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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Rating: T Spoilers for Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 Warnings: mentioned trauma, slight angst

Summary

“Hmmm.” Esquie seemed pleased. A few seconds passed, then: “Do you need a hug?” And now, Verso really smiled. “I do, mon – oh shit.” “Uh, hello.” Verso blinked. Esquie had opened his arms, but instead of the folds of soft fabric and warmth underneath, Verso was confronted with the image of Gustave, curled up to his side, hastily wiping over his face, his mechanical arm sizzling with something like oppressed electricity.

Verso really needs a hug, but unfortunately, somebody else had the same idea this evening – and there is only one Esquie …

Word Count: ~4.7k

My first Clair Obscur fic! This started as a little tumblr post I made, then the incredible @usesteeledstrikeongustavesbutt turned it into a really amazing visual version (I linked the post below), and now we're here!

💬 8 🔁 8 ❤️ 64 · Post by @assan08 · Esquie wants to give Verver and Gugu a big hug! ☺️☺️☺️ I've always wanted to get a shot of Esquie hugg

Get ready for some insights in Verso's thoughts, awkward idiots cuddling, Esquie being Esquie and me being an unabashed Verstave-fan! Have fun!

Verso stared at the Monolith, the looming centre of the world. Not geographically. But in every other sense of the word.

The Monolith was the centre of their world in the same sense as an open flame was the centre of the world for a bunch of moths. Only that in their case, the moths had decided that enough of their brothers and sisters had fallen victim to the flames, and set out to destroy the flames with nothing but their own, paper-thin wings.

One didn't need much fantasy to imagine what fate they would eventually meet.

And should they happen to make it one day? Should one of them – or even a few – be strong or smart enough to blow out this flame with a fluttering of their wings?

A victory.

And then …

Then they'd find out what it meant to destroy the source of warmth, and their paper-thin wings would freeze over until they shattered into a myriad of ice crystals.

He heard Sciel laugh behind him, where she sat with Maelle and Lune, all of them warming their beautiful wings at the fire.

Verso felt cold.

He knew all too well that, technically, he was leading this expedition into certain death, one way or the other. It was part of the reason why he had sometimes preferred to stay behind and watch expeditions from afar. This way, he wouldn't have a chance to learn their names, and no need to lie to them.

Only that this time, it was too late for that. He had known their names long before their departure – at least some of them. He had watched Maelle growing up, taking more and more the form of the Alicia he knew even though he had never really met her. He had seen her in a foster family, and then, when he returned to the city two years later, in another one. And then, another few years later, he had seen her laughing in the streets with a young man, had seen the way his moustache turned into a warm-hearted laugh as Maelle pulled at his mechanical arm:

“Please, Gustave, you promised you'd spar with me today!”

And Verso had felt warm and cold at the same time, seeing her so happy, so blissfully unaware about the nature of herself, in such loving hands.

Hands that, back then, still had a few years before they'd desperately try to grasp petals that fled the fingers of a mechanical arm. Hands that, back then, were constructing new inventions to keep the citizens safe and fed, not wielding a sword and a gun.

A mechanical hand that, back then, wasn't lying on the rocky ground on a cliff by the sea, still humming with electricity after it painted a death that was met with resurrection.

It had been a split second decision. Verso had considered letting it go. He had decided to. If Gustave died by Renoir's hand, it was a tragedy. If he died because Verso had led them to the Paintress, it was betrayal.

How he came to stand right between Gustave and Renoir only a split second before Renoir would've killed Gustave? He didn't know. He was as surprised as anybody else. Maybe it was a reflex. Maybe it was the need to not let his father win.

Maybe it was the memory of a smile that spread over the now blood-stained lips, of a warm laugh that flowed out of a chest now spilling blood onto the rocks.

Gustave had lived. They all had. And after Verso had settled things with Renoir, he had carried a mechanical arm to their camp and handed it to its owner.

It had felt right. It had no right to feel wrong. And still, he couldn't help but wonder if he had chosen betrayal over tragedy, or if he was simply so accustomed to lying to other people that he had started to lie to himself about anything, too.

