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

[ 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?

[francel shakes his head. he keeps his head bowed, perhaps because he is still hoping for zephirin's hand to pet him once more, but he stays subservient and quiet, oddly determined to ascertain the truth behind this odd relationship they have nurtured together.]

Each time I think you might be angry with me, you're not...

[this is unsurprising. given aucheforne's propensity for lashing out, francel must expect punishment for even the most minor of offenses.]

If there is anything I could do to repay you, I would be happy to. I would.

[ Zephirin's hands remain on the professor's side of the bench; he shifts in his seat slightly, leaning back and folding his arms. Thankfully, rather than giving the impression that Francel has tested his patience after all, it simply lends him a pensive air.

He could tell Francel that the boy hasn't done a single thing to warrant his anger, that Francel owes him nothing, but it's doubtful that even repeated reassurances would silence the boy's insecurities. Aucheforne's behaviour became Francel's norm, and Zephirin's is unusual by comparison.

Eventually, Zephirin settles on a compromise, naming terms intended to satisfy Francel's need to repay him for what he would consider basic decency. ]

To my knowledge, you've been nothing but a punctual student and a courteous new roommate. [ A so-called bad child by Francel's standards at Emmanellain's party, perhaps, but not in any truly exasperating way. ] Nevertheless, I would accept cookies and omelettes.

[ Both seem to play to the boy's strengths, and bring him a measure of enjoyment. ]

Cookies and omelettes...?

[bewildered, francel simply gapes at zephirin for a moment — then, once it sinks in that the professor is being completely serious, he breaks into blessedly genuine laughter.]

Is that really all you'd ask? But I'm not nearly as talented as Janlenoux...

[the boy's hands curl into timid fists upon his thighs as he tips his head to one side and smiles shyly.]

Well... alright. I'll try to cook for you. I'll make you whatever you want — just let me know!

[this eagerness to please is no doubt precisely how francel found himself in the position of having a man like aucheforne for a partner to begin with...]

They were delicious, but we may have the ingredients to experiment with other dishes.

[ Once more, Zephirin vaguely resembles a pleased cat as he rises from the bench and picks up his belongings. It's not that he plans to take advantage of Francel, his heart set on either cookies or omelettes, but the boy was in high spirits earlier this morning, making himself at home in Zephirin's kitchen. ]

As you're awake, shall we head home?

Mm, sure...

[nodding obediently, francel rises to his feet even as his mind lingers on the sudden thought that zephirin must have carried him to the apartment last evening.

one thing, at least, has escaped aucheforne's possessive grip around francel: the boy's mischievous streak strikes once more as he fixes zephirin with an adoring — but knowing — smirk.]

Will you pet me more once we're home?

[ Francel is neither Zephirin's pet rabbit nor his son, but much like the previous times, Zephirin doesn't discourage the boy's playfulness. It points to Francel relaxing around him, forgetting his anxieties for a time. ]

I'll wait until you're in bed.

[ Aware that there are several ways to take this response, most of them dubious, Zephirin nonetheless answers without missing a beat, as though making Francel a serious promise. The innocent interpretation, of course, is that Francel would be free to fall asleep for the night then.

At the apartment, once the groceries are put away, the kitchen cupboards and the fridge well stocked for any future cooking experiments, Zephirin finally gives Francel access to his organized closet, clearing some space within for the boy's trunk of belongings. While they lack the furniture to set up a second bedroom, sharing Zephirin's is their best solution.

He stops partway through rearranging his closet's contents, however, glancing at Francel when the boy's phone evidently receives a flood of texts in quick succession. The sender is none other than Emmanellain, who presses for the details of Francel's disappearance last night, somehow convinced that an abduction took place right under everyone's noses. ]

[without warning, francel's phone buzzes with a constant stream of text messages, so much so that francel takes the preventative measure of silencing it before he turns on the screen to see what the matter is. at first glance, a string of irritating texts from emmanellain seems normal enough — but, upon closer inspection, something appears to be out of the ordinary. emmanellain isn't texting francel about cute girls or future party plans — instead, he seems somehow convinced that something terrible has befallen the boy next door.

what?
i'm fine
i've been with zephirin, nothing's wrong

in an effort to dissuade emmanellain's fears, francel takes a picture of the rolling trunk that civerege packed for him. i brought my things, he texts back.]

Edited 2018-05-22 22:52 (UTC)

[ Nothing suggests that the barrage of messages came from Aucheforne, whose number Francel has most likely blocked by now, but Zephirin holds himself oddly on his guard as the boy taps out his reply. Although he can't read the exchange, and has no intention of doing so, his gaze rests on Francel, watchful. ]

Do you need to make a call? If so, I'll leave the room.

[ After Francel sends his message, its recipient only seems spurred on to fill up his inbox with renewed urgency; Emmanellain believes himself on the trail of something decidedly wrong.

well, that's what i told aucheforne, but he's sure there's more to it
i mean, i for one thought zephirin seemed ok, quiet but upstanding and all
still, didn't you just meet the guy? ]

No... no, it's fine, I...

[whatever is happening, it is clearly not fine, as francel trails off without finishing his sentence and starts in on a fresh flurry of texts. his small mouth curls into a frown as he leans on the back of a nearby chair.]

what is aucheforne saying?
don't believe anything he tells you
he's not who i thought he was

[ Francel has his hands full with his conversation, and a second conversation to carry on aloud puts him on the spot, even to the point of trapping him in an interrogation on all sides while the incoming texts show no sign of stopping. Seemingly turning back to the closet, Zephirin says nothing more. He listens for the sound of Francel's fingers tapping against his phone's screen, a slight frown on his own features.

Emmanellain's reply follows Francel's before long. ]

really? he sounded pretty worried, old boy
about you vanishing with zephirin all of a sudden, that is
he said he was getting some stalker vibes from zeph, plus you were drunk
and you know there are all those stories about teachers and professors etc getting caught with students

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