I like owls. And sorcerers.

And at any other time Verso might be able to politely smile and decline the offer - it's too much, it's too kind, and they've only been travelling together for a couple of weeks - but his mind stutters to a halt on those words.

We're about the same height.

The hole in his trousers is entirely forgotten. He blinks a few times as he looks up at Gustave from where he's sitting, and then his attention slips past Gustave to try to make eye contact with Sciel on the other side of the fire, seeking an ally or a voice of reason. Smirking, she raises her hands and shakes her head, refusing to get involved.

"Uh," Verso says, even when the tiny, quiet, logical part of his brain tells him not to pick at this one. "Are you sure about that?"

He knows that Gustave's a little better built than him, for all that the Expeditioner's Uniform and his fur cloak help to add the illusion of bulk; Gustave's shoulders are broader after training at the Academy; he's healthier in general; and Verso might have spent an hour or two staring at Gustave's ridiculous shoulder-to-waist ratio while wondering if maybe the canvas isn't so bad after all.

But the one thing that Verso does have on him, lanky and tall, is a few good inches of height.

With a small frown on his face, Gustave shrugs. "Yeah," he agrees. "Pretty sure."

let it go, let it go, let it go, whispers every peace-keeping cell in Verso's body.

But he gets to his feet anyway. For once in his life, he draws himself up to his real height; no slouching, no curling his shoulders in, no trying to look smaller than he really is.

He steps forward, approaching the fire - approaching Gustave.

And if he gets a little too close, that's just for comparison's sake. It's just to make sure that he can loom efficiently.

He doesn't think they've stood this close before, not in any battle, not at the campsite, not while they've been travelling across the Continent together. He steps up until he's less than a hands-breadth away. From this distance, he can feel the gentle brush of Gustave's breath. He can see the maddening waves of Gustave's hair, a challenge to gravity itself. He can even see the neat, tamed hair of Gustave's beard and moustache, and the pretty flush to his cheeks that might not be from the fire after all.

Most of all, best of all, he can see the way that Gustave has to tilt his head back a little to keep eye contact with him when he's this close. It's not much, not really, but there's a good few inches in it - and that's more than enough.

"'About the same height'," he repeats, keeping his voice low, amusement threading through it without meaning to.

When Gustave smiles in response, a little flicker of amusement, Verso can't stop the way his eyes flicker on down to Gustave's mouth, those tempting pink lips.

"… Okay, point made," Gustave says. Verso doesn't think he's imagining the slightly flustered, breathless tone in his voice. Abruptly, Gustave clears his throat. "Then I, uh, I guess you're on your own for spare trousers."

Verso blinks in surprise, and looks back down at the hole currently exposing his thigh. Ah. Yes. With all that proximity, with every tempting detail of getting to see Gustave's stubborn face up close, he'd almost forgotten what all of this was about. "Huh," he says, while trying to work out if he can face down nevrons while holding his trousers shut.

"Well," Sciel interrupts from the other side of the fire. "If you're very lucky, Lune might help out." There's a glint in her eye as she holds back a smirk. "She's got a spare too, and I'm fairly sure she's taller than both of you, if you're finished the measuring contest…"

Gustave's strained smile becomes a genuine laugh, and he breaks away from the fireside - heading towards Sciel, determined to start debating the entire Expedition's respective heights from the sound of it.

Verso will follow them. And he'll make sure to soak in every scrap of chaos to the debate. Maybe he'll even try to champion Maelle's pending claim at being the potential tallest member of Expedition 33.

But for a moment, just a moment, he allows himself to stand by the fireside and remember the warmth of Gustave in front of him, head tilted back, lips parted, eyes bright.

For a moment, just a moment, he allows himself to dwell on the thought of having that mad-man so close - Gustave is the perfect height, Verso muses, for someone to drop a kiss on his forehead, if they were so inclined.

Someone. Not Verso.

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