045 » press on you will survive

[haillenarte]

[after emmanellain and laniaitte's wedding, francel finally decides that he's not getting any younger.

it's not as though he's still in love with haurchefant — well, there's a part of him that will always be in love with haurchefant, but he gave up on that years ago, and with the way haurchefant looks at that hyuran boytoy of his, francel knows his best friend has become well and truly unattainable. it's just that it's all too obvious, now, that of all the people he knows in his life, he's the only person left who is well and truly unattached. aurvael and artoirel made perfectly respectable marriages to perfectly respectable women years and years ago. the situation stephanivien has with tedalgrinche and joye doesn't seem to be a traditional union in any sense of the word, but it's an arrangement of some sort. and now, at last, laniaitte has deigned to marry (settled for?) emmanellain.

when they have their yearly gathering around chlodebaimt's grave, francel will be the only one who won't have someone else's hand to hold.

he just wants someone, that's all, just someone, and he's long since accepted that there isn't anything to love about him. in the grand trifecta of looks, personality, and money, francel has only one of the three — he has his job, which pays him far more than his siblings think it does, and it doesn't hurt that the haillenarte family was a wealthy one to begin with.

so after the wedding — once he's finally home, and he's plucked the corsage from his lapel, and stands looking at his tired blue eyes in the mirror — francel washes his face and comes to the conclusion that he'll only ever be loved for his money.]

Comments

[haillenarte]

[there's no shortage of attractive yet financially imperiled would-be singer-songwriters around francel, and he knows full well that he could have his pick of any of them, if he were comfortable with approaching them. but francel doesn't want that. for one thing, he doesn't want to cause any trouble for his company should the relationship go sour, and for another, he's not good at handling the sort of person who would earnestly seek fame and fortune. francel doesn't want a brash and confident trophy boy on his arm. he wants someone quieter. more intimate.

in movies and tv shows, sugar daddy relationships are luxurious and glamorous; they involve sponsored vacations and weekend getaways full of sex. francel knows better. he's rubbed shoulders with the aging music executives who keep wedding bands on the same fingers they use to fondle their impossibly beautiful girlfriends; he's stood in elevators, even spoken with men who will discuss their paid women at length. he has at least some understanding of what it's like, how it works.

it's just easier, his colleagues tell him. dating is so tiring.

it's harder with men than it is with women, though, so after some deliberation, he decides to post a fairly innocuous ad — not on a site specifically for compensated dating, or for gay dating, but just in a general relationship forum for the local area.

i don't usually do this sort of thing is how it begins.

francel tries to be as blunt and straightforward as possible. he's a 34-year-old man seeking another man; he's not especially picky about his partner's age. he's up-front about the fact that he isn't very attractive, that he's never had any previous relationships, that he's probably a bit awkward. he's looking for a romantic relationship, not just a sexual one. he's happy to provide a monthly or biweekly allowance of sorts. exact funding is negotiable. money is not a concern.

i don't expect sex on the first date, but i'm not looking for a non-sexual relationship either is a hard sentence to write. we could do a sort of trial run if you don't want to jump into anything too serious right away — that's much easier.

send me a photo of yourself and a little bit about you and i guess we can see where it goes from there.]

[valhourdin]

[ Civilian life is another battlefield, as it turns out. The enemy now takes the form of a growing mountain of bills to pay, and a dearth of job offers, and unseen wounds instead of comrades lying bloodied on a stretcher. Coming home hasn't been a seamless transition from before to after.

When the reunions and ceremonies are done, Zephirin faces his private battles on his own, unaccustomed to seeking anyone to lean on. For a while, he maintains at least the illusion that he is the same man he was prior to his service — his aches and his memories and his disappointments only drive him to sleeplessness and a mechanical resolve to keep going. He visits his parents. He makes Guerrique his responsibility, if not his roommate.

The illusion is shattered sooner than Zephirin anticipated, once his friends discover just how frugally he lives. He's listed his car for sale and downgraded to a box of an apartment in a somewhat unpopular neighbourhood, and Guerrique, looking in on him one day when the flu confines him to his bed, compares the place to a freezer.