Verso sighed. The wind had picked up into a constant, chilling breeze that cut through his uniform and into his skin. Funny how things went – the man he was made to resemble had been devoured by flames, and yet he himself found himself longing for warmth, the kind of which a fire couldn't deliver.

Another moth, another flame.

At least he knew that there were to beings in the canvas that might deliver said warmth. One of them was out hunting feet – Monoco had tracked down an especially interesting Nevron, it seemed, and apparently, he couldn't wait any longer to … collect.

That left Esquie. Verso was happy with that. As much as he loves snuggling with Monoco, but a hug from Esquie was the best one could have in his state of mind.

Or in any state of mind, really.

Verso strolled over to where his friend sat, long neck arched back to look at the stars. His arms were folded in front of his body, like he was holding an imaginary something.

“Esquie, mon ami,” Verso said, coming to a halt in a distance that allowed him to look at Esquie without craning his neck too much. His friend looked down with a gentle hum.

“Verso!” A beat, then, Esquie tilted his head. “You look sad.”

Verso snorted.

“Yeah. Dark thoughts, you know.”

“Oooh. How dark, mon ami?”

Verso couldn't help but smile. As much as he loathed his existence in the Canvas most of the time, he just couldn't imagine how people in the outside world could live without an Esquie.

“Not that dark. Don't worry, Esq. There's no need to evacuate me from the top of the Reacher's tower tonight.”

“Hmmm.” Esquie seemed pleased. A few seconds passed, then: “Do you need a hug?”

And now, Verso really smiled. “I do, mon – oh shit.”

“Uh, hi.”

Verso blinked.

Esquie had opened his arms, but instead of the folds of soft fabric and warmth underneath, Verso was confronted with the image of Gustave, curled up to his side, hastily wiping over his face, his mechanical arm sizzling with something like oppressed electricity.

“Hi.” Verso couldn't stop staring. It was something he had recognised earlier with Gustave – something about the way he just was that drew his gaze, forced it to linger.

And also the fact that he had taken the jacket of his uniform off and was now only wearing his shirt and pants.

And of course the fact that he was occupying Esquie.

“Come, mon ami.” Esquie reached out with an arm and tapped Verso's shoulder, nudging him closer.

“There is, uh, you're … full,” Verso said dumbly. Gustave didn't say anything, staring up at him, seemingly testing if it was possible for a grown man to completely vanish in Esquie's fabric.

Esquie, as usual, read Verso way too well.

“Why are you flustered, Verso?” he asked, head tilting the other way. His headband glinted in the moonlight.

“I am not -”

“I-I can go,” Gustave mumbled, attempting to scramble up and out of Esquie's hug, but managed to trip over one of his legs. Esquie's hand caught him just in time to prevent him from unceremoniously face-planting into the dirt, and instead pushed him back, where he bounced into Esquie's body.

“There is enough space for both of you,” Esquie said. He patted his belly gleefully, sending ripples over it and also right through Gustave, who looked like he might get seasick. “I am big enough.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't know that you wanted to -”

“No, it's alright, maybe I'll just wait until Monoco gets back -”

“Ooh, but Momo said he'll be gone for days,” Esquie cut in. “Don't worry, Verso, Gugu smells much better than when we first met him! He has washed himself in that river only a few hours ago!”

Gustave flashed red hot, and Verso was attacked by images of Gugu washing himself in the river that was flowing idly through their camp.

“Ooh, why, now you are even more flustered -”

“Alright, that's enough,” Verso decided and turned around on his heel. “You two have fun with your pyjama party, I need to – argh.”

Esquie's long reach be damned, he had simply reached out and plucked Verso up by his collar like a kitten. Verso found himself planted back on his feet where he started.

“You are sad, mon ami,” Esquie diagnosed. “And you are mad. A hug can cure both.” And with that, Esquie pulled him in, where Verso hit the fabric with a dull Thud, right next to Gustave. The engineer scrambled to the side, but Esquie placed his hand over him, stopping his attempt to scurry away.

“You both need a hug,” Esquie said, in the tone of a parent feeding a sick child with medicine. “An Esquie-hug.”

