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

[ The only other person to know of this particular hobby is Janlenoux. Zephirin draws every once in a while when time allows it, for himself — it's one thing he does simply for enjoyment.

But he takes pleasure in witnessing Francel's reaction, too. ]

Admittedly not all that often, but it's a way to unwind, I've found.

You're really good at it!

[leaning upon one arm of the bench, francel presses closer still, eager to see more of zephirin's sketchwork. he smells faintly floral and calming; his hair brushes up against zephirin's cheek, silky and feather-soft.]

Can I see more? Could I look through your book? Oh, but I won't be pushy! Only if you want to, okay?

Of course.

[ Perhaps eager himself now to watch Francel look through his sketchpad, finding the boy's delighted interest charming, Zephirin readily hands the book over. It contains nothing private; most of his sketches are of whatever happened to catch his eye out here at the time, much like the plump little bird. One page merely features a leaf, with careful attention paid to its intricate pattern of veins. Reproducing such details appears to be Zephirin's method of unwinding.

Some sketches were evidently drawn elsewhere, of people after all, or at least one person — Janlenoux, in profile, follows a study of hands. ]

Oooh, it's Jan...

[the boy calls janlenoux by a truncated version of his name as readily as if they were friends. the baker's lumpy profile provided an interesting facial study, no doubt — and a more interesting challenge than what adelphel's more classical beauty would have presented. briefly, francel imagines what he would look like beneath zephirin's skillful pencil.

he flips from page to page, eyes skirting over trees, buildings, a delightfully dreamy cat. and after some time, he finally feels empowered to ask the question that has been on his lips:]

I... I'm sure you get this question an awful lot, Zephirin, but do you... suppose you could draw me?

[ As Francel's gaze traces the lines of his sketches, Zephirin's rests on the boy. Francel's features are smoother than Janlenoux's, gentler than Adelphel's, expressive in a way that would make him another appealingly challenging subject to capture. Zephirin doesn't have volunteers lined up, of course, contrary to what Francel assumes, and by the look that settles on his face, the request intrigues him. ]

Would you like me to do so now? [ Zephirin motions at the sketchpad. ] When I drew Janlenoux, I had his consent to observe him in the kitchen — perhaps if we were to combine our hobbies, neither of us needs to fear subjecting the other to boredom.

Oh, er... my hobby is a little...

[naturally, francel has his phone in his pocket, but he has not forgotten that his hobby of "collecting cute boys" is not very presentable. aucheforne was never fond of it — aucheforne always thought it was horribly embarrassing to have a boyfriend who played dating sims in public, never mind francel's constantly trying to explain that they were strategy games.

the one good thing about francel's games, in aucheforne's view, was that they kept him occupied and quiet.]

It's not as though I really like how I look, but... I just thought it might be nice to see how you would draw me. You needn't put up with me.

It would be my pleasure to draw you. I merely recommend playing your games or an instrument, or reading a book, as it's likely to take longer than a few minutes.

[ Zephirin has his pencil ready, and their peaceful hill makes for a pleasant backdrop, but since Francel has none of his instruments or books here with him, his phone is his only immediate source of entertainment. Zephirin's artistic vision, as it were, is nothing more than a natural scene, to sketch the boy at his most relaxed, not in any artificially arranged pose. ]

I only have games with me right now...

[sheepishly, francel pulls his phone from his sweater's pocket, fidgeting with it as it fails to recognize his thumbprint, then gets it right on a second try. this all feels rather strange, being encouraged to play his games rather than being chastised for it. but then, francel reasons, perhaps zephirin has no reason to care simply because he knows that few people will be walking in the park.]

You don't mind?

Should I?

[ The real question is whether Francel minds playing his games in front of others, made self-conscious instead of being able to relax. Zephirin moves his sketchpad to his lap, pencil poised above the paper's surface. As Francel unlocks his phone, Zephirin catches a brief glimpse of the lock screen, then the phone's background, but he averts his gaze at that point, lowering it to the blank page of his sketchpad.

He doesn't begin just yet — instead, he waits to give Francel some time to adjust to the unusual request asked of him. ]

[nowadays, francel's lock screen and background say nothing of his personality. he has wiped away all personalizations, set everything to their meaningless defaults. once upon a time, his lock screen was a picture of him with aucheforne; long before that, it was haurchefant's smiling face.

but francel doesn't know what he wants to see anymore. he isn't even entirely certain that he knows who he is.]

...Aucheforne never liked it when I played games around him. He'd say I... I was being rude. That I wasn't paying attention to him.

