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

...Oh.

[with those mere three words, zephirin pumps a tiny bit of air into francel's deflated form. francel looks up — his eyes gleam with a faint wetness.]

...Okay.

[he sniffs.]

[ Thankfully, they're not having their conversation in the middle of a crowded classroom, and unlike Charibert, Zephirin doesn't comment on the tears in Francel's eyes, though the sight brings another frown to his face. Without a word, he slips his hand inside the coat hanging over the back of his chair, takes out a packet of tissues, and places it on the table in front of Francel. Averting his gaze for Francel to compose himself in peace, Zephirin then packs up his belongings. ]

[though francel delicately extracts a single tissue and uses it to dab at his eyes, zephirin's silence makes him feel anxious, unwanted. it isn't as though he needs to be comforted, but — he is simply afraid of being abandoned, and he apologizes so fervently that a passersby might think that zephirin had specifically asked him to beg for forgiveness.]

I-I'm sorry... I spoiled the mood, didn't I? I'm so sorry...!

[ Zephirin's gaze flicks back toward Francel. The room isn't perfectly soundproof, and passersby will hear Francel's apologies before long — the boy sounds on his way to crying in earnest.

Once more, Zephirin reaches across the table, opting to intervene somewhat inappropriately: he brings his index finger close to Francel's mouth. ]

No. [ Shaking his head, Zephirin takes his hand away. ] I apologize... My joking was no better than Professor de Leusignac's comments.

[ Francel's recent breakup may be to blame for his jumping to the wrong conclusion, his emotions still fragile. ]

[some less rational part of francel whispers to him that he's ruined everything now, that he looks like a dreadful fool, that zephirin must surely hate him. the finger near his mouth, however, brings his train of negative thoughts to a sudden halt. francel blinks in surprise, wide-eyed and small-mouthed, and stammers out a denial.]

...N-No... that's not true. Professor de Leusignac meant to tease me... in this case, I just misunderstood.

I'm surprised, to tell the truth.

[ On an odd whim, perhaps to see Francel's reaction, perhaps to silence the thoughts written in every line of Francel's expression, Zephirin plucks a tissue from the packet between them, and begins to pull apart its layers, taking care not to tear them. Each thin sheet is smoothed flat, one on top of the other, in the shape of a star. Zephirin pokes his finger into the star's center, twisting the sheets of tissue paper into a short flower stem on the other side. ]

If I disliked you, I would restrict contact to these sessions.

[ He sets the finished flower down beside the packet of tissues. ]

[zephirin folds his tissues with a grace that suggests he has done such things before. curious — and distracted from his despairing thoughts — francel pokes tentatively at the flower that zephirin has made. he has a sudden desire to put it in his hair.]

...Okay.

[the boy gnaws upon his lip, and takes the flower in hand, cradling it in his palms as if it is precious treasure.]

I'm sorry... for overreacting.

[it's another apology, but at least he sounds calmer, and less likely to cry.]

[ Francel has hands best described as pretty, fine-boned, fingers slender. Cupped in his palms, the flower isn't a waste of clean tissue paper. ]

Let's put it behind us.

[ Was it an overreaction? To Francel, Zephirin's remark must have felt like a sudden slap. ]

Will you be alright?

[francel nods earnestly, his eyes closed, the better to express how genuinely alright he is. he tilts his head at zephirin and smiles.]

I'll be okay. Thank you.

[the fact that zephirin has packed up to leave is not lost on him, however, and he asks:]

...So, I'll see you next week? Or... this weekend?

[ Now that Francel won't dissolve in tears, convinced that Zephirin secretly hated him all along, Zephirin stands from his seat, draping his coat over one arm. With a small smile in return, he leaves the tissue paper flower in Francel's hands, the rest of the packet on the table. ]

Saturday evening, if Emmanellain confirms his plans. Otherwise we'll meet here again next week.

[as zephirin leaves, francel carefully transfers the flower in his palms to his chest pocket. smiling, he nods and begins to pack his own things up as well.]

Saturday evening, then...

[though emmanellain seems surprised to hear francel ask for a date and time (instead of waiting to have it foisted upon him, which is what usually tends to happen), he provides one: saturday, 6:30 in the evening, between the fortemps and haillenarte residences. francel clears his homework out well in advance of the date; he tries to pick out his very best clothing. he will have to let zephirin in at the gates, after all, and he would like to make an impression.

so it comes to pass that francel winds up anxiously waiting at the gates to the last vigil, wearing an oversized sweater in rose pink over his best jeans. he fusses with his hair, pulling stray locks into place and smoothing out the back of his head, over and over, so many times that it only starts to fluff up instead.]