“But there is only one Esquie,” Gustave mumbled, seemingly paralysed by the idea. A flicker of lightning danced over his arm. Verso pointed at it warily.

“Hey, you can … you can control that, right?”

That diverted Gustave's attention from their situation. He raised an eyebrow.

“What, you think I'll electrocute you accidentally?”

“I mean, there was some lightning just now -”

“That's just base saturation current. Too low to jump over to another body.”

“I do sincerely hope you are right, whatever you just said. Since I heard that it was constructed by a bunch of kids.”

Gustave raised a threatening metallic finger.

“These kids are my apprentices, and they knew what they were doing.” He shrugged. “That's not to say that I couldn't still electrocute you on purpose.”

Verso huffed.

“Oh, I don't doubt that. I've seen the way you've sent Renoir flying ...”

A shadow passed over Gustave's face. Verso suppressed a curse. Stupid idiot.

The Stone Waves Cliffs debacle had obviously left its marks on all of them, but especially Gustave, for obvious reasons. And it didn't take a doctor to assess that his chest wasn't the only part of him that would stay bruised for quite a while.

Verso had seen a lot of things during his life, he had seen a lot of people in the moments right before their death. He had held hands and twisted knives, had whispered words of support and regret. Verso knew how death looked, if only through its reflection in other people's eyes.

And yet, he didn't think he'd ever forget the moment Gustave's shoulders had sagged when Renoir had came back to his feet. The way his eyes had glinted when he had turned to look at the girl he had raised for what he thought to be the last time. The way his voice nearly shattered when he spoke those words he thought to be his last: For those who come after, right?

With these words, Gustave had bid the world farewell, the people he loved, the mission he had believed in. He had turned around to face the death he had willed closer only days before, only to be pulled back from the brink yet a second time.

It wasn't surprising that he needed a hug.

It was surprising that Verso had so many thoughts about him, though. It was something he hadn't even been aware of until now.

Verso cleared his throat.

“Uh, I'm sorry, this wasn't very … tactful.”

Gustave shook his head. “No, no, it's fine. It's just, uh. Quite fresh, that's all.” He warbled a laugh. “I mean, you were there. It could have been worse, right?”

Verso tried to smile, but it felt like he was flashing his teeth like an injured animal.

“Yeah.”

A few seconds of silence, while they were both contemplating their situation, both the overall and the one at hand.

As if he sensed the tension – of course he had, it was Esquie – Esquie chimed in, his body rocking them like a boat.

“See, mes ami? Isn't it wonderful?”

Verso grunted. It was nice. He had needed this hug.

Gustave, seemingly completely misinterpreting Verso's unintelligible grunt, scrambled a little further, trying to get some distance between them with an apologetic smile,.

“Look, I didn't know that you were planning to … I mean, he's your Esquie, so -”

“Esquie belongs to anybody,” Esquie announced happily, squeezing them tight. Gustave yelped.

“Esquie!” Verso barked. “Careful! Think of the 66!”

Esquie loosened his arms immediately – not enough for Gustave to slip out of it, but enough for him to readjust his position and take a deep, surprised (and maybe a little terrified) breath.

“Ooooooh, I am so sorry!” Esquie said. “I forgot that Gugu is not as sturdy as Verver.”

“You alright?” Verso asked, tilting his head so he could see better. Gustave coughed, and by the way his hand momentarily hovered over his chest, he guessed that Esquie had accidentally pushed his bruises.

And yet, still, this man managed to dig up a shy laugh from some place Verso could only ever hope to explore.

“I'm okay. Didn't expect him to be so … well, strong.”

“Are you okay, Gugu?” Esquie bowed his head down to them, inspecting Gustave, who gave him a brave smile.

“Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry, Esquie. You really give the best hugs.”

That seemed to console Esquie's soul, judging by the ripples that went through his body – his version of purring, Verso reckoned. It was something that had creeped him out at first, it felt like he was leaning on a waterbed with a tsunami trapped within, but after a while, he had found it to be quite comforting.

Gustave took another breath before he gave him a curious look.

“What happened to the -”

“Sh!” Verso shook his head quietly, nodding up at where Esquie had averted his face to the sky.

