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048 » but miles don't make your image fade

[ For Ms. Caulignont's literature class, Mr. Haillenarte is a novelty.

Arriving to replace his predecessor after his students have endured a string of hit-and-miss substitutes, the young teacher's appearance immediately sets him apart — predicted was a bespectacled, balding scholar, but Francel de Haillenarte looks youthful enough to be fresh out of his teens, if even that. Some see an inexperienced pushover sure to let them coast through the year, while others doubt their newly appointed teacher's ability to teach the class at all. Others again already feel sorry for the man.

Zephirin finds Mr. Haillenarte promising.

He's noticed a few things by now, a couple of days into these new developments, and he's certain that they're not the product of his imagination. Mr. Haillenarte blushes easily — the consensus is that it's cute. More specifically, all Zephirin needs to do is to make eye contact perhaps slightly too long when the man takes attendance or calls on him to read aloud and answer questions in class. Mr. Haillenarte, the boy thinks, enjoys the sound of his voice.

It's turned into something of a private game, nothing that would fuel gossip and cost his teacher not only his position at Ishgard High, but his entire reputation. Maybe a private game is all it should stay, but Mr. Haillenarte seems the sort to perceive it as bullying, and so Zephirin takes it upon himself to set the record straight.

After class at the end of the day, when his classmates rush out into the halls towards the evening's freedom soon cut short by homework, he declines walking with his friends to linger in the classroom, leisurely gathering up his books. His bag slung over his shoulder, he stops beside the teacher's desk at the front of the room. ]

Mr. Haillenarte? Do you have a moment?

[ Casually, Zephirin's fingers adjust his open collar, toying with his shirt's uppermost button — the air conditioning hasn't done much against the classroom's stuffy heat. ]

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[ Zephirin turns around to face Francel when the young teacher leaps to his feet — perfect timing to catch Francel succeed in overcoming the hurdle of his too-tight jeans, and to observe the unwittingly titillating display before him as the man adjusts his clothes. Later, Zephirin's mind might revisit the scene. It might alter it slightly, adding Zephirin's hands alongside Francel's pretty, fine-boned fingers, and after their combined efforts, Francel might agree to sharing the one chair at Zephirin's desk.

Unfortunately, those are fantasies to leave aside for now. Zephirin's eyes meet Francel's, and the boy offers his teacher a smile in turn, more muted than Francel's sudden, charming radiance, but pleased nonetheless. Privately, he wonders how often Francel smiles like that. ]

I think it's nice that we share a favourite colour, though I'm guessing that you like red, too.

[ Zephirin's fingers work slowly, gracefully, buttoning up his shirt while Francel's gaze rests on him. ]

By the way, I noticed you had that rabbit in your car... Is there a story behind it?

[it occurs to francel all too late that despite his posturing, the very fact that he has entered his student's bedroom, even for the purpose of changing his clothes, has already crossed a line of impropriety that could easily get him fired if zephirin were the sort to report their outing to the appropriate authorities.

but it's not that francel is afraid of losing his job. it's just that he still can't imagine what zephirin's motives are.]

Ah... the rabbit? It was a gift from my older brother. [a brief pause.] Er, not the one that died, though. I guess I've got a pretty big family? I have — [he has to correct himself] — I had three brothers and one sister. And... now it's just the one sister and two brothers.

[as tempting as it is to watch zephirin's fingers slowly slot his shirt buttons through their holes, francel politely turns his face away as he examines various objects in zephirin's room, on his desk.]

You don't have any brothers or sisters, do you? I didn't notice any other rooms...

[ To Zephirin's disappointment, Francel chooses to look away and around his room. He understands his teacher's thinking, of course — Francel won't let himself stare at his student as though he's salivating, seconds from taking a bite out of Zephirin. Besides, Francel might be interested in getting to know him better through his "natural habitat" at home.

The boy leaves two buttons undone near his collar, and steps closer to his teacher. ]

You're right, I don't. I've wondered what it's like to have siblings, but being friends with Guerrique is probably a little like having a younger brother.

