think it’s selfish, and stupid. Merde, with how close you are to Maelle, you must see how much she’s suffering.”

Gustave felt something stir inside him. Heat. Nausea.

“I’ve worked hard to give her a good life,” he said, his voice rising again.

“I know you have,” Sophie said, “and that’s something I love about you, how much you do for others. But that doesn’t mean that she isn’t also suffering. I’ve walked in on her crying. I’m sure you have, too. She doesn’t need a brother and a sister. She needs parents.”

Gustave opened his mouth, spurned, compelled to argue. But no rebuttal came to his mind.

Sophie stared at him for a moment, her gaze softening.

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said that. You know her better than I do,” she said. "I’m sure if you asked her to choose between what she has now, or never being born at all, that she’d choose the former every time.”

Gustave felt his chest tightening, his throat closing.

Would he? he thought. But what a selfish thing to think. He was needed. His work was needed. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think that he, alone, was responsible for improving the lives of the next generation, but he had done a lot. Invented defense techniques and safeguards against the Nevrons and anyone else who tried to invade Lumiere. Come up with new ways to make more food with fewer amounts of water and less waste. He had done his part to ensure that the next generation could survive, would survive, so that they could, perhaps, be the ones to defeat the Paintress, to save humanity.

But that was a lot to put on someone, wasn’t it? he thought. Someone who hadn’t even had the choice to decline the responsibility. Would that future someone be like him, and embrace the challenge, rise to the occasion, and do everything he could to make the world better? Would that future someone be like him, and crumble into the weakest pieces of himself when he needed to be the strongest?

“Would you?” he asked quietly.

He couldn’t breathe. He felt dizzy and felt the ground shifting underneath him. He looked down, and shut his eyes, and tried to keep himself from clutching at his chest and his throat. He could feel panic, could feel death encroaching on him, suffocating him, wrenching away from him what little time he had left. He was wasting it. He was wasting it, now.

“Gustave,” Sophie said softly.

He felt her lean towards him, and put her soft, gentle hand on his cheek.

“It’s alright,” she said. Her breaths were slow. He breathed, shakily, along with her, until he felt death receding, until he felt that he could open his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Sophie said. “I know that this is something you want, deeply. And I know you’d be good at it. I see how you are with your apprentices, with Maelle. You deserve to have what you want.”

Gustave sniffled, still unable to look at her.

“But I can’t do it,” Sophie said. “I just can’t bring a child into this. I can’t.”

Gustave took several deep breaths, though his mind raced, his thoughts returning as a different sort of fear gripped him.

Sophie was intending to leave him. He could hear it in her voice. Living without her would be torment. Desolate. Lifeless. The light snuffed out of his life.

He had never, ever pictured his life without children. He knew, as a boy, that he would grow up to be a father. Everything he did was in service to that future, to that dream. Abandoning that was inconceivable. He ached to even think of it. But not having Sophie in his life would ache just as much.

Maybe, he thought, she just needed more time. Maybe she would come around. Most everyone he knew did—even if it was already a little late.

He just needed to convince her that there was still hope. Maybe if she spent more time with his trainees, she would see how kind and wonderful they were, what fantastic big brothers they could be to their future child. Maybe if he worked harder, invented some stronger weapon that had a chance of taking down the Paintress, then she would feel that it would be possible, and soon. Perhaps a mere generation away—if, that is, his expedition wasn’t the one to slay her.

He could work on those things. He could. But not right now. Right now, he just needed to convince her to stay, he thought as he felt himself trembling. So few of the living did.

“That’s okay,” he said quietly. “Maybe—I mean, I…I understand. I don’t mind.”

“You do mind,” Sophie said. "You’re still hoping to change my mind. I can see it in your eyes, Gustave.”

“No,” he said, wanting to hit himself for the lack of conviction that made it into his voice. “No.”

"I wouldn’t ask you to give up something like that for me,” Sophie said. “I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“It’s…It’s not like…It wouldn’t be—”

“Gustave,” Sophie said, her voice firm. She took his hands.

“I love you,” she said. “I love you, but…This isn’t something that love can fix. And it was selfish of me to keep seeing you for so long. For keeping you from what you really want.”

“No,” Gustave said loudly. “No, Sophie, you’re what I want.”

“I’m not all you want,” she said.

Again, Gustave opened his mouth, and nothing came out.

“It’s okay,” she said. "Gustave, I love you, deeply. But that isn’t enough.”

Gustave opened his mouth to say no, to say that it was, to say anything, but no sound came out except for a scream, as Sophie, before his eyes, began to dissolve into red flower petals.