The 66 was one of Esquie's darkest chapters. At first had underestimated his strength, and had accidentally broken one of the expeditioner's wrist during their initial handshake. In his defence, it had been one of the very early expeditions, and Esquie had barely had any experience with humans, except for the immortal one. It was perhaps the only time Esquie had hurt a human being (apart from the even more unfortunate mushroom-incident that, to be fair, rendered the whole wrist-thing meaningless), but since he was painted to do the exact opposite, it still haunted him.

Gustave seemed to understand, but if his puzzled look was anything to go by, they'd talk about this as soon as they were out of earshot.

But for now, they were both very much within earshot, and it seemed like the realisation hit Gustave abut the third time in as many minutes.

“So what will we do about, uh -”

“Oh, you can stay if you want -”

“I mean I would never -”

“There's enough room for both of us -”

“I don't want to occupy your -”

“Maybe I should go look after Monoco -”

“You really don't have to go -”

“Neither do you -”

“Good, okay, then I will just, uh, stay over here -”

“Yes, great, I will stay over here.”

They both tried to snuggle into the crook of Esqiue's respective arm, as far away from each other as physically possible. Which … wasn't very far.

Verso sighed. Well, now that they were here, they could as well make the best of it.

Esquie seemed to sense their efforts. He hummed … and draped his arms closer together.

“He -”

“Esquie -”

They both shared a slightly horrified look, before another jolt pushed them even closer together. Judging by the way Gustave's boot dragged a veritable scar into the ground, he was trying quite desperately to resist Esquie's power. Without much success.

“Oh, putain!”

“Uh, Esq?”

“You will feel even better if you're warming each other, too,” Esquie said brightly, and judging by the flicker of panic that rushed through Gustave's eyes, Verso wasn't the only one who found the wording difficult.

“I have to talk to the curator about something -” Gustave started, trying to wiggle out of Esquie's arm, but Esquie was the strongest being on this canvas, and all he did was to dishevel his shirt and tousle his hair during his actions.

Great. Because him even more dishevelled was exactly what I needed to see now.

Verso halted internally. What was that thought just now?

“You need to sleep,” Esquie said and leaned back against the cliff, resting his head against it and looked up at the sky. That was it. End of the conversation.

Gustave tried another escape manouver, but even though Esquie's arm was now applying less pressure, it was still a barrier that couldn't be crossed, not without Gustave actively climbing out of the hug, and the success of that was still debatable. His foot slipped Esquie's fabric with a muffled grunt, which Verso reciprocated when he got hit by a mechanical arm.

“Putain de -”

“Stop that and sleep,” Verso said, trying to will his eyes away from the exposed skin that showed where Gustave's shirt had been pulled out of his pants. Where did that cool wind go? “Esq is not going to let you go.”

“That's a bit rude, isn't it?” Gustave said, but finally lay still. Verso shrugged, adjusting his position.

“He's made to sense our feelings. He knows that you need this hug.”

“Yeah, I do, but not if we're having a party.” Gustave stopped. “What do you mean, he's made to?”

Oh fuck. He needed to be more careful around him.

“Nothing. Just … y'know. A saying.” Verso sniffed. He side-eyed him. “To be frank, I have never seen him insisting so strong about giving a hug. You seem to strike him as really needy.”

Gustave looked like he had gotten a good few thousand volt from his own arm.

Verso felt like it, too.

“I, oh, that's not what I -”

“You really have to work on your wording,” Gustave rasped, clearing his throat without much success. “Your lack of human interactions really shows when you're nervous.”

“My – excuse me, I happen to be extremely eloquent.”

“Uhu.” Gustave nodded. His face was still flushed, but there was a wry grin playing on the edges of his lips.

“Yes. How come all of you were in awe when you hear Monoco invite you to a duel in his most professional manner before slapping his own bell into his face, but you completely disregard the fact that I taught him that?”

“You taught him to slap his bell into his face?”

“I -” Verso paused. “When did you get so smart-assed?”

Gustave shrugged. “Maybe a side effect of spending time with you.”