[ Curiously, Zephirin's eyes sweep over Francel once more, now to gauge whether to tactfully nudge the conversation towards topics that don't touch on the man's late brother. ]

Ah, another thing I wanted to ask... Do you accept gifts from students?

[francel can't help but break into a smile at the mention of guerrique — like zephirin, guerrique is one of the elezen boys in their class who hit his growth spurt early, and it's not uncommon to find the silver-haired boy ruffling or tackling or roughhousing with zephirin, who generally withstands guerrique's playful assaults as a particularly stoic ala mhigan shepherd might remain calm in the face of a hyperactive pomeranian.]

The school policy says I can't accept anything that cost you more than 2,000 gil, but gifts are fine. Are you planning something?

[seeing that zephirin is decent, francel turns and fixes him with a friendly smile.]

[ Zephirin attempts his best innocent look as he moves past Francel, picking up their towels to put in the laundry basket — along the way, he has Francel's profile to admire. The result isn't quite innocent, merely somehow coy. ]

If I'm planning something, that's as much as I can confirm without ruining the surprise. You don't mind telling me when your birthday is, do you?

[francel sighs, though he does so with a kind of exasperated affection, and he does not miss the fact that zephirin's attempt at boyish innocence instead harbors the fire of far less virtuous thoughts. again, he wonders what zephirin's purpose is in all this. the boy doesn't seem like the sort to play pranks...]

It's March 2nd... the Second Sun of the Second Astral Moon, if we go by the old calendar.

[he's a well-trained guest, and he knows not to move out of his host's sight, so francel obediently follows zephirin to the laundry basket, more than willing to demonstrate that he isn't doing anything wrong.]

Don't make too much trouble for anyone, alright?

[ Towels dropped to join the rest of the laundry heap, Zephirin turns a mildly teasing smile upon Francel, inwardly delighted by this newest privilege granted to him without any discernible hesitation. The boy places his hand against his chest, over his heart. ]

I'll be good, sir. Ah... Francel.

[ Being good may need to extend to finding his teacher somewhere to sit that doesn't make Francel uneasy the entire time — moving toward the door, Zephirin makes for the hallway outside. He casts Francel another curious look. ]

The Second Sun of the Second Astral Moon... You must know a lot about Ishgardian history.

Edited 2018-12-26 22:28 (UTC)

[again, francel obediently follows along, like a small dog eagerly wiggling its limbs to keep up with its master's longer legs. he breaks into a prideful smile at zephirin's comment, as though the boy is his teacher and he is the student, rather than the other way around.]

Oh! Well... I suppose it's because my father is a historian. Um... this isn't bragging, but our family lineage actually goes all the way back to the founding of Ishgard.

[he breaks into a bashful giggle that makes him look even younger than he already is.]

It's not really something that people know or recognize, though, so I don't mention it in class. But we're actually descended from Driancoin de Haillenarte — through the main line, too, which is like, eldest sons. So if you want to know what Ishgardian nobility looks like, here I am: not very impressive!

Is that another secret for me to keep?

[ Despite Francel's words, Zephirin looks impressed by this particular revelation, or at least charmed by his teacher's opening up to him. Francel, he muses, seems to be the sort of person who finds Ishgard's history romantic, who might appreciate picturing the city as it was long ago — and perhaps what Zephirin does next.

They've made it to the lounge downstairs, and here, the boy pats one of the sofa cushions, kneeling on the floor in front of Francel then, the way a knight would at a ceremony. ]

Might I invite you to be seated, my lord? Pray make any request of me, should you desire refreshments while we hold our meeting.

Nooooo...

[giggling bashfully, in a manner that is not at all becoming of a teacher, francel seats himself as he is invited, but he hides his face behind his hands as though to conceal how thoroughly flustered he is by zephirin's spontaneous display of chivalry.]

D-Don't do that! It's too embarrassing! [just so his student doesn't get any wrong ideas, though, he adds in an undertone:] ...Although it does feel nice...

[ Zephirin, meanwhile, is thoroughly satisfied with Francel's reaction, though it manifests as no more than a hint of amusement. Rising to his feet, the boy bows before he takes a seat beside his teacher, not too noticeably close for Francel's comfort. He crosses his legs at his ankles, but sits otherwise still. ]

On my father's side, a long time ago, we had a few knights in the family. I wonder if any served the Haillenartes... House Haillenarte?

