A young man sat at an artists easel, a beautifully rendered drawing of the street was half finished in front of him. His long fingers moved the pastels across the paper in smooth strokes, his slender wrists curving as he detailed the arches of the carriage that waited in the rain for its passengers. The rise and fall of his shoulder left the wide road gleaming wetly on the paper and a quick twist and smudge with a knuckle showed the chroma light reflecting from the umbrella of a lone man, walking down the road.
Gustave was mesmerised.
The young man was drawing in real time, rendering the street as it lived and moved around him. He had never seen such a thing before.
His own drawings were technical and detailed to a fault. Each millimetre precise and perfectly rendered. They took time and patience.
The young man before him gave only hints of details in each shape yet Gustave knew what each stroke of pastel was showing him, colours mixed on the paper as he watched and the soft edges held the life of the city in a way the Gustave didn't know was possible.
Who was he? How did this young man see so much in such a short time?
Gustave walked closer, he had to know more.
The young man didn't turn, he focus entirely on the scene before him. The only movement in his body were his eyes as they flicked from street to paper to pastels and his hands. Those oh so elegant hands, picking up each stick and delicately moving as if conducting an orchestra made only of colour. Gustave watched his face, the way his strange silver eyes danced under the thick black eyelashes and the way the light behind him caught in the oddly white strands of hair, turning them amber in the darkness around them. Gustave saw the texture of scar tissue over the young mans right cheek, the way it curved over his jaw and down his neck, disappearing under his collar. He saw way his throat moved under the dark hair of his beard as he swallowed.
"It's for sale, if you're interested Monsieur" his voice reached Gustave's ears, smooth and deep like vintage wine.
"Sorry, I... er. Sale?" Gustave stumbled over his words "oh! Your art. Would you really sell it to me?"
A small laugh from the young man took him by surprise "happily, Monsieur. How much would you be willing to pay?"
"How much do you normally sell your work for? I... have to admit, I know almost nothing about art" Gustave admitted bashfully.
"Whatever people want to pay, one cannot be too picky if one is to eat, non?"
"You won't eat if..." Gustave was shocked, how could this young man not earn enough to feed himself each day?
"Don't concern yourself with that, Monsieur. An idle comment, but... the drawing will be for sale when it is finished. If that would please you" said the young man quietly.
"I... have business. In the bar, but it will only take a short while. If you are willing to wait then I would be happy to discuss a price with you" Gustave told the artist.
"I am sure I can manage that, Monsieur. I do dislike being out in the rain on cold nights" he turned to to look at Gustave now, a small one sided smile on his face "I will be here, Monsieur..."
"Gustave. Please... just, Gustave" he held out his hand and after a moment of hesitation the young man took it in his, the icy chill in his fingers seeping into Gustave's warm skin.
"Verso. Just, Verso" he smiled.
"I shall be back, please do wait for me if you can" he said "I promise I shall be back, Verso"
The young man nodded to him, and turned back to his drawing "I... would like that very much, Gustave"
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