gurabad | 037 » on and on we carry through the fear

[francel should not smile, but he smiles all the same. he smiles for the knowledge that zephirin is not beholden to any other — but he also smiles because zephirin has correctly guessed at the pretense behind his question.]

That's good. I was worried I'd have to apologize. [that makes it sounds like he doesn't want to apologize, so he adds:] And if I did, I'd have to do it right away.

[sufficiently reassured, francel leans forward and timidly skips a few tracks. he adjusts the track volume with equal timidity. his hesitation is rather cute — it seems as though he's not entirely certain of which buttons perform the functions he's looking for — when at last he's satisfied, he settles back into his seat with a tiny and mildly smug smirk.]

I appreciate it.

[ Why Francel now resembles a contented cat, smiling to himself, remains his secret. For a while, Zephirin drives without making conversation, focused on the familiar route to travel, letting Francel listen to the music playing. It's a companionable silence, and one could think that they were friends of considerably longer than a day.

At a traffic light, Zephirin speaks up — what he has learned of Francel's family leads him to deem it necessary to be prepared. ]

...Should you need support, I'm willing to give you my number.

...You mean, if Emmanellain says anything weird? I'll probably be okay, but...

[but he wants zephirin's number, even if they might never have conversations that are anything less than professional. francel seems to mull his thoughts over for a moment, and then comes up with an appropriate excuse.]

It might be nice... for tutoring. In case I'm late to an appointment or something.

[ When Zephirin pulls over outside Last Vigil's gates today, in place of lending Francel an umbrella, he makes good on his offer, reciting his personal contact number for the boy to save onto his phone. In an ideal situation, Francel won't need to use it — he won't face difficulties at home, and he won't run late for a tutoring session or cancel it last minute. ]

I'll see you next week. [ Before Zephirin gets out of the car to help Francel with the door while his coat is still in Francel's possession in addition to the boy's own belongings, he slips his CD back into its case, holding it out to Francel then. ] You were interested in the rest of the songs?

Oh! Y-Yes...

[francel's bag is slung over his shoulders beneath the coat; he still has yet to pull it on over his arms. he's quite forgotten that he's even wearing it by the time zephirin presents the CD to him. perplexed, francel takes the CD with both hands, then realizes that doesn't leave him any arms with which to give the coat back.]

I... I'll give this back to you next time we meet, then?

[the coat chooses to fall off his shoulders on its own at that point.]

A-Ah — and I'll give this back to you right now! I'm sorry...

No harm done.

[ Zephirin moves swiftly, catching his coat and preventing its slipping all the way to the ground. Smoothly, he slides his arms back into its sleeves and adjusts it around his shoulders. He leaves it unbuttoned. ]

I would welcome your thoughts on the CD when you return it.

[ Their interactions are not strictly professional — they quickly strayed towards something surprisingly comfortable, at least in those moments when Francel isn't flustered, and Zephirin finds that he anticipates their developing routine of next times. A routine in the making itself, he finishes seeing Francel home the same way as the previous day, waiting until the boy has made it past the gates before continuing homeward.

Meanwhile, Francel's hapless phone is bombarded with a series of messages from Emmanellain's number, all reminders to get in touch — or the beginnings of Emmanellain's fishing for news. ]

[francel dodges emmanellain's fishing with practiced grace — and the self-restraint of one who knows better than to rise to the bait. he avoids most of emmanellain's more pointed questions easily enough. all francel will admit to is that zephirin is his french tutor (never mind that the question of his learning french has fallen to the wayside and he has quite forgotten about his pressing need to survive leusignac’s class). he leaves out the part where zephirin is a professor at the college. that would give emmanellain entirely too much to talk about.

one way or another, though — and despite francel's best evasive maneuvers — emmanellain manages to wheedle the beginnings of a get-together out of the poor youngest haillenarte. francel promises emmanellain that he will invite laniaitte — but more confusing is that emmanellain is prodding him to bring zephirin as well...]

[ Francel's promises are a victory for Emmanellain, who proceeds to turn the beginnings of a get-together into grand plans of weekend road trips and movie nights and fair visits. He casts himself as Francel's mentor, guiding him to guaranteed fun, and Laniaitte as her brother's chaperone, what with a French tutor Francel barely knows in the picture.