[ A sidelong glance seeks Francel's expert knowledge. ]

It would only be right to uphold the tradition then.

Edited 2018-12-31 22:54 (UTC)

H-House Haillenarte, yes. That's a charming thought...

[his bashful demeanor dissipating, francel's hands fall from his face into his lap as he thoughtfully regards the comfortable distance between him and his student. his eyes flick over zephirin's sturdy-yet-slender frame for a moment, and then he smiles.]

I could easily see you as a knight. You're so tall and athletic — I bet you would have been great with a sword!

[the young teacher seems unusually enthusiastic about this idea. it seems zephirin has stumbled across one of his hidden passions — the ancient history of old ishgard. one wonders why he chose to become a teacher of literature and not of history, but then perhaps the two fields are closely entwined, in his mind.]

I'll take a look through my father's books next time I visit him, then. Perhaps there's record of a de Valhourdin knight under House Haillenarte's employ.

[ Charming, too, is the way that Francel lights up in his enthusiasm as he contributes his input to shape the picture they've painted together. He looks especially young, like this, smiling at Zephirin with complete faith in the boy's imagined aptitude for swordplay.

Zephirin, entertaining the equally charming thought of Francel leafing through his father's books to satisfy his student's curiosity, returns the man's smile. ]

Even if there's not, you could consider me pledged to Lord Francel de Haillenarte from now on.

[ The remark is made lightly, as if nothing deeper lies behind it. ]

I'm surprised that you don't teach history instead — but literature incorporates it, I suppose.

[francel's only outward reaction to that comment from zephirin is a subtle coloring of his cheeks, but he nods after a brief pause. shyly, he pulls his hands into his lap and straightens his posture, as though he is the student having a teacher over at his house, and not the other way around.]

Well... I like history well enough, yes. But if I got into that field I'd always be compared to my dad. And Ishgardian history in particular is already such a well-documented and researched subject that it sort of felt like there wouldn't be anything left for me to discover. Literature was more... accessible.

[ Their conversation has little to do with Zephirin's college applications, at least directly, but Francel hasn't objected yet, and Zephirin frankly isn't in a hurry to end their sessions, confident that he is on track as it is. Gaze intent and unwavering as it rests on his teacher, the boy nods his understanding. ]

And now you're making it accessible for a new generation. [ Though that could be bias talking, on Zephirin's part. In his eyes, Francel in his element inspires a sustained interest in his passions, if not the same enthusiasm from every single student. ] I know I feel compelled to visit the library and find some Ishgardian classics to read.

[this, it seems, is flattery taken a step too far. francel scowls, though he is smiling at the same time, giving him a strangely twisted, bashful expression.]

N-No, you don't! [he is so flustered that he wishes to deny zephirin's own testimony about his feelings, it seems; after a moment, he backtracks.] I mean — y-you don't have to keep buttering me up, okay? I'm here! I already agreed to help you...

[he bites his lip and shakes his head, looking somehow like a kicked puppy.]

I'm just a teacher, that's all. And I try my best to make class fun, but... even if you actually like the classics, the other kids definitely don't.

[he rubs the tip of his red nose...]

S-So you don't have to say stuff like that, okay? It's fine if the first thing you do when you get out of class is go have fun and play games. I don't expect my students to be reading all the time.

[ Other kids sounds odd, coming from a man like Francel, whose youthful face rapidly shifts from what Zephirin perceives as a pout to looking utterly crestfallen. It strays rather far from any reaction that the boy had hoped to elicit, to his dismay. Accused of buttering his teacher up — for Francel's help, at that, for some special treatment practically wheedled out of him — he draws himself up in his seat, his expression abruptly so serious that his mouth is a straight line.

Francel is cute even now, but the thought that he doubts Zephirin's assertions, that they upset him, bothers the boy perhaps more than it should. ]

I have fun in class — and I'm having fun now. That's all I meant to convey. I'm sorry it came out the way it did.