[uncertainty colors the tone in francel's voice, but this does not deter him from tapping on an icon in the corner of his home screen, pulling up the logo of his fantasy game, which fades away as he rapidly taps through cutscenes.]

[ At mention of Aucheforne, Zephirin looks up. His sidelong glance lands on Francel's profile, on the boy's lowered lashes and the curve of his full cheek, and then it drops to Francel's tapping finger and the images flashing by on his phone's screen. Zephirin's pencil remains motionless.

Aucheforne, despite his absence, isn't completely erased from Francel's life, reminders of his influence lurking even in otherwise harmless pastimes.

Could anyone who knows Francel interpret his behaviour as rudeness? In Zephirin's company, the boy has been nothing but attentive — in fact, he seems the sort to go overboard in order to make sure that he doesn't offend or impose on anyone, afraid of being a bother.

Zephirin is inclined to think that Aucheforne spun anything that Francel chose to do for himself as not paying attention to his boyfriend. ]

You're doing as I asked — I see no reason to complain. However, if you're uncomfortable, sit as you prefer while I draw you.

[ Quietly, the tip of Zephirin's pencil scratches across the page, starting on faint outlines that gradually darken with detail. Francel's features take shape, from his soft mouth and dainty nose to the texture of his hair. ]

No, it's fine... I mean, this is okay...

[again, francel's response suggests the type of individual who is afraid to make mistakes, fearful of imposing on others — terrified of being a bother. he is keenly aware of the sensation of being watched, of the imaginary touch of zephirin's gaze upon his face and features. despite the fact that he asked for this, he does feel faintly embarrassed and self-conscious.

eventually, however, tension dissipates from his face, his body. francel hunches over in his seat, unaware of his own bad posture as he thoughtfully ponders his party's skillset and his opponent's future moves. he wears a look of utmost concentration — one would think him in the middle of writing a paper in french for professor de leusignac's class.

periodically, a member of his collection of cute boys offers his encouragement. this particular character has been but recently appointed francel's favorite commander — he appears to be a knight of some sort, with long blond hair and green eyes, and each time he appears on francel's phone screen, the boy smiles...]

[ Stealing another glance at Francel's screen, Zephirin soon uncovers the mystery of the boy's smile. Francel's expression softens with it, replacing his look of concentration — the boy regards the knight in his game with such fondness that it must have driven Aucheforne to irrational jealousy.

Zephirin, on the other hand, simply seizes the opportunity before him. The smile on Francel's lips is the final touch to complete capturing him at his most relaxed, and the Francel in Zephirin's sketch looks content, gazing dreamily at something unseen.

Zephirin's pencil stills. He pockets it, and holds his finished drawing upon his knees, silent as he watches Francel immersed in playing his game. ]

[francel does not notice when zephirin ceases his movements. the blond, green-eyed commander disappears from his screen; the boy furrows his brow once more, tapping slowly at his screen as he selects his party's actions and special skills.

at last — he has the sound on — the ferocious chimera he has been battling disappears in a flash of light; a victory fanfare plays as francel throws his head back in triumph, closing his eyes as he sighs in relief.]

It's over! Fury, I've been stuck on that boss for the last few days...

[sitting up properly, at last he remembers zephirin sitting at his side. he turns his head toward the man.]

...Oh! Did you finish?

Then I'd like to offer my congratulations.

[ Apparently Francel was so engrossed in his game that he forgot he had an audience at all, his movements unrestrained to celebrate his victory. Zephirin takes no offense — if anything, the look he gives Francel is one of mildly amused approval. They've accomplished exactly what they set out to achieve, learning a little more about each other through their hobbies.

To answer Francel's question, Zephirin slides his sketchpad over to the boy. ]

[francel's eyes light upon the sketch; they widen in surprise. this is his face in profile, he knows, a dreamy smile playing upon his lips — and yet the boy in the sketch is worry-free, impossibly happy, completely unlike his image of himself. it is simultaneously flattering and frustrating at the same time. an embarrassed smile plays about his lips.]

...This is me?

[he cannot help the shy giggle that escapes his lips as he lowers his phone into his lap.]

Zephirin! He looks nothing like me!

No?

[ Francel isn't wrong — Zephirin's sketch has captured his likeness accurately, save the self-conscious smile he wears again, a single, seemingly minor detail that makes disproportionately significant a difference. Consequently, the boy in the sketch appears uncharacteristically at ease to Francel himself. After all, between Aucheforne and Professor de Leusignac, relaxation doubtless slips through Francel's fingers, more often than not. ]

I drew what I saw, but I suppose I could redo it.

