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

[ 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...

[ Emmanellain's timing can't be mere coincidence, or so it seems until he shoots the door hopeful glances, not unlike Francel was watching the gates, less interested in eavesdropping. Any minute now is already past 6:30.

"Any minute now..." Emmanellain repeats. "I did emphasize that there's nothing wrong with coming fashionably late... Anyway, follow me!" Tearing his gaze away from the door's direction, he beckons to Francel and Zephirin. ]

Juice would be fine for now. Thank you.

[ For some reason, Zephirin's choice both surprises and amuses Emmanellain. After he pours Francel a glass of wine to press into the boy's hands, supposedly for Francel's nerves, he brings out a small juice box, which he sets down beside a filled pitcher, and a tray of empty glasses. "What will it be? Juice... dans the glass? Or nostalgia style?"

Gracefully, Zephirin accepts the juice box. ]

[though emmanellain's use of gratuitous french makes francel want to punch him in the face, the comparatively heartwarming sight of zephirin holding a juice box stays his hand. (francel, for his part, accepts the glass of wine from emmanellain without protest — he seems used to going along with the older boy's whims.) he smiles.]

Heheh... Zephirin, you look cute...

[unable to stifle either his giggle or his comment, francel braces himself for a flurry of unwelcome comments from emmanellain. fortunately, he is spared by a sudden ring at the doorbell — which honoroit, of course, rushes to answer.

it is doubtlessly some disappointment to the youngest son of the fortemps family that his red-headed lady love is not, in fact, at the door. instead, two impressively tall blond men are standing in the doorway, apparently in the middle of an argument — by the look of them, they are younger and older brother, though the younger-looking one is the older, and the older-looking one is the younger...

"look, aurvael," the younger-looking man explains heatedly, "you can't put the autoturrets together, they don't work that way — oh, hello, honoroit. and you too, francel... emmanellain..."

francel's oldest brother stops short at the sight of zephirin. he opens his mouth, hesitating, apparently trying to remember a name he never knew to begin with. "you... it's on the tip of my tongue," he says, apologetically, though that would be impossible.]

Edited 2017-12-24 19:47 (UTC)

[ Francel's brothers make their entrance just as Zephirin is about to unwrap his juice box straw. He transfers both carton and straw to his left hand, offering Stephanivien the right, as well as an excuse for the other man to pretend that the correct name was indeed on the tip of his tongue all along. "Zephirin — Francel and I know each other from college. You must be Stephanivien."

Francel isn't short, but in the company of his brothers, he looks smaller, even softer-featured. It's difficult to imagine him ever coming to resemble either brother.

Their sister's absence visibly disappoints Emmanellain — abruptly, he wilts somewhat. "Oh... Glad you could make it, come in, mingle... We might as well get started, right?" His phone goes off, blaring its ringtone and cutting short Emmanellain's peering around Aurvael and Stephanivien for a hidden Laniaitte. "Okay, so! Haurchefant is running late, there's a horse on the road or whatever, and we're not waiting for Artoirel, he's away on a business trip with our father, which is for the best, really. Everyone else... Everyone else will turn up when they turn up." With that, Emmanellain flits away, deeper into the house and back to the music system. ]

[though aurvael possesses a stern, rather intimidating demeanor, his expression softens at emmanellain's sulking, and he calls out to the back: "laniaitte is coming, you know! she wanted to take a shower, so she told us to go on ahead!"

stephanivien, meanwhile, shakes zephirin's hand enthusiastically, eyes widening in surprise. "oh? a friend of francel's? that's strange — i thought you were one of artoirel's business associates. you've got that look about you, you know. sharp eyes."

then, suddenly, he turns to francel, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "whatever happened to that other friend of yours, by the way? the one that looked like haurchefant?"

francel stiffens visibly at this apparently well-meaning question, clutching at the elbow of his soft sweater as though it might rescue him from his discomfort.]

Oh... he's... out of town.

["oh, is that so?" stephanivien asks gaily. "what a shame. here i thought i might see him again! he made me promise to bring him something, last time, only for the life of me i can't remember what it was..."]

He... yeah. Aucheforne was like that. That's okay — don't worry about it. He's probably forgotten about it by now.