[oh, fury, what has he done? he didn't mean to hurt zephirin — he only thought the boy was teasing him, flattering him, for some purpose — a dare, maybe. francel shakes his head, his shameful expression turning guilty as he seemingly seeks zephirin's forgiveness.]

...N-No, I — I'm sorry. That wasn't very nice of me. I just... no one says things like that, and I...

[he shakes his head again, blinking too much, too quickly — perhaps zephirin's young teacher is on the verge of tears.]

...I-I'm sorry. I'm not a very good teacher.

[ Zephirin's eyes widen, ever so slightly, the equivalent of discernible alarm on the boy's usually calm features. The glimmer in Francel's lovely blue eyes combined with his furious blinking makes it all too plain that the young teacher is on the verge of tears.

Cautiously, Zephirin draws just a little closer, approaching Francel as though the man is an injured rabbit to catch with care. One hand nears Francel's shoulder. ]

Maybe you don't believe me, but in my opinion, you're doing fine. I always look forward to your classes.

[injured rabbit though he may be, francel seems to respond well to the offer of help, leaning into zephirin's touch despite himself. he tries his best to put up a strong front, though — he reminds himself once more that zephirin is his student.]

I'm sorry... This is silly. You don't have to comfort me. I'm fine, I promise...

[he is vulnerable. one bandaged paw, one loving stroke, and — teacher or no — francel the injured rabbit might just be zephirin's forever.]

[ Francel's arm and Zephirin's palm meet; the boy squeezes his teacher's shoulder, and leaves his hand where it is. Francel insists that he's fine, but he doesn't look it — if he were a rabbit, his long ears would probably droop, or cover his face to hide it.

It's tempting to defy their student-teacher boundaries beyond what they've already done, just to pet that rabbit once. On the other hand, it could upset Francel further, convincing him that he isn't fit to be a teacher, and so Zephirin keeps to another light squeeze of Francel's arm, no more. ]

To be honest, even if I doubt that I'm the only person who likes having you teaching the class, most of us just don't go around complimenting teachers. It looks bad, after all. I don't blame you for thinking that I did it to butter you up.

[for some reason, francel giggles past his tears. his thoughts seem to have turned somewhat silly.]

I feel like a toasted bagel...

[because of the buttering, perhaps? he wipes his eyes dry on his sleeve, then sniffs his nasal passages clear. eventually, his shoulders fall, relaxed, and he leans back into zephirin's sofa, finally looking comfortable and at ease.]

I'm sorry I'm a bagel lord.

[ Francel's laughter is an encouraging sign, and Zephirin relaxes somewhat himself, and then a little more with the man's remarks and the shift in Francel's posture, though his gaze searches his teacher's face a moment longer, his hand still curled around Francel's shoulder. His eyes lower to Francel's sleeve — he would have liked to offer him a handkerchief instead, clean and preferably somehow charming, or at least a box of tissues, but he has neither within quick reach.

Almost reluctantly, he withdraws his hand. ]

Unfortunately, I like bagels. [ A small smile returns to his lips. ] Are you sure you don't want anything while you're here? A glass of water, or maybe juice?

I'm fine. I promise.

[the injured rabbit is injured no more, though zephirin set no trap for him, and now he wanders the woodlands freely once more. he does not return zephirin's touches, but he stays smiling, seated at a safe distance.

thus far, he reminds himself, he has not done anything too outlandish for a teacher at a high school.]

But... this was supposed to be about you, remember? Do you want anything? We can talk about anything. And I won't cry! Really!

[ There are things that Zephirin wants, things that aren't water or juice or bagels — or going over his college applications right now, for that matter — and here, alone with Francel outside of school, a rare window of opportunity seems opened. Contemplative, the boy falls silent.

There are things that he wants, things that he knows he shouldn't want, but Francel has only just calmed down, and honesty is sure to send the rabbit scampering far away in fright. Nothing happens. They go on smiling at each other, several ilms of sofa between them. ]

I was thinking of getting something to drink myself, but I won't if my guest isn't having anything. We could keep talking about Ishgard, or your favourite books.

[ Zephirin pauses, settling back into the sofa like Francel. ]

Don't worry — I've been working on my essays, and this helps me focus my ideas.

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