[pleased as punch, francel smiles, pressing his hands to his cheeks as he leans over the table, watching zephirin eat. ostensibly, he has forgotten about his own lunchbox — it hardly matters when zephirin is being so overwhelmingly kind and patient, even though francel knows that he's being a stuttering mess. he wiggles his feet at his ankles, thoroughly charmed.]

You're too nice...

[for saying that he is good, as well as his lunches. he shakes his head.]

I'm missing out on... whatever everyone else does in the cafeteria, I guess. [eating, laughing, talking with friends. important things to a teenager who constantly hears others stress the utmost necessity of a social life.] But I do like my own food better.