Perhaps it shouldn't surprise Zephirin that, a few weeks later, someone evidently feels the need to stage an intervention. It comes disguised as a joke, supposedly a gentle nudge to take better care of himself. His initial intention is to delete the email and make it quite clear that he has the means to overcome these temporary hurdles, he is in the process of it — but days pass, and the link to the ad stays in his inbox. The notion claims a spot in the recesses of his mind, lurking beneath thoughts of more expenses to cut, more applications to send out.

Nevertheless, it seems absurd that in the end, after two applications politely rejected and one ignored, he responds to that ad, essentially applying for a paid position as a stranger's lover. Desperate times may call for desperate measures, but Zephirin's misgivings are persistent. For all that he's reasoned with himself, weighing up his options and firmly deciding against turning to friends or family or benefits for help, resorting even to a short-term trial run of these particular measures goes against his better judgment. Pride isn't the issue, though he prefers his independence — he simply can't be certain that he is fully prepared for what he's getting himself into.

The promise of generous funding strikes him as a leash, handing his partner-to-be a considerable amount of power.

And yet, Francel de Haillenarte receives a reply not unlike the cover letters that Zephirin has composed for hospitals and private practices, as if the man is a potential employer and Zephirin indeed the ideal candidate to ease his loneliness. Concisely frank about his current situation and his own extended break from dating, Zephirin nonetheless declares himself willing to meet and "see where it goes from there." He includes a recent photo fortunately taken in lighting that doesn't enhance his cheekbones to the point of alarming gauntness.

Soon, they've arranged a face-to-face meeting to build on the messages exchanged so far, a first date. Zephirin arrives early, bundled up against the weather in his warm coat and a scarf, presentable despite the dark smudges under his eyes and his too-lean frame. Appearing perfectly collected, fatigue aside, he scans the street.

For the moment, he focuses solely on taking this dubious step out of his increasingly dire straits. ]

[haillenarte]

[though francel truly, truly thought he would be ignored, or else mocked, the ad eventually receives its fair share of responses. not all of them are serious, and so he spends much of one free evening weeding through jokes and gags, trying to locate earnest candidates. after more than a few salacious pictures of lalafellin men show up in his inbox, francel begins to wish that he had been more specific about his racial and sexual preferences. he has regrets. the cruelty of the internet will not allow him to take things back.

once his missteps are sorted out, francel cuts the pool of prospective partners down to ten people — but his reasons for responding to zephirin first among them are simple. firstly, of all the men to apply, zephirin was easily the most physically attractive, at least by francel's standards; secondly, he found himself reading and rereading zephirin's message over and over again, drawn to its bluntness, its intelligence. on face value, francel feels charmed by zephirin's quiet determination, so much like his own.

besides, a military man holds a certain appeal for him.

haurchefant was military once.

by the evening of their scheduled meeting, however, francel has developed misgivings. he feels the noose of second thoughts tighten around his neck. he cannot shake the sense that zephirin might reject him, that zephirin will take one look at him and decide that he can't do this after all. worse, too, is the niggling sense of guilt at the back of his mind — the thought that even this chaste date is no better than prostitution, that asking a soldier, likely one with psychological traumas, to sell his body might be inherently immoral. what if this goes horribly wrong? francel thinks. what if i just make this worse?

but the thought of standing zephirin up on a chilly winter's night makes francel's heart hurt too much to seriously consider the idea of backing out — so, in the end, he steels his nerves and approaches his date with all the timidity of a mouse.]

...Are you Zephirin?

[the question is unnecessary. francel has already seen zephirin's photo; he has recognized the face of the man he is set to meet.

this is zephirin's first time seeing him, however, and suddenly, francel feels gripped in the fist of self-consciousness as he mentally catalogues his imperfections — he hasn't combed his hair since the morning, hasn't had the time to wash his face. zephirin's "prospective employer" is, at turns out, an elezen man with an unusually soft, gentle face. one could not be faulted for thinking that francel may have lied about his age — he seems youthful, almost peculiarly so, and his round face makes him look far less haggard than he feels.

at the very least, certain signs point to his having told the truth about his wealth. in comparison to his date's rather modest clothing, francel suddenly feels that he has perhaps dressed too extravagantly — his coat is emblazoned with the sigil of a designer label; his boots are fen-yll leather.]

S-Sorry... I just got out of the studio a little while ago, so I probably look like a mess. Um... I'm Francel.