[ Starting time and Francel's earlier explanations aside, Emmanellain's party plans are still shrouded in mystery on the day — but then, he expects his get-together to take shape on its own, once everyone is gathered in one place. Zephirin arrives early, pulling over to park near Last Vigil's gated grounds at 6:15. At twenty past six, approaching the gates, he is somewhat surprised to see Francel already waiting directly on the other side — whether for him or other guests.

Today, at least, the boy is dressed in warmer layers, though the sweater and his tousled hair give the impression that he was bundled up in bed before heading out into the cool evening air. ]

Francel. [ In lieu of a wave, Zephirin lifts one hand slightly. ] Had I known you were waiting, I would have come sooner...

Zephirin!

[francel looks so very happy to see zephirin that one would think them true lovers and not simply an unusually close tutor-tutee duo. francel has neglected to wear gloves, however, and he breathes on his hands to keep them warm as he beckons zephirin in through the gates.]

No, no, I chose to wait here... and you're early, anyway. Did you drive here? Do you want to park inside?

[ Francel is an excited puppy once again as he brightens upon Zephirin's arrival, greeting him as though his mere presence has made Francel's day. It raises the question of how long the boy has been standing by the gates (by contrast, Emmanellain is nowhere to be seen), and Zephirin doesn't prolong it — the fact that Francel is affected by the cold hasn't escaped his notice. Joining the boy past the gates, he falls into step with Francel. ]

I've parked on your street, not far from here. If that will be a problem, I'll move my car.

No, it's not a problem at all. Some people get afraid that their car will be damaged if it's parked on the street, but, well, it's a nice neighborhood and I don't think we're too bad at driving around here...

[noting zephirin's oddly observant gaze, francel hazards a guess as to what the man might be wondering about.]

Emmanellain is at his home fussing with the music system, I think. We were going to have an outdoor party, but it's just a little bit too chilly today, isn't it? So I told him we should move everything inside while we still can. The food isn't ready yet, but we can have some drinks and chat while we wait.

I appreciate the offer.

[ Zephirin's decision not to drive up to the gates was made in part out of an assumption that parking inside was for Last Vigil residents only, but the streets around Francel's neighbourhood seem fairly quiet, the spot Zephirin chose reasonably out of the way, safe enough to leave a car for a few hours. The decision not to move it now is cemented by the minutes ticking away, and Francel's chilled fingers.

It's a pleasant evening, if indeed too cold for an outdoor party, which could set off complaints about the noise in so peaceful a location anyway. The sky is cloudless, promising a view of the stars. ]

Let me know if you require another pair of hands before the other guests arrive.

[ Emmanellain was the instigator of the evening's plans, but Francel suddenly steps into an experienced host's role, and Zephirin smiles faintly to see it.

Emmanellain himself bursts into the hallway to the house entrance moments after they've crossed the threshold. "There you are! Honoroit is just getting the rest of our... everything." He flaps his hands to encompass everything before it registers that Francel has brought company. "Oh, you're here, and you're early... Zephirin, right? Well, we welcome you to our not so humble abodes! Bienvenue, bonsoir! Hang your coat up over there—" Emmanellain motions to a stand in a corner near the door, pausing for breath. ]

...Bonsoir. [ That faint smile still plays about Zephirin's lips, distinctly amused, as he unties his coat's belt, shedding the garment and hanging it on one of the hooks pointed out. Underneath, he has opted for a simple dark grey blazer over a black turtleneck and trousers — perhaps slightly too formal after all, now that he stands beside the party hosts. ]

Edited 2017-12-17 23:11 (UTC)

[presumably, francel has been roped into preparing emmanellain's everything, and he seems as though he's about to rush off and help this "honoroit" when the sound of zephirin's bonsoir and the sight of zephirin's smile captures his attention. the boy stands perfectly still in the foyer, watching zephirin take his coat off with an intensity that conveys his unabashed interest. quietly, he decides that his french tutor is truly a creature of utmost elegance, and he cannot stop himself from breaking into a somewhat besotted smile.]

Ah... you look really nice...

[this is, perhaps, not the best of times for an apple to suddenly come flying down the stairs, colliding with francel's head with an audible bonk. "i'm so sorry, francel!" calls a somewhat young boy, evidently trying to carry a fruit basket that is much too big for him. "are you alright?"]