Emmanellain's vision is transparent — and he's not above promising to invite Haurchefant as a back-up, or filling Francel's inbox with supposedly fail-safe relationship advice.

Zephirin, by contrast, merely sends Francel his wishes for a pleasant weekend alongside the location where their scheduled tutoring session is to take place. ]

[eventually, francel grows exasperated, and opts to not even look at emmanellain's messages for fear of triggering the read receipts. zephirin's, on the other hand, he is more than happy to reply to. politely, francel confirms his knowledge of the tutoring session, and promises to show up early.

he does, in fact, show up early. fresh out of class with professor charibert de leusignac, francel feels distinctly scorched and singed, and more than just a little emotionally exhausted. he slogs over to the library study room with all the grace of an exceptionally sleepy bear, knocking weakly on the library door like a man defeated.]

Um... Zephirin? Are you there? It's me...

[ Today's knocking is timid again, and Zephirin opens the study room's door to see Francel looking sapped of all strength. He gestures for the boy to claim one of the chairs, choosing his own accordingly, on the other side of the table.

They've both arrived early, but Francel might be in need of a break from French. ]

Are you feeling unwell?

No, I'm fine...

[obediently, francel trudges toward the chair indicated to him, even though there are closer chairs — he's simply on autopilot and not thinking much about it. he throws himself into the chair rather heavily, taking a moment just to close his eyes before he sits up and tries to give zephirin his full attention.]

Sorry. I'm just a bit tired — I just got out of class. But I'm ready, I swear...

[ Zephirin doesn't begin the session. From the doorway to his chair, Francel's movements are sluggish; his feet drag themselves across the floor, and his body drops onto the chair as though invisible strings holding it upright have been cut. It's doubtful that Francel is as ready as he insists when it seems taxing for him just to keep his eyes open.

Sitting back in his seat, glancing at the clock on the wall, Zephirin shakes his head. ]

Unless you intend to leave early, you have another ten minutes before we'll start. You mentioned cookies last week?

[this elicits a rather comically exaggerated gasp from poor young francel — though by the look on his face, his gasp was entirely serious.]

Oh! You're right! I forgot! I mean — I remembered! I mean, I brought the cookies, I just forgot until now...!

[fumbling through his bag, francel at last comes up with a very clean and well-designed food storage container, all pretty glass lines and printed with cute rabbits along the side. sure enough, there are cookies inside — one row of fruit jam cookies, center-filled, and another of chocolate chip.]

You don't have any allergies, do you? I thought these were pretty safe choices...

[ While Zephirin brings up the promised cookies for Francel's sake rather than any personal desire to have a snack on hand, the tidily arranged contents of Francel's storage container aren't unappealing. Peering into it, Zephirin solemnly stretches out his hand.

It's endearing that Francel takes this promise so seriously that the thought of breaking it causes him genuine distress. ]

They're fine. May I take one of each?

You can take as many as you want.

[at first, francel proffers the box for zephirin’s taking, but then he realizes that his gesture is quite useless, and he sets it in the middle of the table in front of them. he has enough energy to muster a weak smile, it seems.]

I made them, so they might not be very good...

[ Francel's admission meets with astonishment. Zephirin looks up from the box, hand still outstretched until he masks his surprise, selecting a chocolate chip cookie first.

Baking his cookies instead of bringing a store-bought packet with him, Francel has gone to an unexpected amount of trouble to keep his promise indeed. ]

I didn't realize that you bake them yourself.

[ Raising the cookie to his mouth, holding his other hand positioned to catch falling crumbs, Zephirin bites into it. ]

[by his cookies, at least, one would consider francel a prime candidate for an apprenticeship at the forgotten baguette. his cookies are soft against teeth but maintain a crisp shape in hand; they are mildly sweet, perfect for mindless snacking, though the chocolate chips make them sweeter.]

Well, we had the ingredients, and it's a lot of fun to squeeze the jam in. Do you like them? You can take more.

Perhaps Janlenoux has competition.