[valhourdin]

[ Francel makes his appearance just as Zephirin checks the time and starts on a courtesy text to inquire after the man's plans, whether it leads to postponing their date or cancelling it altogether. Subtly, Zephirin's brows lift in surprise — Francel's reluctance to share a single photo in turn, coupled with his apparent inexperience, lent support to the picture he painted of himself as someone awkward and not very attractive, but the man who approaches Zephirin now has no objective cause to hide his face. In his mid-thirties, Francel is hardly old; his features wouldn't be out of place on an even younger man.

While Francel's physical flaws seem imaginary, it's too soon to form an opinion of his personality. His shyness isn't unbecoming, but most people probably expect a decently wealthy man his age to be appropriately confident.

For his part, Zephirin isn't put off — on the contrary, now that he has met Francel in person, he finds himself oddly intrigued. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he offers the man his gloved right hand and a polite smile. His sleeve slides back, revealing a flash of pale wrist. ]

I would consider a busy schedule a valid excuse. [ Briefly silent, Zephirin then adds: ] However, you can rest assured that my first thought wasn't "my date looks like a mess."

[ Francel isn't caked with mud or blood-soaked, for one. ]

[haillenarte]

Oh — but what was it, then?

[in a rather twitchy way, francel erupts into a brief, nervous giggle. evidently he does not expect zephirin to reply to this question; he seems faintly afraid to hear the answer.

he told no lies about being rather awkward, at least. though he can be rather smooth and charming when he is at work, right now francel feels anything but confident, and he finds himself simply gawping at zephirin's extended hand for a moment, having momentarily forgotten how to shake other peoples' hands. that flash of wrist distracts him. suddenly, francel is keenly aware that, though zephirin must surely be more lean now than he was when he was in active service, he remains well-built and broad-shouldered. a pity his coat makes it difficult to get the measure of his waist and hips, but francel feels certain that the man must be deliciously pale in every corner of his body, that his skin would feel smooth against francel's tongue...

he tells himself he needs to stop thinking like this.

jerking himself violently out of his fantasies (has he really grown so desperate? he supposes he has, if it has come to this), francel clears his throat and takes zephirin's hand, shaking it politely, his grip neither too firm nor too weak. he lets the handshake drop after a moment.]

...So, um, since it's a little cold outside, do you want to grab something to eat? What are you in the mood to have?

[neither money nor distance can impose their limits. francel's only thought is to cater to zephirin's desires.]

[valhourdin]

[ Naturally, Zephirin's first thought was merely his astonishment over Francel's exceptionally youthful appearance, but he opts to answer the man's question with nothing more than his lingering faint smile, deeming a touch of mystery the most fitting response, if his task is to boost Francel's microscopic ego. His date's distraction hasn't escaped his notice, and so he waits patiently for Francel to accept his handshake. It affords him some time to study the man, to organize his thoughts, until Francel's delicate fingers take hold of his hand, tighten around it for some seconds, and let go.

They're both aware of the nature of their arrangement, initiating it with certain expectations, but Zephirin entertains declining Francel's allowance and meeting with him for no purpose besides satisfying his piqued interest. Unfortunately, that would be an impractical and ill-advised use of his time.

Smoothing down his sleeve, Zephirin draws himself away from planning out his approach, turning his attention toward Francel's offer to make the evening a dinner date. The unspoken understanding is most likely that Francel will pay for the meal, no matter which restaurant they choose.

Zephirin hasn't volunteered the details of his financial troubles, and Francel hasn't asked him to divulge any existing sources of income. Perhaps a man who can comfortably spend money on the tentative beginnings of cultivating a love life doesn't care how much or how little his partner earns.

It bothers Zephirin less to treat whatever Francel provides as a loan, even though none of it would empty the man's wallet as it is.

Humming a thoughtful sound, he wanders his mental map of the area in search of a nearby location to suggest. The sorts of places that Francel must frequent normally require reservations — it's intriguing, too, that Francel hasn't booked a table at his preferred restaurant in advance, seemingly leaving the decision wholly to Zephirin rather than imposing a specific idea on him. ]

A cup of cocoa would do against the cold, but I imagine you haven't had time for dinner yet. What are your thoughts on Hingan cuisine?

[haillenarte]

[francel brightens to hear this particular suggestion, perhaps because he is pleasantly surprised that his tastes align with zephirin's after all.]

Oh, I love Hingan food! Let me see... There's one place down that way — [he points] — that does excellent ramen, but they're a bit of a hole in the wall, you know, it's a very tight space. There's also a restaurant nearby that's a bit bigger and nicer, if you'd rather go for that...