[ "This guy looks like Haurchefant and his name is Aucheforne?" Emmanellain reappears, in a better mood again thanks to Aurvael's reassurances. "You know, I think he sent me a request to friend him... Well, good thing he's out of town. After all, you die if you meet your doppelganger, or so they say!"

Seeming content to settle into polite silence on the sidelines as Francel's friend becomes the conversation's focus, Zephirin observes the shifts in Francel's body language, all signs that the boy would rather change the subject. This Aucheforne, he surmises, was in fact more than a friend to Francel — prior to his ending the relationship.

Before anyone has the chance to mount a rescue and move on from the topic to cheerier things, the doorbell rings once more, and once more, Honoroit hurries to open the door. Emmanellain perks up, smoothing his hair down where strands of it refuse to lie flat.

Revealed in the doorway, however, is none other than Haurchefant's lookalike. A rakish air about him, he saunters past Honoroit into the house, scanning the faces of those already gathered inside. "Hey. Not the biggest turnout..." His roving gaze comes to a stop on Francel's sweater. ]

[one would think that francel had already reached his point of maximum discomfort — but his posture and expression only grows stiffer the moment he realizes that aucheforne's gaze has fallen upon him. the man is not haurchefant's perfect copy, but haurchefant is not around to provide the differences. still, francel knows: aucheforne's nose is straighter, and his hair is longer, more coarse. he has scars on his knees, from tripping and falling as a child; haurchefant has a few on his forearms, from an incident long ago, when francel was kidnapped.

for a moment, francel wonders if these things ended the relationship, or if his own flaws did.]

...It's only 6:38. I'm sure others will arrive soon. People are always late...

[mumbled, barely voiced, francel's shy words reveal his real fears. unconsciously, he draws closer to zephirin, seeking some sort of comfort, though his hands only dig deeper into the soft pink wool of his sweater.]

[ Aucheforne laughs; the sound is perfectly friendly, if laced with a hint of condescension. "Of course they are. I'm just kidding, Joacin." His gaze flicks away from Francel as he greets the others one by one — jovially, he reminds Stephanivien of his promise — but it pauses on Zephirin before he throws his arm around Francel's shoulders, starting to steer the boy towards the beverage bar.

"Amazing. Haurchefant actually has a double." Distracted from his pining for Laniaitte, Emmanellain looks Aucheforne up and down. "But aren't you supposed to be out of town? I mean, we were literally talking about it before you showed up!"

"Oh?" Aucheforne laughs a second time, head thrown back. "That's news to me! I saw your invite, thought I'd surprise my best friend here." Curling around Francel's upper arm, Aucheforne's fingers give it a firm squeeze, a silent message to Francel to play along, a reminder that even now, Francel is his, that Aucheforne calls the shots. "If you'll excuse us, we have some catching up to do."

Zephirin's gaze follows the pair closely. ]

[francel's eyes flick halfway towards zephirin, but aucheforne's insistent hand takes precedence, and he finds himself wordlessly going along with his former boyfriend's whims, as usual. aucheforne leads a glum francel towards the beverages, though francel already has a glass of wine in hand.

francel feels faintly sick. his heart is racing, though he's not entirely certain why; he struggles to control his breathing. it's not as though they ended things with an argument. it's not as though he didn't know it was coming. aucheforne was going to get tired of him eventually.

it's just.

he didn't think aucheforne would still be around even after breaking up with him.

"...why are you here, aucheforne?" francel asks quietly, still clinging to his sweater. his voice hides beneath the music, but an observant listener might still be able to pick out his words.]

[ Aucheforne stands too close even after he has released Francel to pour himself a drink. He smiles. "What, you're not happy to see me? That hurts, but I guess I was always more invested in us than you were..." Tapping his fingers against his glass, he heaves a sigh. "So the truth is that I'm here to see you, Joacin, I just wanted to talk. I missed you, you know. I got to thinking, and we had some really good times together."

