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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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[as a relatively new teacher, francel is well aware that most of his students see him as easy pickings, a target for their ire, or else as a pitiful bullied boy their own age, the sort that needs to be protected. he tries his best not to come across as any of these things; he thinks the class will change their minds once they see the pop quiz he’s prepared for friday (because he is well aware that a fourth of the class doesn’t even bother to do the readings). regardless, it cannot be denied that half the reason he ever gets through his lesson plans is thanks to lucia, who routinely barks at the more rowdy students, telling them to shut up, and aymeric, who appears to have some clout among the talkative girls, and can get them to settle with a mere look and a finger pressed to his lips.

zephirin appears to have some clout within the student body as well, though this, francel speculates, has less to do with his handsome good looks or any youthful charisma, and more to do with his overwhelming sense of maturity. he must be seventeen or eighteen, the teacher supposes, but he has a calm, collected air about him, and the piercing green gaze of a man closer to twenty-six. maybe even thirty.

the young literature teacher is again blushing when zephirin nears his desk. his eyes flick towards zephirin’s open collar for a moment, but then they focus on his hands. he doodles anxious circles in the corner of his calendar before he reminds himself that eye contact is important to establish trust with older students, and he raises his gaze again.]

Ah... yes? What is it, Zephirin?

[of course he is well aware that he should not be looking at one of his students in this manner, but goodness, the boy is so tall, and so close...]

Edited 2018-08-24 01:18 (UTC)

There's something that I hoped you could help me with...

[ Zephirin smiles politely when their eyes meet, but his gaze traces his teacher's features, now that he has the chance to study them up close. Looking up at him, cheeks flushed pink, Mr. Haillenarte seems even younger — maybe the man feels it himself, some ilms shorter than his student, to boot.

Instead of getting to the point just yet, Zephirin cocks his head, as if something about Francel has prompted the boy to regard him with sudden concern. ]

Are you alright, sir? It's a little warm in here — I have some water in my bag, if you need it.

[ Deftly, he shifts said bag to open it, and retrieves his bottle of water from within, proffering it to Francel. ]

Ah — n-no, I'm quite fine, I assure you! My face feels a bit warm, but... I suppose it's just the weather...

[whatever it is that zephirin is staring at simply must be a layer of unpleasant, sticky sweat, in francel's mind, and so he pulls a modest handkerchief from his bag, overwhelmingly self-conscious. as he delicately mops the imaginary perspiration from his brow and face, alternating hands in the process, he somehow resembles a rabbit washing its face with both paws, meticulously cleaning its nose.

when he resurfaces, he looks exactly the same — indeed, perhaps he is even a bit more pink than before.]

What sort of help do you need?

If you're sure...

[ While Francel sees to his non-existent sweaty sheen, frankly all the more endearing for it, Zephirin takes a sip of water himself before he puts the drink bottle away. Relentlessly, despite the bright blush suffusing Francel's skin, the boy resumes what might in another context be read as checking his teacher out. Amusement touches the curve of his mouth. ]

Before I say anything else, I'll admit that I'm relieved to hear that it's only the weather getting to you. I'd noticed it during class from time to time, and I was beginning to think that I was making you uncomfortable.

[ Here, Zephirin averts his eyes, his lips a straighter, pensive line. ]

On the other hand, I couldn't pinpoint anything that I'd done wrong.

[it seems entirely plausible that zephirin is not the only person whose eyes are wandering during the course of this conversation — francel, too, lets his eyes linger too long on zephirin's mouth, on the bob of his throat as he swallows. seized by a sudden hunger, the young teacher, too, swallows in reflexive response. feeling faintly weak-kneed, he takes a seat at his desk.]

N-No, I — you've done nothing wrong, I promise. In fact, you've been an excellent student. I've actually wondered if perhaps I call on you too often...

[ Zephirin's gaze returns to Francel, lowered now as the boy looks down at his teacher from above, a corner of the desk between them. For a moment, their roles could be reversed.