He awoke with a start, his body jolting forward, his breath caught in his throat. Only after his breathing began to slow did he realize how awful he felt. His head ached; his eyes ached; his stomach ached; his limbs ached. It took intense concentration for him to focus his vision, though that only made his headache worse.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pressing a hand to his head. It made no difference. His stomach churned. His mouth was painfully dry.

He was sitting up on a couch. Not his couch at home; it wasn’t the right color. This was Sciel’s couch. He had been here many times. Just after Pierre’s death—when Sciel needed constant company—he often slept on the couch while Sophie slept with Sciel in bed. He would—unless Sophie woke up before he did—make them all breakfast. In the evenings, after work but before bedtime, he would bring Sciel an herbal tea. And when Sophie had to leave for work, or needed to step out to check on her own home, Gustave would sit with Sciel. Sometimes, she would cry on his shoulder. Sometimes, she would talk about Pierre’s last days volunteering at the school. Sometimes, they would sit together in silence.

It was a good couch. Comfortable. Safe. Maybe he could fall back asleep, just for a few minutes.

He lowered his head onto the pillow, and groaned as the memories from the previous night began rushing through his pounding head.

Lucien and Catherine and Jérome all rushing to refill his glass. Them cheering him on as he chugged an entire bottle of wine and hurled it toward the monolith—as if it were a rock that he and Maelle would so often throw—and shouted, “Fuck the Paintress!” Alan rubbing his back as he was hunched over and violently ill. Leaning against a cackling Jérome as they pulled down their pants and relieved themselves in the water by the harbor. Sitting, with his knees to his chest, murmuring Sophie’s name. Yanking another bottle of wine from Lucien’s grasp. Stumbling through the streets, and falling, and being too dizzy to get back up. Embracing Sciel. The two of them, crying together over the loss of her baby. Him, begging her to have a baby with him. Sciel stripping his clothes off before helping him into the shower. Sobbing loudly as the water came down on him. Sciel, gently and patiently dressing him before disappearing into the dark.

Fuck.

This series of events had to be the worst things that he had ever done in his life—except, maybe, for the conversation that led to his breakup with Sophie.

His stomach turned.

There was no way he could ever speak to Sciel again. It would be easy enough to avoid her. He knew where she liked to eat breakfast and what times she walked to and from the school for work. The only time he would have to see her would be during expeditioner training, and he usually ended up paired with Lune for most of those activities anyway.

The only problem, now, was leaving her home without her noticing. It was quiet, and it wasn’t too bright outside. Maybe she was still asleep. If he could be swift and silent, he could slip out of the back door and head back to his house without her ever noticing.

With his eyes locked on the door—a mere 12 feet away, or maybe less—he stood up, and his body lurched left, and he crashed into the nearby table and fell, along with the vase that was resting on it.

“Putain,” he hissed.

When he tried to get up, his head spun, and he resigned himself to the floor for a few moments, before slowly crawling back to the couch and leaning his back against it.

Sciel was before him, suddenly, grinning at him, clearly struggling not to laugh in his face.

At least, he thought, he could offer her some amusement. It was the least he could do.

She held a small dustbin and broom in her hands. The vase was shattered into many pieces.

“How are you feeling, party boy?” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “Let me help with that.”

“I’d really rather you not,” Sciel said, smirking. “Stay there, mon ami.”

He did as she said, and sat there, and watched her sweep up the vase. He felt sick.

“That…That wasn’t Pierre’s, was it?”

Sciel laughed.

“No! No, it was a gift from a student’s mother. But I’ve always thought it was hideous, so you really did me a favor.”

“I’m so sorry,” Gustave said quietly, not meeting Sciel’s gaze.

“Sorry for doing me a favor?” she said. “Well, you owe me a lot more after everything I did for you last night.”

Gustave groaned as he felt his cheeks flush.

“Yeah, I had to see you naked,” Sciel said, grinning at him. “I think it might have traumatized me.”

“I’m sorry,” Gustave said, again. His head hurt too much for him to try to come up with some retort, even though that was clearly what she wanted him to do.

Her smile grew a little smaller and she walked over to him, and knelt down beside him. He turned his face away from hers. She put her hand on his shoulder.

“You know I’m joking, right?” she said. “I was happy to take care of you for a change. With all you and Sophie did for me after Pierre, this is the least I could do.”

Happy to take care of me? Gustave thought. After what I said to you? He had to apologize. He had to apologize, and then leave, and then never talk to her again.