[the area is not far from francel's workplace; he knows both establishments quite well, and frequents them often. his choices reflect the level of thought he has put into being considerate towards his date — francel assumed that zephirin was not the sort of person who would want to dine at a high-class restaurant fraught with snooty tensions, but he found it difficult to decide between a more modest eatery (where he might look like a cheapskate) or a more refined establishment (where zephirin might still be uncomfortable).]

I wasn't sure if you wanted casual or fine dining, so I didn't want to choose the place in advance... I hope you don't mind.

[valhourdin]

[ Someone inclined to flirt might seize the opening to tease Francel over tight spaces, complete with a suggestive let's say I'm in the mood to have you, but Zephirin isn't in the habit of making such jokes, and he won't try on a blatantly false persona like an ill-fitting jacket. Besides, at best, Francel would grow flustered; the worst-case scenario would end in upsetting him.

Zephirin would be sorry to see the man hurt, he finds. Whether or not Francel's personality has glaring faults that he hides well at first, ideally he won't come to look back on this quest of his with regret.

Without a doubt, there are people who would take advantage of his considerate manner, his willingness to buy their company. ]

Ramen sounds just right. [ Zephirin's gaze returns to Francel. Again, his lips curve slightly, driving off his weariness to some extent. After a moment, he holds out his arm for his date to take, though Francel will lead the way. ] Shall we?

[haillenarte]

[it's just as well that zephirin isn't the sort to flatter and flirt — poor francel seems flustered just to be offered the arm of an attractive man. stuttering faintly, he seems uncertain of what to do with his hands for a moment, but eventually he slides his hand into the crook of zephirin's elbow, timidly grasping at a tiny fold of the man's coat.

a more confident person, no doubt, would prefer to buy the company of a man whose hands slide into the right places at all the right moments. francel, at least, seems to find even this virginal level of intimacy rather novel.]

...I-It's just a few doors down...

[indeed, the hole in the wall that francel was thinking of is only a short distance from their meeting location, and even this early in the evening, it already seems packed. customers sit shoulder-to-shoulder at the crowded bar, where they may enjoy their noodles alongside the pot-banging hustle and bustle of the chefs in the open kitchen. at first glance, there don't appear to be any open seats.

the young man who comes to greet them at the door — doman, by his appearance — seems to recognize francel on sight. despite the fact that the blue-eyed elezen clearly has his arm in zephirin's, reflexive behaviors kick in. "hey, man," the employee says, remarkably casual, as his eyes flick from francel's face to zephirin's. "table for one? oh, er, wait —"

the man has noticed his regular customer's guest too late, but francel does not take offense. "table for two, this time," he says, in his soft voice.

the doman waiter laughs. "sorry, it's been hectic," he says, apologetic. "follow me, please. you don't mind a booth in the back, do you...?"

as it turns out, the store has free tables in the back, which is rather more secluded and less boisterous than the ramen joint's busy front end. francel settles into one end of their "booth" — really just a table cordoned off by low walls — and gestures for zephirin to sit at the other end, that they may sit looking at each other. he removes his coat. the doman waiter leaves them with glasses of water and concise, one-page menus boasting a list of appetizers and a selection of increasingly gargantuan bowls of ramen; he promises to return shortly.

again, looking at the menu with its modest prices and colorful pictures, francel feels suddenly worried that he's coming off as cheap. unless zephirin orders some complex sushi arrangement, a meal at this establishment, even for two elezen men, is not likely to run francel any more than 2,000 gil. suddenly he wishes he had picked the finer restaurant after all.]

...So, um... feel free to order anything you want. Personally, I love their shoyu ramen, but the pork kakuni is good too.

[valhourdin]

[ Strange tension winds itself around Zephirin's muscles as the noise of the ramen joint greets them on entry, but it eases off once they reach their quieter table, where Francel's voice doesn't compete against sounds reminiscent of a mess hall full of soldiers. Shedding his coat and scarf, Zephirin drapes both over the back of his seat before he sits across from Francel and takes up his menu. Beneath his warmer layers, he is dressed smartly enough for the evening — perhaps he and his date don't quite fit the casual setting.

Francel, though clearly a regular at this establishment, still seems on edge. ]

Then I'll follow your recommendation and order the shoyu ramen this time.