[ Zephirin is no cookie connoisseur, but the product of Francel's baking efforts is edible, pleasing in taste. Having paused to reply after his first bite to chew and swallow, he finishes the rest, and helps himself to a cookie from the other row. This one sits cupped in Zephirin's palm as he regards Francel, who gradually seems to be regaining his energy, his fear of Professor de Leusignac at least temporarily forgotten. ]

Have you brought your questions as well?

[it is possible to divine the precise moment at which francel's tiny smile freezes over, and pure horror takes over his expression once more. he seems to deflate into the table.]

I-I'm sorry... I didn't... bring anything...

[he lifts his head hopefully.]

W-We could go over some of the new material we covered in class today...? I didn't understand some of it...

Edited 2017-12-01 03:49 (UTC)

[ Apparently Professor de Leusignac's class strikes fresh fear into Francel's heart even now, outside the lecture hall and far away from the man himself. Fortunately, Zephirin has yet to start on his second cookie, and so his answer comes without delay, lest he keep Francel suspended in his trepidation. ]

When you're ready. [ He nods. ] Let's continue to schedule our sessions to take place after your class with Professor de Leusignac. It makes no difference whether you prepare questions to bring or we discuss difficulties you've encountered in class.

As long as it doens't interfere with your grading or your faculty meetings...

[francel seems to need a steeling of nerves, so he takes up a jam cookie and stuffs it whole into his face; his cheeks bulge with its weight as he crunches and chews until at last the normal appearance of his face is restored.]

Ah... well, okay. We went over some, um... very esoteric material today, and some of the verb constructions are a bit...

[the young man pulls out his neatly organized folder and takes out a worksheet that was given in class, handing it over so that zephirin can explain certain things he's marked with tiny question marks and notes in an equally tiny print.]

[ Miraculously, Francel manages to chew his way through his cookie and breathe at the same time, and Zephirin doesn't face needing to make use of his first aid training. His own jam cookie disappears in a few tidy bites before he dusts off his fingers, leaving the remaining cookies for Francel and focusing on the worksheet.

It takes some effort to read the boy's writing — in several places, the letters are almost too small to tell apart without a magnifying glass. Before long, Zephirin pauses to rub the bridge of his nose. ]

...Professor de Leusignac will most likely use this material in a future assignment.

[ As they work through Francel's questions, Emmanellain's barrage of messages resumes, undeterred by their recipient's silence. ]

[every student is bound to have a frustrating habit or two; francel's may be his meek, tidy handwriting, for he is otherwise quick on the uptake — but he simply cannot flourish with a professor like charibert de leusignac, who responds to every asked question with a snarl and a threat and an insult to one's intelligence. he nods along to zephirin's explanations, stuffing his cheeks with cookies all the while. despite the fact that he ostensibly brought the cookies for zephirin's sake, he's eaten half of them by the time they have finished going over the worksheet.

francel ignores the buzzing of his phone in his bag. at some point, he reaches backward to switch it silent entirely.]

...'ankyu. [he swallows, and clears his throat.] I mean... thank you. I understand a little better now.

[ Snacking incessantly while Zephirin explains the material would test the man's patience, but Francel is clearly paying close attention, and knows not to give in to his phone's relentless alerts. What seems to be unconscious comfort eating to cope with the stress of any reminder of Professor de Leusignac isn't the healthiest way to calm his nerves, however — Zephirin's brows twitch upward as his gaze lands on the half-emptied storage container. ]

You have the potential to do well. [ Francel isn't "just bad at things." His problem, without a doubt, is that his fear of his professor is indeed crippling. ] I'll have a word with Professor de Leusignac...

[ Zephirin glances at Francel's bag, where the boy's silenced phone must be full of texts that may or may not be urgent. ]

Go ahead and answer that.

Oh, no, I — it's really not important — y-you said you were going to speak to Professor de Leusignac?

[francel's voice rises steadily in pitch as he speaks. there is a crumb at the corner of his lips; his tongue peeks out and licks it up before he speaks again, anxious, almost begging.]

You don't have to do that! I-I mean, I'd really prefer it if you didn't...

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