Mr. Haillenarte is not, in fact, the only young teacher employed at Ishgard High, but unlike him, Mr. Banlardois and Mr. Chevraudan never grow flustered around their students, and Mr. Courcillant comes across as someone who takes everything in stride. Perhaps it's simply that they don't share Mr. Haillenarte's guilty pleasures.

The man hasn't denied feeling uncomfortable — he certainly seems deeply perturbed. ]

It doesn't bother me, sir. [ Zephirin blinks calmly, shakes his head. ] In a way, that's exactly why I've come to speak with you. Next year is my final year before I graduate, you see, and I'm trying to cover all my bases for my college applications. I imagine you remember the whole process well, so I was hoping that you might have some suggestions for me.

Oh! Is that all? I mean —

[a broad smile seems to take over francel's face; he looks positively delighted, indeed even more youthful than before. one would think him another boy at the school, an unpopular nerd delighted to be a handsome upperclassman's study partner.]

Sorry. I'm a little excited. This is the first time anyone's asked me for help — probably because I don't seem very reliable... But I'd be happy to go over the whole process with you if the college counselors aren't being very helpful! I know mine weren't.

[he turns to face zephirin fully, his hands placed on his knees. now his posture is relaxed and open... though he remains rather pink.]

By this time of year, I guess you've picked the universities you're interested in already? Have you started on your essays? I can look at them with you...

[ A little excited is clearly an understatement when Mr. Haillenarte lights up as though Zephirin's request has made his day, quite possibly even his week. Beaming at his student now, the man appears to be considerably less flustered and uncomfortable, cute without looking on the verge of bolting from his classroom to take a cold shower.

Zephirin's expression brightens in kind, if subtly. Under the pretext of sealing an agreement, the boy extends his right hand, reaching for his teacher's. ]

I appreciate it, Mr. Haillenarte. I have a few schools in mind, and essay drafts in the works, so do you think you'd have time to meet with me to go over what I've written so far? I'm prepared to take on additional work, too — after all, you'll probably want to see more of me before I ask you for a letter of recommendation.

Of course! Do you want to talk now? Or later? I'm free until sixth period — oh, but if you have other classes, don't let me keep you here.

[smiling, the young teacher shakes his head at zephirin's eagerness to please, even as he clasps the boy's hand in his own.]

Now, now, you don't have to prove anything for a letter of recommendation from me. Your class participation is more than enough. Don't let other teachers bully you into doing extra work for recommendations, either! We're here to help our students.

Edited 2018-08-28 00:27 (UTC)

[ In his kindness, Mr. Haillenarte unwittingly throws a wrench into Zephirin's plans, but the boy carefully masks it, merely grasping Francel's hand for a firm shake. His eyes flick downward, thoughtfully, resting on the young teacher's knuckles. ]

I've saved my drafts online, but I realize that I've sprung this on you without warning...

[ Zephirin's fingers hold Francel's clasped a moment longer, and then Zephirin relinquishes his teacher's hand, glancing up. ]

If you don't have the time to work with me one-on-one on a regular basis, I understand — I'd hate to bully you into it. [ He smiles faintly, teasing. ] My thinking was just that you wouldn't need to pay me any special attention in class then.

[francel blinks in surprise at this response — was zephirin hoping to meet one-on-one on a regular basis, then?

even with an admitted crush on the handsome boy, young mr. haillenarte's thoughts do not automatically leap towards any suspicion of does he have a thing for me? or is this a date? it is, in his view, merely an odd request, coming from a high school student who must surely have no shortage of other things to do — extracurriculars, relaxation time, study sessions with peers. still, francel thinks, perhaps zephirin is just very serious about wanting to get into a good college. and if so, francel thinks, the kinder thing might be to point him toward a teacher with more seniority and experience with the college admissions part of the game.

but, again: though he has no expectations, no desire to act on his feelings to any significant degree, francel does have a crush on the boy. he does want to spend more time with him. not because he expects anything — but just to look at him more.

surely that isn't so wrong, so horrible?]