[ This time, as if they've already made plans to come back. Zephirin glances up from his menu in time for the waiter to keep his promise. Presumably the man knows all of Francel's usual favourites by now, but Zephirin's presence prompts him to ask for their orders and encourage them to start with any appetizers, any drinks to accompany their meal.

These, Zephirin turns down, despite the appealing pictures and the comforting thought of a hot cup of tea, or the freedom to choose a glass of wine. The ramen is more than enough. ]

[haillenarte]

[in the end, zephirin orders only a single bowl of ramen, and given this particular store's ideas of proper portion size, that seems more than enough to satisfy one man. anxious that his date is only being modest, however, francel takes it upon himself to order an additional plate of takoyaki, a serving of gyoza, and green tea for them both — he has the advantage of knowing that the owner has very exacting standards for tea, and that the store's preferred leaves are of especially high quality.

once the waiter is gone, having left to relay their orders to the hardworking kitchen staff, francel turns and smiles at zephirin. he lowers his eyes. then he pulls nervously at his sleeve.

he is glad that they managed to secure a relatively quiet, private booth for themselves. it is easier to have this conversation without having to yell over the sounds of cooking and eating.]

So, um... Zephirin...

[as he speaks, francel arranges all the items on the table within his reach at right angles to each other, as if trying to align them to a grid — this is, perhaps, an attempt to find order in chaos.]

Well... before I start talking... do you have any questions for me in particular?

[valhourdin]

[ Francel's busying himself with the table points to his nervousness, too. Sipping from his glass of water, Zephirin observes the man's hands for a while, watching their movements. Francel's skin appears remarkably soft and smooth, translucent. Zephirin's own hands bear the marks gained in his former line of work.

He has questions — he wonders how a man like Francel envisions a relationship, why he thinks it necessary to offer his applicants monetary compensation. Unattached, Francel has no reason to bribe anyone into keeping an affair silent.

These questions, however, aren't the best conversation starters.

Zephirin sets his glass back down on the table, aligning it with Francel's. ]

One, perhaps, for now. May I ask whether you have other respondents waiting to meet with you?

[haillenarte]

[francel cannot help himself from blinking in wide-eyed surprise — evidently, this was not the first question that he anticipated. he shakes his head.]

...Not tonight, if that's your meaning. I had other, ah... choices lined up. But I wanted to see how it would work out with you... first.

[sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck, staring holes into the wooden grain of the hastily-polished table — it is stained with streaks of what must have been a rather wet dishcloth.]

I haven't responded to anyone but you yet.

[valhourdin]

[ Zephirin's surprise is not wide-eyed, crossing his features as a fleeting flicker of a change in his expression. He has no intention of prying further into Francel's other choices, but the man's answer leaves him curious as to why his so-called application placed above the rest.

His relatively limited exposure to dating? His military background?

One explanation, he supposes, could be that the others lined up sounded too good to be true. ]

I see... I look forward to your verdict, then. [ The conversation seems at risk of becoming a job interview. ] Do you have any questions to ask me?

[haillenarte]

[really, if zephirin asked, francel would be only too happy to explain that he liked the sense of quietude that the man's application exuded — the others seemed louder, more energetic, and while perhaps they would seem more like haurchefant in that respect, francel is old enough now to know that having a poor facsimile of his unattainable first love will not mend the holes in his tattered heart.

there are many and a million questions that francel would ask his date — if they can consider this a date and not merely a job interview — but one seems more important than the rest.]

Are you seeing...

[no, zephirin mentioned that he had little experience with relationships.]

...I don't know how to ask this. [he laughs, but there is something of a bitter ring to it.] Is there anyone you... anyone you love? That is — someone in your life that you — that you wish you were with?

[there are many things that francel will tolerate, but the idea of tying someone to himself while they long for another is something he cannot bear.]

[valhourdin]

[ Laced together atop the table in front of him, Zephirin's fingers twitch ever so slightly. As the words are you seeing leave Francel's lips, Zephirin readies himself for a question regarding his psychological resilience — instead, Francel surprises him once again.

Zephirin pauses for no more than a second, his gaze neutral, before he answers plainly: ]

No.

[ He cares for his friends, and he doesn't regret the time that he spent dating one friend, years ago, but he wouldn't claim any desire for them, romantic or sexual. Truth be told, if not for this unusual move made, he would choose to remain single. ]

My time would be yours.