“I’m so sorry, Sciel,” he said, looking up at her. “I’m so ashamed.”

For a moment, she looked genuinely confused.

“About what?” she asked.

Then, she smiled.

“Oh! You mean when you said we should make a baby together,” she said.

Sciel grinned at him.

“You know, I think that’s the most unenticing way a man has ever asked me if I wanted to have sex. And I’ve been asked by a lot of men.”

Gustave wanted to disappear.

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly.

“If you hadn’t just been crying for the last 10 minutes, I might have actually considered it,” she said, grinning at him. “You’re not really that bad looking.”

She was obviously, thought Gustave, not serious. Obviously trying to say something to make him feel better. But that didn’t work, because there was nothing she could say, because he was, perhaps, the worst person to ever exist, and he was probably going to feel this level of shame for the rest of his life.

“Gustave,” Sciel said, her face suddenly turning serious.

She put her arm around him and helped him onto the couch and sat beside him.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay. I promise. I’m not mad. I’m happy we could talk about that. And we can talk about it more, if you want.”

“It” being the increasing likelihood, he thought, that he was never going to become a father and she was never going to become a mother.

“I don’t,” he said, instantly. “I don’t. Never. No. Thank you. No.”

She laughed.

“Finally, you say something other than ‘I’m sorry.’ Do you want some coffee?”

Gustave took a deep breath.

“I would love some coffee.”

While Sciel prepared the coffee, Gustave stumbled to the bathroom. He felt better after he threw up a little and washed his face. When he emerged, Sciel was there, and handed him a mug.

“Thank you,” he said, and downed it.

It was disgusting. He didn’t like coffee, especially not strong, dark coffee with half of a splash of milk. He missed the tea that Sophie would make for him.

“Are you thinking about Sophie?” Sciel asked.

Gustave stared at her, wide-eyed.

“I’m not a mind reader,” she said. “I just figured I had a 50-50 chance of being right.”

Gustave chuckled.

“I…yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I was just thinking how she…Sometimes, we would…Fuck, I didn’t talk to her last night, did I?”

“No,” Sciel said. “She turned in long before you did.”

Gustave felt relief wash over him. At least things weren’t the absolute worst that they could have been; at least he didn’t embarass himself for the second time in one day in front of Sophie.

He felt his stomach turn. Normally, Sophie spent the night after the gommage with Sciel. Had she been here this whole time? Had she been here, and just not come out, to spare him further embarrassment?

“Is she…Is she here?” he asked.

“No, mon ami,” Sciel said, shaking her head. “She didn’t spend the night here.”

That was new, thought Gustave.

“Is that…Did you…Why not?”

Sciel shrugged.

“Things didn’t feel as hard as they usually do. Maybe I have you to thank for that. Maybe you distracted me. I saw you, crying, as Julien left us. It made me realize…my pain doesn’t feel as raw as that, anymore.”

Gustave felt his stomach sink. She had seen him earlier, yesterday, sobbing uncontrollably in the town square.

He groaned.

“I made a fool of myself,” he said.

“Last night? Oh, absolutely,” said Sciel. “But not during the gommage.”

Gustave sighed.

“I don’t know where that…I’m not a crier. I barely cried at my parents’ gommage.”

Sciel shrugged.

“You have a lot going on, mon ami,” she said. “The stress needs to work its way out somehow.”

He wasn’t, he thought, any more stressed than anybody else in Lumiére. Everyone feared the Paintress, feared they were too weak to stop her. Everyone was running out of time.

“I guess,” he said.

“Gustave,” Sciel said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You are a good man. Okay? You’re so good with your apprentices. You’re brilliant. You’re considerate. You remind me of Pierre, of what I loved about him. I feel like he’s still living on, because of people like you.”

Even though it had been three years since his death, Sciel’s voice always started to crack whenever she mentioned Pierre. She had begun to cry a little, and he felt himself begin to cry as well. Gustave hugged her gently.

“Thank you, Sciel,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “You are, too.”

She chuckled.

“I’m a good man?” she said.

“You—you know what I mean.”

They hugged each other for a while longer, and then Gustave took a deep breath. He needed to go back home. He needed to thank Emma for watching Maelle, and to tell her that she needed to hurry up and become Chief Councilor so that they wouldn’t have to endure another horrendous speech. He needed to apologize to Maelle and tell her that, next year, he would spend the evening of the gommage with her, instead. He needed to find the boys and start them on their new projects.

But not now. Now, he was with his friend. It was quiet inside her house. He felt the most peace that he had felt in a long time.