[ Taking his sketchpad back, Zephirin flips the page to a fresh sheet of paper, setting the tip of his pencil against it. Within seconds, the page is blank no longer — peeking around one edge is a swiftly sketched rendition of a lop-eared rabbit. Perhaps the edge of the page represents the doorway to Zephirin's office. ]

[the rabbit peeks over the edge of the page, strangely reproachful and frightened, its ears dangling in the direction of gravity. seeing this, francel bursts into fresh laughter — he understands, that is how he's peeked into zephirin's office before, too afraid of being a bother to walk in through the door normally.

emboldened by his own embarrassment, francel shakes his head and rests his cheek upon zephirin's shoulder, as if in an effort to hide his face.]

Oh, come on, now! Is that what you see when you look at me, too?

[ Unsurprisingly, others have made this very comparison before, and as Francel leans his head against Zephirin's shoulder, it's not a stretch to imagine that he would cover his face with his long, floppy ears, were he really a rabbit. The boy's hair tickles Zephirin's cheek.

His laughter tempts Zephirin to take his teasing further — his hand lifts, nearing Francel's perfectly pointed ear. He stops short of touching it. ]

I considered it as accurate a drawing as my previous sketch. Am I mistaken on both counts?

[francel giggles, though he mock-pouts afterward, with the high-pitched hnnn of a child who is not getting his way. he is being teased, he knows, but he is not unfamiliar with being teased. emmanellain used to tease him relentlessly, and haurchefant did, too, when he was in the mood for it. aucheforne used to tease him often as well, but that was in the months before their relationship took a turn for the worse, before the man's sour side had begun to show from beneath his thin veneer of decency.

francel's eyes are closed, and so he cannot see that hand of zephirin's hovering near his ear. still, he makes his demand in a sweet voice:]

If you think I'm a bunny rabbit, Zephirin, you have to pet me.

[ They've walked arm in arm and slept side by side, waking up like embracing lovers. Francel has cried on Zephirin's shoulder, and Zephirin has stroked the boy's hair.

Each time, their contact was justified, but petting Francel as if his golden hair is in fact a rabbit's glossy coat of fur serves no apparent purpose, nor do they have the excuse of humouring Francel's tipsy demands today. Even so, Zephirin's hand settles comfortably atop the boy's head, and smooths across stray strands of gold fluttering in the breeze. ]

I'm increasingly convinced of it.

[it is not a particularly warm day, but it is a pleasantly cool one, and the moment zephirin's hand settles on francel's head, the boy is suddenly seized by the compulsion to fall asleep upon the professor's shoulder. he feels wonderfully soothed and comfortable, enough that his clinging habit resurfaces and he holds zephirin around his waist, as he might in bed.]

...This was a bad idea. [he giggles drowsily.] I feel sleepy now... in a good way, but still...

[ Zephirin raises an eyebrow at that admission, quietly amused, but his hand stays where it is, and so does he. Fortunately, the groceries won't perish while they sit here — today, Francel could take a nap and wake up rested without Zephirin carrying him to the car. ]

Perhaps I should stop before you fall asleep.

[ Yet he only moves his closed sketchpad from his lap to the far side of the bench, his pencil put away. In the event that Francel does succumb to his sudden sleepiness, gravity will probably pull the boy sideways, and Zephirin's shoulder isn't an ideal pillow. ]

[indeed, francel simply rests his head more heavily upon zephirin's shoulder, and for a time it seems as though he might indeed fall asleep. the sun is warm; the breeze is cool. he wants very badly to rest in zephirin's lap.

after a few more silent moments, however, francel straightens himself. he wears a strangely sad smile as he draws back, looking first at his lap, and then at zephirin's face for only the briefest of moments before his gaze drops again.]

...Why are you so kind to me, Zephirin?

[he laughs wistfully. his fingers curl in his lap, pressing loosely against his palms.]

I... I think this is the nicest that anyone's ever been to me. I... I don't understand...

[ Withdrawing when Francel sits up, Zephirin's hand leaves the boy's hair and comes to rest beside its counterpart on Zephirin's knees. Zephirin's eyes trace the forlorn curve of Francel's mouth.

Having met Aucheforne, he's not especially taken aback by the boy's question, though the amusement fades from his expression. ]

I wouldn't claim to be remarkably nice. [ Granted, Francel is the first student he has taken under his wing to this extent, but it doesn't inconvenience him to treat the boy well. It isn't some great act of kindness. ] But I'm curious — should I expect you to work for it?

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