[ In other words, Francel has the chance to secure someone's undivided attention. This, Zephirin assumes, is what the man hopes to hear. ]

[haillenarte]

...I see.

[though francel does not quite seem relieved — some tension evaporates from his hands and shoulders, but he is clearly not relaxed — this answer is the one he hoped to hear. briefly paranoid, he considers the possibility that zephirin is simply lying and telling him what he thinks francel wants to hear, but he pushes these double-thought justifications aside. he won't get anywhere if he's eternally suspicious of the man.

swallowing on his dry throat, francel fusses with his dinnerware settings once more. where he first placed his napkin beside his plate, he now moves it beneath his glass, a movement that ultimately accomplishes nothing.]

...Well... so... it's as I said in the post. I'd like you to... to pretend to love me.

Really, I... I don't know what I'm looking for, either. As I mentioned... I don't have any previous experience. But I... maybe I'm jealous. I want what other people seem to have. I want someone to... to talk to after a long day, and... be with, and... I want someone to — to do the things that couples are supposed to do...

[as he speaks, francel's expression slowly grows wistful and sad; he speaks of commonplace activities as though they are inaccessible splendors placed behind the cold glass of a museum exhibit. it is clear that he has never had such things, has imagined doing them so many times that he has lost the ability to even dream of them.

he must be terribly lonely.]

I tried... to think of terms that were fair to you. I'd like to be able to text you or call you whenever I'd like, but I won't be upset if you don't respond right away. And... I thought... we could meet at least four times a month. Once a week... seemed fair to me...

[he pauses briefly before adding:]

...More often would be... better. But...

[valhourdin]

[ It's telling that Francel pursues what amounts to playing pretend indefinitely, setting his sights no higher than a few hours of companionship per week. His terms are anything but demanding — on the other hand, a prospective partner might find it easier to meet his expectations, were sleeping together the primary goal.

This time, Zephirin's silence lasts longer than a second, stretching on into several pensive moments. He's not an actor at an audition, equipped to deliver a convincing performance regardless of the role, but thankfully, Francel lays out his hopes with the same consideration he has shown Zephirin throughout their correspondence. The man's vision of a romantic relationship seems flexible.

At last, Zephirin stirs, reaching across the table to offer Francel his hand once more, not for a handshake, but to link their fingers like a couple might, a preview of his efforts to fast forward their status from newly acquainted strangers to lovers. ]

As you know, I currently have few fixed commitments to attend to, and I live alone. You would be welcome to contact me as often as you wish. Should my circumstances change, I would notify you.

[haillenarte]

[at first, francel seems confused by this gesture that zephirin offers him; he allows the man to entwine their fingers together with a blank expression that suggests he has no understanding of how this will end. once their hands sit interlocked — holding hands, holding hands, he's always wanted this — a broad, genuine smile overtakes his features. he looks even younger and more sweet-tempered than before.]

...Yes. That's... that's good. Thank you.

[timidly, francel offers just the barest squeeze of zephirin's knuckles, more like a mere twitch of his hand than a truly reassuring gesture.]

I... I'd like it if you could contact me sometimes, too. Because... it's not very realistic if I'm always... starting the conversation.

[though zephirin has been nothing but polite and kind to him thus far, francel nevertheless seems to believe that, unprompted, the man will interact with him only so much as is necessary.]

There are... other things that we should discuss, but... um...

...For the first month, at least... how much were you expecting to be compensated?

[valhourdin]

Of course.

[ Though Zephirin is taken aback by the sheer joy that brightens Francel's expression, he conceals it, lowering his eyes to their hands and squeezing Francel's fingers. Nowadays he rarely contacts even his friends simply to chat — he initiates conversations to keep plans arranged on track, or to stay abreast of how those friends are faring.

But so long as Francel won't require him to spontaneously send texts consisting of emoticons or selfies, it doesn't ask too much of him to check in with a how was your day or to plan their next date.

As Francel continues, Zephirin lifts his gaze with an accompanying tilt of his head. He's worked out his budget for the coming few months, and so he could state figures, but there is something decidedly uncomfortable about discussing his payment while holding hands with the man before him, on the heels of Francel's smile. ]

...I'm new to this myself. How much are you offering?

[haillenarte]

I...