Er... well, if you want to meet with me regularly, we could talk during lunch break? I take my lunch every day during fourth period, same as all of you.

[this is a riskier proposition, though. surely zephirin would rather eat lunch in the cafeteria with his friends? perhaps francel ought to sweeten the deal. school lunch is awfully bland, isn't it...?]

If you're comfortable accepting meals from a teacher, I could bring food for you, too! I'm no professional, but I think my cooking is better than what the lunch ladies make...

[ Zephirin's smile softens when Francel relents, promising the boy his time outside of the brief hours in his class. Meeting during their lunch break is a realistic start — they both have other commitments after school, no doubt, and few openings to squeeze in more.

Outwardly collected, Zephirin nonetheless savours the strange thrill of his victory, though it isn't feasible for him to have lunch with his teacher every day, of course. ]

Tomorrow, then? I wouldn't want to impose on you, but I'd be glad to accept your offer, so long as you're not inconvenienced on my account.

[ After a beat, Zephirin solemnly raises one hand. ]

I promise not to tell anyone about your cooking.

[for no apparent purpose, francel, too, raises his hand in a solemn oath — though it all seems rather less serious when he is giggling and smiling throughout. surely this is why the other students find it difficult to respect him...]

Tomorrow, then! I'm not inconvenienced at all. It's actually a lot easier to cook for more people than it is to cook just for myself.

[to zephirin, this may be a valuable piece of information: judging by his statements, young mr. haillenarte has no one else to cook for in the morning — no boyfriend, no parents, no pets.]

[ The fact that Mr. Haillenarte lives alone shouldn't please a student of his, but it confirms that the man is unattached, that his private life might be a little lonely. Without anyone in the picture to pry, he could get away with his harmless crush on Zephirin.

He could have more.

When teacher and student part ways for the day, one last look cast over Zephirin's shoulder invites Francel to think of him, perhaps to count the passing hours until tomorrow's lunch date of sorts. If not for their arranged meeting, they wouldn't see each other any sooner than Thursday.

The next day's first half ticks by slowly, and as soon as Zephirin emerges from the showers after gym class, he sends his friends on to the cafeteria, excusing himself to make his way to Mr. Haillenarte's office. Known as an all-rounder involved in after-school clubs and the student council, it's not especially unusual for him to have somewhere to be even over the lunch break; Guerrique and the others don't question it.

Zephirin arrives slightly mussed, his hair still a trace damp, but he comes prepared for an hour alone with his teacher, a handful of questions at the ready. Knocking, he waits for Francel to let him in — or to appear in the corridor, yet to return to his office. ]

[it isn't francel's custom to keep his door closed when he is in the room — he is rather earnest with his job, he does his best to give students open doors whenever possible — and so he does, in the end, appear in the corridor from the staircase after a moment's silence. he is carrying a rather hefty stack of copies in his arms; the key to his classroom dangles from a lanyard wrapped twice around his palm. the young teacher looks surprised, then smiles at the sight of the tall blond waiting by his door.]

Oh, hi, Zephirin. I'll get the door — just a minute.

[as he draws closer, however, he stops for just a moment, like some sort of moving train suddenly stuttering in its motions. he picks his pace back up again, but the source of his sudden jolt no doubt has something to do with the way the tips of his ears appear to be burning again. the light sheen of moisture on zephirin's neck resembles sweat, and his slightly mussed hair is somehow erotic...]

Ah... why are you all wet? Do you need a towel?

Edited 2018-08-28 18:12 (UTC)

Mr. Haillenarte.

[ Turning to greet the man, Zephirin notes the charming redness colouring Francel's ears — it hasn't escaped his notice that Francel isn't looking at him in concern, despite the offer of a towel. No, his teacher seems momentarily distracted, focused on nothing but the boy before him, the locked door forgotten.

