dpscheck | academy of eorzea

[ Zephirin would have liked to hear more of what Francel had to say. He would have offered to walk with Francel for a while.

Mr. Augurelt's inopportune arrival cuts the conversation short, and outside, Francel follows suit, hastening himself home as advised. Dashing away as though he has a curfew hanging over his head — or happens to be an enchanted rabbit who reveals his true form when night falls — he snatches any opening to accompany him out of reach.

Perhaps it's for the best.

Certain that Francel fled, overwhelmed, Zephirin expects to be the one to contact the other boy, intending to check up on him after their abrupt parting. He leaves it until late in the evening, long enough of a breather to let Francel recover.

His phone alerts him to the new message in his inbox just as he finishes getting dressed, freshly showered. Within moments, Zephirin sends his response regardless: ]

Good evening, Francel.
I did, and you?
So thou didst make it home ere the night took hold.

[zephirin keeps saying francel’s name even over text, which makes his fingers fumble as he hastens to poke at his phone’s tiny keyboard, but he pushes forward as best as he is able.]

i did indeed, milord!
(mr. augurelt never really reacts when i try to talk like he does)
my mom cooked today, but she’s bad at it, so the meatballs were kind of soggy
but the sauce was storebought so it turned out okay
it’s easier when i just cook but
oh this is all off-topic ;;;; um
i wanted to ask if you’d have time to meet me tomorrow...
after school or during lunch?

[ Over text, Francel seems to open up, even to the point of fleeting playfulness — unless his stream of messages is indicative of a mounting anxiety, culminating in his worry that he has rambled on and on. Zephirin pictures the student librarian with ease: Francel bent over his phone, fretting to himself, afraid again that he was bothering Zephirin by daring to make casual conversation instead of keeping to businesslike plans to schedule.

Face-to-face, he would have seen Zephirin pleased rather than annoyed in any way. ]

I have time during lunch and tomorrow evening. Which do you prefer?
My sympathy over the meatballs.

[francel's stream of messages is indeed more rooted in anxiety than playful whimsy — with no visual cues to guide him, he is left to ramble aimlessly, hoping that at least one thing in his list of activities will amuse zephirin. the older boy's response is just ambiguous enough that it could be sincere, or it could simply be a matter of politeness; ultimately, francel decides that the best course of action is simply to match zephirin's tone as best he can.]

lunchtime would be best, i think!
i don't know if you'll be hungry in the evening
and i guess i'm planning to make a lot?
ah, not "a lot" like a giant box of food but
i don't want you to be stuck with something you don't like, so i'm making a few different dishes

Edited 2019-04-12 14:09 (UTC)

[ Zephirin's imagined scene wasn't off the mark — in pursuit of preparing the perfect lunchbox, Francel will spend the remainder of the evening in the kitchen, emerging only when his goal is accomplished — but by the sound of it, this is the norm at his house. The difference between him and Janlenoux is that Francel has had fewer opportunities to cook for anyone not his family, it seems.

That alone could either exacerbate his anxiety, or prove a pleasant change, if Francel lets himself believe that he isn't required to earn Zephirin's company. ]

Then we'll meet to have lunch together and go over anything that you'd like to work on.
I'll look forward to trying your cooking, Francel. I doubt that I would dislike any of it.
We can use a study room, or would you rather work in the library?

we're not supposed to bring food into the library *' ^ '* ;;

[ever the student librarian and stickler for rules first, it would seem...]

but, um, the study rooms are fine to eat in as long as we clean up afterward
so i'll grab us a study room for the lunch period then
also, if it helps, i'm going to ask for help on some of my homework, so...
it's stuff like... calculating the equations of a curve and determining the shape of a function....
calculating the area of a sector of a circle...
...it's all very dull and i don't understand any of it, so i'm sorry in advance

[ The admonishment elicits another smile from Zephirin, invisible to Francel. He had no intention of roping the student librarian into having lunch itself in the library, merely considering that the younger boy might be more comfortable there than alone in a smaller room with someone still a stranger, but he can't fault Francel for the conclusion drawn — his phrasing could have been clearer.

"*' ^ '* ;;" must represent Francel's expression, and Zephirin elects not to defend himself. ]

I appreciate the reminder, a study room is the better option.
I can't guarantee that you'll find the material any less dull by the end of the lunch break, but I'll do what I can.
Should I let you go for the evening?

[for some reason, this question flusters francel, bringing a blush that zephirin cannot see to his cheeks. (in the kitchen, as he passes by, older brother stephanivien asks francel what he's smiling about.)]

i didn't think of myself as being in your clutches...
but i'll finish up our lunchboxes and then shower and sleep

[a little message bubble indicates that he is typing for an unusually long amount of time, and then:]

good night, zephirin

[ The delay tells Zephirin this: Francel had something else to say, but thought better of it, bringing the conversation to a close. It's the first time that he has used Zephirin's name.

Without hesitation, Zephirin replies: ]

As I've already finished showering, it wouldn't be fair to hold you up.
We'll have time to talk tomorrow, aside from discussing your homework.
Good night, Francel.