[it is then that the doman waiter returns, carrying their appetizers and their mugs of tea upon a tray.

francel is the first to break the union of their hands, though it isn't because he wants to so much as that they need to clear the space so that the man can work. the waiter sets their appetizers and tea upon the table, though not without shifting things around to make room for the plates, thus ruining francel's carefully-cultivated grid of items. "hang on, i'll be back," the man says — true to his word, he quickly walks from their table to the kitchen again, where he brings back their steaming bowls of ramen.

their meal has arrived all at once, though francel doesn't seem to mind. slowly, as though uncertain of himself, he picks up a pair of chopsticks with which to eat his meal. then he takes up a length of his noodles and blows on it, trying to pretend as though the interruption in their conversation never happened.]

...I, ah... I thought we could start with something more modest, then work our way up from there.

[francel's problems will not be solved merely by throwing money into the lap of someone who might run away with it as soon as possible, but at the same time, he would feel terrible about giving zephirin the bare minimum.]

...If it's not too much to ask, could you tell me how much money you'd need to cover your daily expenses for the next few weeks?

[valhourdin]

[ The bowls of ramen are almost daunting for their size — alongside the appetizers, they promise a delicious challenge. Chopsticks in hand, Zephirin ventures forth to sample a piece of takoyaki first, letting his noodles cool a little before any endeavour to conquer the contents of his bowl in their entirety.

He isn't all that skilled in eating with chopsticks, and his selected mouthful sits precariously balanced between their ends on its cautiously traveled journey from the plate to Zephirin's lips. Chewing and swallowing, Zephirin looks up then to make eye contact.

How much money he needs and how much he can accept in good conscience are separate things. Groceries and commuting are the bulk of his weekly expenses; monthly, he has the rent to pay. His phone runs on a basic plan that won't expire for a year, and the local library provides internet access free of charge. Anything else is a luxury to go without until he finds work, preferably before he is forced to dip further into the rest of his savings.

Finally, Zephirin shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment. ]

...My daily expenses for the next few weeks are already covered. We don't need to discuss this right away.

[ Perhaps pride and a sense of honour are an issue after all. ]

[haillenarte]

...Are you sure? I...

[panicking, francel wonders if he should not have asked his previous question. has zephirin taken offense? perhaps he should have simply named a number — but francel has lived so long with millions of gil at his disposal that he has no idea what the average man needs to live in this city. should he have simply offered 50,000 gil? or 100,000? is that too much or too little for one month's "trial run" of this relationship?

he doesn't know.]

...I'll give you whatever you need.

[francel's voice is soft as he says these words, strangely broken, as though zephirin has threatened to leave him, and he is about to cry. he blinks too many times — his eyes sting with tears, though they are mercifully not wet. he clears his throat; he tries to change the subject.]

— D-Did you like the takoyaki? Have... have some more.

[his own chopsticks are frozen in place.]

[valhourdin]

[ Zephirin knows that he needs heating in his apartment, but without it, his electricity bill won't skyrocket. He needs to see someone about his shoulder. He probably needs therapy.

None of these things are a stranger's problem, nor should it fall to a make-believe lover to solve them. Francel searches for a fantasy made real, not extra baggage added on top of his own. ]

I suppose I need more takoyaki.

[ Zephirin delivers his statement deadpan, in the hope that the sudden change of subject will dispel Francel's palpable misery. Picking up another piece from the plate, he brings it not to his mouth, but within his odd date's reach. ]

But if you insist, I'll name my price by the end of the evening.

[ Francel, for whom money is not a concern, seems convinced that his wealth is all he has to offer. ]

[haillenarte]

[zephirin’s attempt at a joke is read as one, though francel does not laugh. he simply smiles, though it is less an actual curve of his lips and more of a shy pursing. he puts the length of noodles he has been holding back into his bowl — it has grown too cool outside of the boiling hot soup — and then bites into the piece of takoyaki that zephirin has set aside for him. his cheeks seem round, squirrelesque, as he chews and swallows. the topic of zephirin’s price is set aside for now.]

...Mmm, it’s good.

[suddenly, the deceptively youthful man breaks into a giggle.]

Zephirin, you hold your chopsticks funny.

[francel should not laugh — it is only reflective of how infrequently zephirin eats hingan cuisine — but it is rather amusing to see how his food wobbles precariously on the ends of his utensils.]