Furtively, Aucheforne casts Zephirin a fleeting glance, as if to check that he and Francel have an audience. Carrying on their conversation in hushed tones, his voice is silken. "...Who's the pretty boy wallflower?" ]

[you're lying. you don't miss me. you just want something from me. you like that i do whatever you want. you want the money or the cars or the big fancy house or — or something, you — should — get out, get out, get out —

all of these words rush to francel's mind, but they get caught in his throat, and nothing comes out when he tries to speak. aucheforne's question interrupts his thoughts. "he's my friend," the boy answers, mostly because he doesn't know how else to describe zephirin at this point.

he takes a sip of his wine to steel his nerves; it must be stronger than usual, since it makes him feel a little dizzy, a little red-cheeked. "i liked... us," francel murmurs, not truthfully, but not falsely, either. "but you were the one who called it off. and it's not like we can just... get back together..."]

[ "Why not?" Aucheforne nudges Francel to head for a seat still within Zephirin's field of vision. The music is too loud to make out their words, but Zephirin doesn't need to hear them or to lipread to pick up on Francel's growing unease, though Aucheforne hasn't done anything to warrant intervening.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing — for us — but I'd take it back in a heartbeat, believe me." Aucheforne's smile has faded. He looks out across the room. "But I can see you've moved on... Your friend, huh? Can't say I like the way he's staring at us."

As the other guests come trickling in at last, Aucheforne suddenly turns to Francel, gesturing at his glass. "Finish that and come outside with me, just for a minute. I deserve at least some time with you, don't I?" ]

[you don't deserve anything from me —

but francel says nothing, not about zephirin, not about moving on. he doesn't know what's come over him, where his defiant spirit has gone. the house speakers are playing a soft r&b love song with delicately plucked acoustic guitars, and it makes his heart hurt.

after a moment, he obediently drains his glass and sets it aside, rising from his seat to walk with aucheforne. his eyes flick toward zephirin for a moment; he has just enough time to shoot the professor a forced, apologetic smile before he turns his attentions toward his former lover once more.

"...you said you were sick of me, aucheforne." maybe it's the wine; maybe that's what's finally making his anger rise to the surface. "what could have possibly made you change your mind?" francel asks wearily, in a tone that implies he doesn't believe aucheforne at all.]

[ In the process of forcing Francel to carry his drink for him so that his own hands are free, Aucheforne stops outside the front door, taken aback to see that his pliable ex-boyfriend has decided to grow a spine. "Okay, fine, I know I hurt you, but I didn't mean it like that. Don't tell me you've never said things you wound up regretting later — I made a mistake that day, and I'm paying for it."

Aucheforne's performance of a sincerely remorseful man here to make amends continues; he paces a few steps, restlessly raking his fingers through his long hair. He whirls back around, stretches his hands out for Francel, cups Francel's cheek. "...You really don't love me, I knew it." ]

[this is the way that aucheforne does things, francel reminds himself — he pouts, he pities himself. he makes francel into the guilty party, and it works because francel feels guilty just for existing, most days.

and in this moment, aucheforne looks so much like haurchefant that it hurts. for a moment, francel can imagine that it's haurchefant smiling at him like this, touching his cheek, giving him the warmth and adoration he's craved for so long.

but aucheforne isn't haurchefant. francel has learned this first hand.

"...i do love you," francel says, despite himself, and what hurts is that it isn't entirely a lie. "but... some things... you can't explain some things, aucheforne. i know... you were cheating on me with that — that what's-his-name — the brunette. don't try to lie and tell me that you didn't, because i know you did. i knew the whole time. i didn't say anything because i thought maybe — maybe you still liked me, maybe you just wanted someone else for a while, but — after you went and said you really didn't want me at all anymore...?"

francel takes aucheforne's wrist and gently pulls it away from his face. the cooler air outside has helped him steel his nerves. "it's just," he mumbles, "it's just — being with you, it's so tiring. i always feel like... like you use me and then you throw me away. and being with someone you love, it should be... it should be different."]

[ Aucheforne moves as if Francel has slapped him. "It's tiring being with me?" Barking out a laugh, he advances on Francel again, jabbing his finger against the boy's chest. "Shit, Joacin, try being with you! You're so damn clingy and needy — so what if I fucked what's-his-name? It's not like you actually wanted to be with me, you wanted me to be someone I'm not!"

Aucheforne is tall enough to use his height to his advantage and loom over Francel, and he aims to back the boy against a wall, slamming both palms into it on either side of Francel's head.