Verso snorted. “You're a quick learner, then.”

“Oh, I'm the fastest. And since you're the unrivalled king of smartassery, I will not leave your side until I have learned all your tricks.”

It was a joke. Verso knew that. It was just bickering, something he did with Monoco on a daily basis, something to show the other that they were good-natured.

And still, it felt strangely good to hear it. To be reassured that the other man … liked him? Tolerated him, at least.

Or maybe, just a little more.

Verso cleared his throat. Whatever had befallen Gustave seemed to be contagious, because now his voice was rasping too, and there was a smile just as dumb on his own lips, he could feel it.

“I'll sleep now. Uh. Good night.” With that, he let his head drop against Esquie and closed his eyes. Maybe he could ignore the smell of Gustave so close by. Maybe he could just ignore the way they had just enough space to not touch the other, yet not enough to not feel the other's presence.

He heard a few seconds of silence, then a slight shuffle as Gustave seemingly adjusted himself in his corner of the ring.

Verso's last thought was that it was utterly ridiculous what they did here, given that he had trouble sleeping with other people in the same camp, let alone the same … uh, Esquie. He would definitely wake up, jump-scared by the movement close to him.

The next morning, when Verso came to, he felt the best rested as he had in years.

There really is a thing about Esquie, he thought, sleepily opening his eyes.

Wait.

Something … was off.

Verso looked down on himself.

There was .. an arm.

Draped squarely over his chest.

A mechanical arm, with the tiniest specks of lightning travelling over it.

And he felt warm. Very warm.

Oh no.

He turned around, careful to not cause too much seismic activity on the ever fluctuating seabed of Esquie's belly, and found himself nose to nose with Gustave, sound asleep, quiet snores breathing directly into Verso's gaping mouth.

Oh fuck.

Somebody chuckled.

Verso closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, lifting his head, he was confronted with Monoco who cradled a horrendous looking leg like it was his firstborn.

“You slept well, I take it,” Monoco said. Verso hissed.

“I thought you were hunting for a few days.”

Gustave stirred, his arm pulling Verso closer. Verso swore as he almost lost balance and barely escaped the fate of knocking his head off Gustave's.

“I found another Nevron,” Monoco said, flourishing the leg. “Isn't it beautiful?”

“Yes, yes, mon vieux, truly beautiful. Now, could you, ah, help me out here?”

“Oh, why would I? You seem to have adjusted just fine.” It wasn't physically possible for Monoco to have any kind of facial expression, but Verso had long since learned to spot the amusement in his voice that equalled a mischievous grin.

Verso's ears picked up the shuffling from the other side of the camp – the other expeditioners were rising, and it wouldn't be too long before one of them decided to come take a look at Esquie, or look for the two missing men of their expedition.

“Because, “ he hissed, careful to not wake up Gustave or Esquie - “you can go dive after your precious feet on the bottom of the ocean if you won't help me.”

Monoco flinched back pressing the latest addition to his terrifying collection against his chest.

“You wouldn't do that!” “You know I've done worse.”

“Oh, you have.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I only agreed with you.”

“It's not the kind of thing to agree with.”

“What, you want me to tell you that you're the saint here?”

“You could at least pretend that I am.”

“I'm afraid that dishonesty isn't part of my nature.”

“It really should be. I can only recommend it.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Yeah, after all, where would our friendship be if I couldn't have lied to you about how much I like you?”

“You're just being nasty because you're trapped underneath the arm of an expeditioner you have slept with tonight and now you don't know how to make a swift exit.”

“I … I didn't … Monoco! I didn't … and I don't! We … Esquie is right here, I would never ...”

“Why are you so flustered?”

“Ah – Esq!” Verso nearly jumped out of his skin. “When have you … I thought you were asleep!”

“Oh, no! I haven't slept the whoooole night.” Esquie chuckled. “I have been watching you and Gugu.”

“That's a whole new turn of events,” Monoco said, produced a cloth out of nowhere and sat down with crossed legs, polishing his new Nevron leg.

“You have what?”