Gracefully, Zephirin's fingers comb through his hair once; his hand settles at the nape of his neck. ]

Thank you, but I'm fine, sir — I had gym class last period.

[ The alternative to having lunch freshly showered would have been to turn up damp with sweat instead of water, most likely unpleasant for everyone present. ]

Can I help you with that?

[ Stretching both arms out, Zephirin indicates Francel's stack of paper. ]

[zephirin's hair, still half-wet, stays where he pushed it back, flat across his scalp; francel's eyes cannot help but linger on the boy's face. zephirin looks the epitome of rakish danger — so handsome and cool that he resembles the sort of model a teenage francel might have cut out of a magazine to save in a secret scrapbook, long ago. flustered, the teacher lowers his gaze, offering his papers for zephirin to take.]

Ah... yes. Here, just hold this for a moment while I open the...

[he doesn't finish. zephirin's blushing instructor fusses with his keys for a moment: insert, turn, push. he has to grab a doorstop from beneath the chalkboard to hold the heavy door open without assistance.]

I-In my high school we didn't have showers. I mean, we did, but they were for the swimming pool, to get clean before and after you swam... The general gym classes were just expected to change and leave.

[he laughs, but it's something of a nervous giggle.]

But the gym teachers didn't really push us that hard anyway... I guess that's why I'm such a twig...

[ Zephirin holds the stack of copies against his chest, close behind Francel to keep the door from swinging shut while the man retrieves the doorstop. Once inside, he sets the papers down on the teacher's desk, and faces Francel, eyes roving over his form.

The boy's laugh is no more than a low chuckle, hummed under his breath. ]

If you don't mind my saying so, you look fine as you are.

[ Beneath his clothing, Mr. Haillenarte may not be hiding a chiseled body, but his physique suits him, pleasantly soft. Zephirin's own frame, though lithe, is broader across the shoulders, narrower at the waist. ]

We just had fitness tests today, but I suppose the weather lately made them tougher on everyone...

[ Perfectly cool in the summer uniform's short-sleeved shirt, Zephirin looks directly at Francel, at the young teacher's pink cheeks. ]

N-No, I could stand to lose some weight, I think. ...It is warm today, isn't it?

[the weather today is in fact somewhat cooler than yesterday's, but francel makes no acknowledgement of that as he takes his seat, bending in his chair to retrieve a simple brown bag from beneath the desk. were he more prepared for a sudden request from his favorite (or is he merely the most attractive?) student, he might have gone out to buy a set of lacquered doman bento boxes — but given the circumstances, the young literature teacher has prepared their lunch in simple tupperware containers.

lunch today is fairly simple: breaded boneless pork chops, with a side of mashed potatoes and a smaller portion of vegetables. perhaps it's not the healthiest meal, but it's all made from scratch, and likely more nutritious than the school fare, which must be full of preservatives. francel's tried to guess at what a teenage boy might like — of all the things he remembers from his time in high school, what other boys liked to eat isn't one of them.

francel removes the two containers from the bag — one for his student, and another for himself. zephirin's container appears to have a bit more food than francel's.]

There's forks and napkins if you need them. You, um... you don't mind eating pork, do you?

[ Nothing about his teacher's figure is in need of slimming down, as far as Zephirin is concerned. The boy's discreetly thorough inspection of the lines of Francel's body only encourages him to contemplate how the man might react, if a lover were to surprise him with a morning hug in his kitchen, arms wrapped around his waist from behind at first, hands untying his apron soon after, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to squeeze his hips.

The image rivals today's lunch, a delicious daydream. Thankfully, Zephirin's expression doesn't change; he considers himself firmly in control of his hormones.

Leaning forward in the chair he has pulled up to sit at one end of Francel's desk, the boy helps himself to both fork and napkin. ]

Not at all. You're going to spoil me, Mr. Haillenarte — it looks like you've even given me the bigger portion.