"You don't love me, don't lie to me. I tried to make it work anyway, tried to tell myself the whole time that I saw something worth sticking around for. I even came here tonight to give you another chance — you should be begging me to take you back." ]

[francel tries. he does. the moment aucheforne calls him joacin again his temper flares. seeing red, he actually manages to say it, what he's been thinking all along — "don't call me that!" — but aucheforne is yelling over him, towering over him in an instant, and the hands slamming into the wall behind him make francel jolt in fear.

"don't" — and suddenly he remembers now, the real reason he never talks back to aucheforne, it isn't because of the way the man looks when he smiles, it's the way he gets like this, terrifying, and when francel isn't around someone small like honoroit he remembers that he's not so big, himself — "don't, aucheforne, please, i'm sorry, i didn't mean it..."

something else rises to the surface now — an old memory, from quite a long time ago: aucheforne patting his head, warm and loving.

you're cute, joacin. you're real good at saying please, huh?]

Edited 2017-12-30 00:13 (UTC)

[ "...That's more like it." Suddenly, his face inches from Francel's, Aucheforne breaks into a smile. One of his hands settles atop Francel's head, patting it. "That's my Joacin. You don't love me, but you want to pretend, right? You want to hear it — I love you — and you know you're lucky to have me." He leans in until his lips brush Francel's left ear.

"I'll bring my stuff over to your place tomorrow."

From behind them comes the sound of the front door opening, followed by quiet footfalls that soon stop. Zephirin, feigning that he had a call to answer, pockets his phone, and turns his head toward the pair already outside the house.

Aucheforne only draws closer to Francel. ]

...Pardon the interruption.

[the cool night breeze alerts francel to his own tears. he doesn't even notice his eyes are wet until the winds make them too-cold against his lashes. when he winces away from the touch of aucheforne's mouth against his sensitive ears, he closes his eyes, and the movement squeezes his tears between his eyelids, forcing them down his cheeks until they drip from his chin. as a result, the boy is a pitiful sight when he looks up at the sudden interruption — his face tear-stricken, his eyes wide and fearful.]

...Z-Zephirin...

[and francel can't help it — the whiny, needy tone to his voice. it's embarrassing. it's stupid and he's twenty-two years old and zephirin didn't ask for this, zephirin doesn't know what's going on, and he shouldn't be crying for his teacher like a child crying for his mommy. but it happens, and the way francel says zephirin's name says entirely too much about the situation: he is begging, pleading, desperate for help.

please.]

[ Despite excusing himself, it's clear that Zephirin has no intention of going back inside and abandoning Francel, whose unease has grown into full-blown distress. Straight-backed and stony-faced, he locks eyes with Aucheforne when the man looks at him over his shoulder, but he addresses Francel, his tone even, giving no one any reason to doubt his announcement. ]

Your brothers are looking for you.

[ At last Aucheforne steps back, not without swiping his thumb across Francel's cheek, catching his tears, deceptively gentle. "Feeling okay to go back in, Joacin?" To Zephirin, he says, "He gets like this sometimes when he's been drinking. He'll be fine, friend, so let's not make a scene here." ]

[even the most indignant parts of francel's heart are silencd now, and he cannot find it in him to deny what aucheforne is saying. numbly, he lowers his head, his cheeks still tingling from aucheforne's touch. there is not a shred of composure left in francel's body. he nods.]

...C-Can I... stay out here for a moment?

[it is a question — and yet, francel isn't entirely certain which of the two he is seeking permission from.]

[ "Oh, yeah, sure, I'll stay with you." Aucheforne's arm snakes around Francel's shoulders, a gesture less protective than it is possessive. Zephirin receives a pointed look, its meaning an obvious give us some privacy, but it goes ignored. Instead of returning to the party, Zephirin produces a newly opened packet of tissues from his pocket, and proffers it to Francel.

Aucheforne's expression twists into a scowl. "Look here, Zephirin, I know you're new around here, but Joacin is mine. He doesn't need you stalking him, so back off."

Beyond a furrowed brow, Zephirin merely presses his lips together, eyes on Francel. He doesn't dignify Aucheforne's attempt to antagonize him with a response.

"Hey, did you hear what I said?" Aucheforne lets go of Francel, lunging at Zephirin to shove him back — only to stand there with one wrist caught in Zephirin's grip. ]

That's enough. Calling the police will make a scene.

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