“You looked so happy. And Gugu looked happy, too. But then, you had a nightmare, and I didn't want to wake you up. And while I was thinking about what to do, Gugu started having a nightmare, too! So I pushed Gugu closer, and then he gave you a hug, while he slept.” Esquie seemed to get really excited about his story. “It was so nice! It was almost like he is a little, teeny-tiny Esquie, and you were like a teeny-tiny Esquie for him! You both calmed down and slept for the rest of the night. You got a double hug!”

Monoco shook his head. “So you really just slept. What a boring story.” He got up and strolled over to the others, ignoring Verso's desperate hiss.

“Monoco, wait! Oh, shit ...”

“Oooh, look! Gugu is waking up!”

“Esquie, help m-”

“Good morning, Gugu!”

“Hhhrm.” Gustave blinked, seemingly confused about his environment and his general state. Verso instinctively froze, like there was chance that Gustave wouldn't see the grown man trapped right underneath his own arm.

He did. And with the way he flinched, it was hard to believe that there wasn't a high-pitched screech accompanying the jolt. He looked like somebody who had unexpectedly woken next to a cuddly Ramasseur.

“Morning,” Verso offered shyly, attempting for what he hoped was a soft smile. “Please don't panic.”

Gustave stared at him, eyes wide, the perfect image of utter disbelief.

Slowly, he seemed to take in his surroundings. Esquie. The camp. And …

“Oh, merde -”

… his arm draped across Verso's chest.

Gustave drew it back hastily, and even though it was entirely made out of metal, Verso felt the lack of undeniably human warmth immediately.

Gustave jumped to his feet, but with his legs still soft, he stumbled over them and fell flat on his face in a most undignified manner. He muttered a soft merde before scrambling to his feet, trying to dust off his clothes.

“I'm sorry, I … did I …”

The rest of the sentence hung in the air ominously, and Verso didn't know for the life of him how to complete it. What were the options here?

“Uh … electrocute me?” He proposed with a sly grin. “No, you actually didn't. Well done.”

Gustave blushed hot red, running his hand through his hair, messing it up to a state of complete and utter hopelessness.

“I should … go help the others …”

Verso stumbled to his feet, too.

“Gustave!”

The other man stopped, turning around. If Verso wasn't mistaken, the lightning that danced over his arm had increased.

“Your, uh …” Following a whim, Verso stepped closer, but then lost confidence rapidly and stopped again, instead pointing at Gustave's dishevelled shirt. “Your shirt.”

“My -” Gustave looked down, taking in his messy attire and the way his shirt was hanging down loosely, after his little fight with Esquie and a whole night spent in it. He quickly buttoned it and smoothed it down as well as he could, already looking around for his coat. “I, uh, thanks.”

Verso hesitated. “Gustave …”

“Look, I … I'm sorry, it wasn't something I did consciously, I promise, I must have …”

“Gustave.”

“Anyway, I should've left you and Esquie alone, and I'm so sorry that this happened -”

“Gustave.”

“- I just hope that I didn't hurt you or anything and that you don't -”

“Gustave.” Verso stepped closer, catching Gustave's wildly gesturing arms with his hands, one warm skin, the other cool metal. “It's okay. Don't worry.” And then, when he saw the haze of an arriving panic lift from Gustave's eyes, he added: “Actually, I haven't slept this good in months.”

Which seemingly threw everything Gustave had had as backup-apologies over board, and left him stunned.

“I, uh …” He looked down on Verso's hands around his wrists, but his supply of words seemed depleted for the day. “You …”

“Gustave!” It was Maelle who saved him, calling him over from where the others were packing. “Can we pack your coat up or do you want to wear it?”

“Y-you can pack it, I don't think I'm going to Verso it – argh, wear it, wear it, I mean ...”

Verso chuckled and let go of Gustave, who looked like he was getting to breathe fresh air after a long time underwater.

“I – I need to go help …,” he muttered, but didn't move.

“We probably both should.”

“We … oh, yes. Yes, right. Right.”

Neither of them moved.

Esquie shifted, eyeing them, seemingly trying to make sense of them.

“And now you are both flustered,” he assessed, shaking his head. “I thought you had slept well!”

Verso smiled.