Er... yes, I'm fine, Honoroit, thank you...

[with a sigh, francel runs to fetch the apple (now rolling away from him).]

I suppose this is mine now?

[ The stray apple slams the door shut on any compliment to give Francel in return, interrupting before Zephirin has the chance even to acknowledge the boy's remark beyond meeting his dreamy gaze. Emmanellain half laughs, half winces, though Francel will probably walk away with fewer bruises than the apple sports. "Don't pass out in the middle of the party, now, old boy!" Even so, his idea of lightening Honoroit's load seems to stop at relieving his friend of the weight of one more apple so that he can polish the fruit on his shirt and bite into it.

Close behind Francel, having moved to check on him in the aftermath of the collision, Zephirin stoops down to pick up the apple. As he straightens back up, his hair refuses to slide into its usual placement, but he makes no move to brush it out of his eyes yet, handing the apple over first. The piece of fruit is mostly firm, despite its journey — Francel received what must have been a painful blow to the head. ]

You're certain that you're fine?

Yes, I'm fine...

[francel rubs the back of his head as though it brings him pain, but the truth is that his skull is quite thick and his head is unbruised. he takes the apple zephirin proffers him, though he has no particular desire to eat the fruit that has assaulted him.]

I guess that's just what I get...

[ Merrily munching through his apple, Emmanellain is another interruption as he calls out to Francel again. "Are you going to need a moment? Some privacy— Honoroit?!"

The unwieldy fruit basket somehow knocks into Emmanellain's head, surely by chance alone, on Honoroit's way through to the next room. Pursuing the boy, Emmanellain leaves Francel and Zephirin alone in the foyer.

Zephirin calmly tidies the front of his hair, and says nothing just yet, but he predicts that Emmanellain's comment is only the beginning. ]

[francel blushes at the insinuation that emmanellain is making, but he can't say that he didn't expect it. in truth, he did expect it. this is what he wanted. this is his fantasy, his dream come true: an evening where everyone assumes that zephirin is his boyfriend, or else, an evening where zephirin pretends to be his boyfriend.

such an evening would require zephirin's cooperation, however, and francel is loath to ask for it — directly.]

Um... if it bothers you, I can write a sign on my forehead saying that there's nothing between us.

[ignoring the fact that francel's hair covers his forehead...]

[ Perhaps the foyer isn't an ideal place to discuss their relationship, but Emmanellain is well out of earshot, and for the moment, they can talk undisturbed. Zephirin turns away from the door behind which Emmanellain and Honoroit disappeared — Francel can see his non-expression. ]

There's no need. [ Nevertheless, Francel is understandably embarrassed, and it would be best for Emmanellain to keep his less appropriate commentary to himself... ] How would you like me to answer any questions to come our way tonight?

Ah, um...

[the honest answer is that francel would very much like to know whether or not his affections were reciprocated — but they've only known each other for so long to begin with, and besides, francel's taste in men has never been formally announced to his family (although it would hardly surprise them to hear the news). he fidgets uncertainly, once more smoothing down (and actually fluffing up) the back of his head.]

...I... guess... we're friends... right?

[ Are they friends?

Most tutors don't drive students home, or take them out for lunch, or attend social functions with them. Zephirin and Francel have known each other for a handful of days, but in that time, they've led a few people to misinterpret their relationship, though Zephirin is neither quick to make friends nor to go on dates.

Now he stands here with Francel, who exudes anxiety anew, put on the spot, and friendship seems a reasonably accurate term to cover their interactions. ]

We're friends. Emmanellain's assumptions don't bother me, but I thought it best to go in on the same page.

[ Emmanellain pokes his head back into the foyer then, bringing with him the scent of roses, as if he has bathed in perfume. "Drinks are this way, I should mention — when you're ready! Everyone's going to arrive any minute now, I'm sure..." ]

[there is a brief moment where francel seems to brighten with the light of a thousand suns —]

Oh! No, they don't bother me either! Actually, I kind of —

[— but emmanellain's proclamation cuts him off. looking a bit confused, francel looks between his childhood "friend," the beverage bar, and zephirin (several times, at that)... then seems to give up and shrug his shoulders.]

A-Ah... right. Any minute now... Do you want something to drink, Zephirin? We have red wine and champagne — Emmanellain's tastes — but I think we also have soda and fruit juice, if you'd prefer something non-alcoholic...

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