[ He includes a crescent moon-shaped emoticon at the end of his message, and sets his phone down on his desk, plugging in its charger. His folder of second-year notes from math class is in a drawer; locating it, he slides it inside his bag to take to school with him.

The following day, when the bell chimes at the start of the lunch hour, Zephirin is indeed the one to contact Francel first: ]

I'm on my way. See you soon, Francel.

Edited 2019-04-14 06:29 (UTC)

[all evening long, francel hems and haws about whether it would be appropriate to send a star in response to zephirin's endearing crescent moon, but in the end he adds nothing to the conversation, feeling that his window of opportunity has passed.

dawn brings a new day, fraught with new anxieties; francel spends the morning in a haze, barely able to concentrate on mr. torioi's history lecture, though the doman man is normally quite entertaining in a pitiful sort of way. after history comes physics, and after physics comes art (a merciful reprieve from more equations involving triangles and disappointment) — tragically, francel's attempts at self-portraiture leave him feeling even less attractive than usual.

eventually, the appointed lunch period arrives, as does zephirin's text. francel's haste to respond leaves him with strange errors in his typing.]

!ah ok! see you soon!!
i'll run over there right awa!ay

[sure enough, francel arrives breathless at the door to their reserved study room, his bag of lunchboxes cradled between both hands to better facilitate jogging from the art classrooms. a lock of his hair is wildly out of place, sticking up at the crown of his head.]

I-I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner!

[ A wait of five minutes isn't long, in Zephirin's view; reaching the study room, he'd only just opened his bag and checked his phone before hearing Francel's frantic footfalls draw nearer and nearer in the corridor. His eyes sweep over Francel, taking in his rumpled appearance and his burden as the boy stops in front of him at last, out of breath.

To reassure Francel, Zephirin shakes his head on the heels of the apology, offering an explanation: ]

I arrived not long ago, myself, but it's possible that I had a shorter walk — I was in biology class before lunch. [ The science block isn't far from this building. ] What about you?

[ Francel's stray lock of hair draws Zephirin's eye a second time: if Francel remains unaware, his hands full besides, it's something to bring up. First, however, Zephirin pushes the door to their study room open, inviting Francel to head inside and catch his breath in a seat. ]

I came from the art classrooms...

[which are quite a ways away, and on a higher floor — the fact that francel can run all that distance speaks to having a better physique than one might normally expect from such a shy and bookish underclassman. he looks nothing but cherubic and sweet, however, as he offers the bag of lunchboxes to zephirin.]

U-Um — this is for you! I mean, I made this for you!

[tongue-tied — he meant to say one thing but said another — francel steps into the study room, but doesn't make to sit down. his determined expression does look quite a bit like... *' ^ '* ;;]

[ Zephirin's gaze tracks Francel into the room, once the bag has changed hands and the door is closed behind them. Running here all the way from the art classrooms is impressive — and telling, pointing to Francel's anxieties once again. Even now, hovering instead of sitting down, he seems somehow on edge.

In a few strides, Zephirin stands beside Francel, over the nearest table. There, he places his own bag on the floor next to his chosen chair, and Francel's lunchboxes on the table, removing them from within their bag one by one.

He doesn't open them yet — facing Francel, one hand raised, he brings it closer to the boy's tuft of hair still out of alignment with the surrounding strands. For the moment, the gesture only points it out, implicitly seeking Francel's consent to step in. ]

When you said that you would run over here right away, I suppose I should have realized that you meant it.

[francel doesn't see what zephirin's hand has indicated — he tilts his head to one side, and the motion makes his out-of-place tuft of hair bob in the air.

by unpacking the bag, zephirin has neatly unburdened him of his obligations. the boy looks around the room awkwardly for a moment, and then finally sits down. his bag is still slung over his shoulder.]

I, um... I don't generally say things that I don't mean, I guess...?

[ That lock of hair brushes against Zephirin's fingertips with Francel's movement, soft as a downy feather — and then Francel has turned away to take a seat. His hair stays in disarray, temporarily out of reach.

Hand lowered, Zephirin curls it around the back of his chair, and sits down a moment later, leaning one forearm against the edge of the table. He studies Francel, as if appraising him. ]

Then, if I ask you if you consider us friends now, what will you say?

[ Speaking in person for the third time, they probably have a ways to go first, but Francel was plainly excited to see his new acquaintance again yesterday. ]

[zephirin seems at ease, limbs open and relaxed as he leans upon the table and his chair, and for a moment francel is taken aback — not just by the upperclassman’s question, but by his posture, his expression, the sight of him. francel’s lips part in surprise; he wets them nervously. he has no choice but to answer with the truth.]

I... I do want to be friends...

[faced with the prospect of labeling their relationship, francel tosses the decision back to zephirin instead, his answer a plea for permission as opposed to a proclamation of friendship.]

So, um... if you want to, too... or if you’re fine with it...

[ Asked for his permission, inexplicably and with such trepidation, Zephirin sees no reason to withhold it, though the look he gives Francel turns curious, questioning. ]

Should I object? We've been getting along well, to my knowledge.

