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

[ "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.

[it is pure instinct, even though francel knows what this means, knows that he has chosen to anger aucheforne for what might be the last time — acting on pure instinct, francel rushes over to zephirin's side as soon as he is released, and hides behind his (mercifully larger) professor, clinging to the hem of his grey blazer.

he doesn't dare say a word — but his rushed hyperventilating speaks volumes.]

[ Mention of the police convinces Aucheforne to back down, to retreat a few paces the moment Zephirin loosens his hold on his arm. His blue eyes narrow, flicking between Zephirin and the top of Francel's head visible behind him. "Friend, yeah, right... Well, I'll be seeing you, Joacin. When your friend tells you it's over, because even fucking a rich kid delicate flower gets old real fast, you'll come crying to me—"

The sight of Zephirin's phone, held ready, silences Aucheforne's jeering. The device is recording every word. ]

I would advise you to go home. Don't contact Francel again.

[ Though Zephirin's voice remains calm, it carries the same edge it did when Francel spoke of his experiences in his French literature class. Aucheforne bares his teeth like a growling dog on the verge of attacking, but he turns tail, fleeing from Last Vigil's grounds. ]

[at first, francel just breathes, and then breathing turns to sobbing — hiccuping, gasping for air. he is afraid to look up for fear that when he does, aucheforne will still be there, angry with him, waiting to punish him. his fingers scrabble against zephirin's blazer, but he doesn't know for what — his short, blunt nails scratch harmlessly against the fabric. every now and then he tries to choke out what seems like zephirin's name, but he is barely coherent for all of his tears.]

Zephi — Zeph — i — ri —

[ Around the corner, there is a garden bench, which Zephirin leads Francel towards for the boy to sit down until he grows calmer. Francel takes too-rapid breaths, unable to speak, and Zephirin keeps his questions contained for the time being in favour of reassuring Francel and guiding him out of his panic-stricken state. ]

He's gone. [ Whether Aucheforne will return is a problem to address later, and so is what he has done tonight and in the past. Slowly, as if Francel might bolt at sudden movements, Zephirin brings one hand closer and closer to the boy's head, passing it across Francel's hair. ] He won't hurt you.

[francel whimpers softly, clinging fiercely to zephirin, for warmth and safety both. he buries his face in zephirin's chest and stays there — sobbing, sniffling, hiccuping, whimpering. he is only barely emotionally present. aucheforne's threats have drained his will to rebel.

gradually, however, francel straightens his posture, wiping his eyes on his sleeves.]

...Zephi — [a hiccup] — Zephirin. I'm... I'm sorry, Zephirin...

[ Zephirin's other hand rests lightly on Francel's back, where it stays for a moment longer after Francel sits up, before Zephirin offers the boy his packet of tissues again. He shakes his head. ]

Can you tell me what happened?

[ Based on what he witnessed of Aucheforne's behaviour, it's not a stretch to imagine the man intimidating Francel into letting him have his way, be it through verbal threats or physical violence. ]

[for some reason, francel laughs — though it isn't a happy sort of laugh, and seems to be born from some ugly desperation deep within his heart. he hiccups again, taking the packet of tissues proffered to him, but he makes no move to take a tissue or to use one.]

W-Well... he's... my boyfriend.

[it's still sort of an embarrassing thing to say, so francel averts his eyes.]

I mean... my ex-boyfriend. Well, I guess he wants to get back together... so I don't know what that makes him...

[ It makes Aucheforne someone who shows no consideration for Francel. From his arrival to his departure, his every action disregarded Francel's discomfort, the boy's fear in his ex-boyfriend's presence.

It makes Aucheforne dangerous.

Brows knit, Zephirin withdraws his hands. His gaze traces the tear-tracks left upon Francel's skin, and his mind replays the broken notes of the boy's plea for help.

Perhaps it's too late to tell Francel that Aucheforne won't hurt him. ]

...And is he likely to come back?

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