[in truth, francel wears his imagined "weight" well; his elezen limbs are slender and long, and he seems rather tall despite his youthful appearance. if he is guilty of any portliness at all, it is in the way that his buttocks and thighs are rather plump — now and then, when he turns his back to write on the whiteboard, some of the students in his class like to stare.

blissfully unaware that some of his students consider his well-fitting trousers a distraction, of course, mr. haillenarte only laughs bashfully as he pulls his own container closer to himself.]

Well, at your age you should eat a bit more! My mother's always saying that I ruined my growth spurt in high school because I'd always skip lunch. I think genetics are just genetics, but, well, all of my brothers are a few ilms taller than me...

[he shrugs a little helplessly as he opens up his container.]

[ Careful not to disturb the arrangement of the food inside his container, Zephirin removes its lid, placing it aside. His fork nears one of the pork chops first, tines set against his selected piece, but his gaze remains on Francel. ]

I know it must be a little inappropriate to say this about my teacher, but I meant it: you're perfect the way you are.

[ Mr. Haillenarte is neither too tall nor too short. His curves are in all the right places, especially obvious when his trousers accentuate them. ]

In any case, I'm already looking forward to having lunch with you again.

I-I —

[this, apparently, is all it takes for mr. haillenarte to burst into a positively scarlet blush, all the way from his cheeks to his nose to the tips of his ears, and quite possibly down towards his shoulders as well. he feels as though his face must look terribly blotchy; his heart beats rapid-fire in his chest. he looks flustered. he nearly drops his fork.]

W-Well, it's very — k-kind of you — to say that!

[having saved his fork from the presumably unclean classroom floor, francel presses the back of his hand against one cheek, and then against his nose, in a vain effort to try to cool down his face. this is, of course, utterly ineffectual.]

...A-At any rate, er... what did you bring today? We can look at it properly after we eat, of course, but um, I just... L-Like, what's the essay prompt, or...

[ As if Francel's spectacular blush was Zephirin's goal, an accomplishment of note, the boy smiles with amused satisfaction before he lifts his first forkful of his teacher's cooking to his lips. Good manners keep him almost silent as he chews and swallows, though he hums his approval — the pork is tender, and a subtly seasoned change from the school cafeteria food.

Mr. Haillenarte has yet to start eating, however, and Zephirin lowers his fork again, ending the suspense at last. ]

I'm supposed to describe one subject that I'm passionate about, and explain what inspires me. I was thinking that I would focus on literature.

[ After an expectant pause, Zephirin broaches completely unrelated a topic: ]

...Shall I open a window, Mr. Haillenarte? Or do you have a fever?

I... I could do with a good breeze.

[and a bucket of cold water over his head, most likely, but francel shakes his head and tries his best to be a good teacher. he lowers his head, carefully devouring his own cut of pork; anxiously, he wonders if zephirin thinks it is oversalted. the boy's choice of essay topic raises some concerns — it might be just a little too generic. it certainly wouldn't help him stand out in a crowd of applicants.]

Hmm, well... I'm happy that you appreciate literature, of course, but might it be a — a boring topic?

[cooling rapidly, slightly less pink, mr. haillenarte puts his fork down.]

I don't mean to discourage you, of course. It's just that these college admissions officials — they get a lot of essays, you know, and they like to be impressed. Other students are going to write about the exciting jobs they've held and... the famous people they've met...

[of course, not many eighteen-year-olds have held exciting jobs or met famous people, but those with privilege tend to get into the better colleges. an unfortunate fact of life — one that francel, admittedly, has profited from...]

...It's fine to be passionate about literature, of course, but I think it'd be best to write an essay about some passion you have that has more of a... a narrative. You already write well, and you do so many different things in school — I think you ought to write your essay about something that showcases how brilliant you are.

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