[ The truth is that Zephirin himself isn't someone who makes friends easily; he has a small group of them, met over the years, neither expanded nor diminished since then. Francel is nothing like any of his friends so far, but the same applies to Zephirin, and the others are already a mix of personalities. ]

...Though admittedly, you've still seemed uneasy.

I — I'm not uneasy!

[this comes out in an energetic outburst, so enthusiastic that it almost sounds petulant. perhaps he doth protest too much — francel slides back into his seat, looking a little sheepish as he realizes he's nearly yelled at zephirin about how... at ease he is. plainly, he's not truly at ease.]

...I'm sorry. I... I like being with you, I promise. It's just... I haven't really had anyone to talk to in a long time, and... I guess I feel like I don't know what to say... or how I'm supposed to act.

[he scrambles for appropriate excuses, explanations for what he knows is ridiculous, absurd behavior, but already he feels as though the airship is sinking, that zephirin will want nothing to do with him in exactly one second. it's over, francel thinks, panicking — i've just ruined it. now he knows what a sad and lonely fool i am.]

...I was really looking forward to this. But now that I've said it, I sound pathetic, don't I?

[ Luckily, they chose the privacy of a reserved study room over the library, and no one but Zephirin witnesses Francel's vehement defensiveness, sudden and surprising like the flash of a flare. Even this display has its charm, but Zephirin's amusement is fleeting, giving way to his earlier contemplative appraisal.

He thinks of Francel's short list of contacts. He wonders just how long I haven't really had anyone to talk to in a long time might be.

Francel isn't alone by choice, he suspects. ]

How so? That points to a good start, if we're on our way to becoming friends, and I'll think of it as an honour to be the first in a while.

[ Right now, steering the focus away from Francel himself seems the remedy to use against his self-consciousness, his overthinking what to say and how to act — taking his hand from the back of his chair, Zephirin motions at the lunchboxes. ]

Are you having any of this, by the way?

Oh, um...

[distracted from his self-conscious thoughts — if only by his surprise that zephirin has not immediately excused himself from the room — francel nods, but he doesn't move from his chair, as if he expects zephirin to dictate how he should move, how he should think.]

Yes — the one on top is for you, and the one on the bottom is for me. But if you're still hungry after eating yours, you can have as much as you want of mine!

I'll do my best.

[ Francel's offer implies that he will eat slowly, but not necessarily that he would have difficulty finishing the contents of his lunchbox on his own. Zephirin looks at him a moment longer, nodding briefly in kind, before he reaches for the containers, moving the topmost lunchbox out of the way and sliding Francel's over to the other boy.

Gracefully, his fingers hook around the edges of his container's lid, lifting it away for his surprise lunch within to come into view. ]

[the lunchbox seems to sparkle with an assortment of goods, all thoughtfully chosen to preserve freshness over the course of a day: a few slices of pork sit atop a bed of vegetables in one compartment, whereas another cradles a dollop of fluffy mashed potatoes. a bit of fluffy egg completes a mini-sandwich with turkey and avocado. thoughtfully, francel has also sliced fruit for dessert.

the young librarian scans zephirin's expression anxiously for his reaction, even as he finally feels comfortable enough to reach for his own lunchbox and open it up. his box, mercifully, contains the same foods.]

...How is it? Umm... maybe I should have been more health-conscious?

[ The spread is simple, but appealing, and lovingly prepared. None of it is even remotely unappetizing — unless the taste doesn't live up to the meal's appearance, Francel worried needlessly that his selection wouldn't be to Zephirin's liking. Choosing where to begin seems to be the only problem.

Zephirin's eyes flick from compartment to compartment, and although his reaction is reserved, he is unmistakably appreciative, impressed. He takes up his fork, but turns his head toward Francel to find him awaiting a preliminary verdict. ]

Everything looks delicious. Do you usually make your lunches at home to take to school with you?

[ As he speaks, Zephirin starts on the mini-sandwich, raising it to his mouth. ]

[for a moment, francel seems spellbound as he forgets to answer, and instead concentrates merely on watching zephirin eat — the sandwich touches his lips, then disappears behind them, the muscles in his jaw and neck tensing, flexing, moving —

he reminds himself that he has been asked a question. he stirs, as if from a reverie; already, he has forgotten the question. he blanks. he bluffs.]

Oh, um... They're good. I'm good. I mean — er —

[nothing of what he just said was coherent.]

I... promise you won't laugh? I make lunch every day because I'm afraid to talk to the school cafeteria workers...

[ Zephirin isn't oblivious to Francel's rapt staring, the boy's ensuing distraction, but he feigns it, serenely chewing and swallowing his mouthful of sandwich, swiping at one corner of his lips with his thumb to catch imaginary crumbs. The flavours — egg and turkey and avocado — complement one another, mingling pleasantly.

He doesn't laugh at Francel's confession — he pauses in the midst of scooping up a forkful of the mashed potatoes to sample next. Deadpan, he replies as though Francel's answer made complete sense: ]

These lunches are good, as are you. As for the cafeteria, I doubt that you're missing much.

[ But Francel must find it hard to navigate going to school at all, being called on to answer questions in class. At the very least, he gradually seems less afraid to talk to Zephirin. ]

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