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

[ 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?

[laughing rather hysterically again, francel shakes his head, though it's not a denial so much as a "i don't know." he shrugs his shoulders helplessly.]

I... I don't know. There's nothing to stop him, I guess. He knows my brothers. But they... they just think we're friends. I don't want them to find out — I mean, I don't want them to know...

[the issue of francel's closet seems to pale in comparison to the fact that he is being actively threatened by his ex-boyfriend, but he isn't exactly thinking straight at the moment. leaving the pack of tissues in his lap, he buries his face in his hands, willing himself to take even breaths.]

[ Out of shame or fear, it seems, what Francel feels the need to hide from his family is not his orientation itself, but the abusive nature of his relationship with Aucheforne. No doubt it's all too easy to keep it secret, when his siblings and parents are rarely home, when Aucheforne presumably presents the facade of a caring friend to most.

Alone, unwilling or unable to turn to his family, Francel is vulnerable, an accessible target to prey upon. Even if he were to file a restraining order against Aucheforne, it might worsen his situation.

Zephirin says nothing more while Francel's breaths still sound closer to tremulous sobs. He gives Francel's emotions a few more moments to settle somewhat, using that time to examine Francel for any evidence that Aucheforne has raised a hand against him, possibly even tried to force himself upon the boy.

Aucheforne had Francel trapped against the wall, but with the exception of his mussed hair, there are no visible marks on him.

Francel's heart is a different matter. ]

...Then for now, perhaps you should confide in trusted friends. [ At length, Zephirin makes his suggestion, formulating at least the beginnings of a plan of action. ] Avoid meeting with him on your own.

...I don't have anyone else... Haurchefant... I can't...

[francel seems to be trying to tell some sort of story. he lets his hands drop to his lap and sits up in his chair, fidgeting with the edges of his sleeves.]

...He wasn't always like this. When we first met, he was — Aucheforne was — he was so kind... to me. But when he found out he looked just like Haurchefant he — he got mad at me — s-so — it's my fault, really...

[in all likelihood this is probably not true. this is the version of the truth that aucheforne has fed francel, that francel has believed because it is easier to believe that he is being punished for a reason than that he is enduring abuse he doesn't deserve.]

[ The fragments of Francel's story form an incomplete picture, and it's not for a newcomer to comment on his befriending two men with such similar names, men who could pass for twins. Zephirin merely listens, wearing a frown, until Francel trails off. ]

You have my number.

[ Unfortunately, he has no proof to give Francel that the boy won't find his trust betrayed again, but he is the only third party thus far to discover Francel's secret. ]

I'll vouch for Janlenoux as well.

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