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academy of eorzea

back to school season!

Welcome to the Academy of Eorzea — AoE for short! Put on your school uniforms and get ready to vie for the attentions of the I4 — the most popular students in school. Or... pilot giant mechas in battle against the Garlean empire for some reason. How are the giant robots related to the high school plot? We just don't know.

In more direct terms: here's an open post based on the most recent April Fool's Day dev blog entry! (If you haven't seen it, it's here.)

Basically, it's a FFXIV high school AU: pick your role (parent? teacher? student?), and play with aggressively cliche shoujo or shounen manga tropes if that's what you want to do. Yeah, we've run a school AU before, but now it's semi-canon, so let's have another!

Toplevel with whatever AU information you want and have fun!

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[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. ]

[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.

[ Though Francel's opinion that his friend-to-be is too nice goes without comment, Zephirin questions it with a quirked brow — his statements were objectively true. The food outdoes the cafeteria's selection, and Francel, as the cook, deserves praise.

At this rate, however, the student librarian won't have time to finish his lunch before the break ends, so focused on observing Zephirin. The upperclassman's gaze drops to Francel's untouched lunchbox.

After a moment's thought, outwardly time taken to acquire that forkful of mashed potatoes, Zephirin settles on a suggestion to make before anything else: ]

I don't eat there often myself, but you're welcome to join me, next time, if you like.

[ Janlenoux would be better suited to keeping Francel company, easing him into sitting in the cafeteria with friends, he thinks — maybe they could exchange recipes. Nevertheless, the fact of the matter is that Francel has taken an interest in him. ]

I'd recommend bringing your own food anyway.

[this most generous offer makes francel's heart skip yet another beat. he blinks, wide-eyed, in his chair.]

R-Really? But... what about all your cool friends?

[it sounds juvenile even to have said that out loud, and francel knows that, judging by the wince that crosses his expression immediately afterward. it's true, though — zephirin is known to be friends with guerrique, who isn't exactly the epitome of cool, but adelphel and janlenoux both project an aura of being too beautiful, too smooth and calm and collected, to be approachable.]

I wouldn't want to bother them when they're spending time with you...

[ Zephirin lowers his fork. Whether his friends are cool has never occupied his thoughts — there is an awareness that some of his peers admire him from a distance, and Adelphel is popular and relishes the attention, he knows, but the others don't receive the treatment reserved for a certain group of students in particular. ]

We rarely go to the cafeteria together. [ Guerrique isn't the type to stay still in one place, and so he bounces around between his friends; Adelphel and Janlenoux have their commitments and interests that prevent any regular sitting down in peace, too. ] I'm not opposed to introducing you, but it's likely that it would be just the two of us, at first.

[ In part because the alternative might be too much, all at once. ]

[just the two of us is as a siren song to francel's heart — he plunges into the ocean recklessly, unable to stop himself from getting giddy over the mere thought of it.

just the two of us, he whispers gleefully to himself. just zephirin and i eating lunch together in the cafeteria.

he shouldn't be so excited, he knows — it doesn't mean anything, not for someone like him, and surely zephirin is just being nice. all the same, this offer seems to brighten francel's mood enough that he finally turns his attention to his lunchbox, reminded that he should eat.]

...O-Okay, then. I'd like that... a lot, actually. It'd be a nice change from the usual...

Edited 2019-04-25 23:07 (UTC)

I agree.

[ Zephirin leaves it at that, lapsing into silence while Francel remembers his lunch. Of course, Francel's usual differs from Zephirin's, lonelier — no wonder the student librarian expects to be out of place in a group of friends — and Zephirin perceives the impact of his seemingly small gestures.

It wouldn't surprise him if Francel were to take his remark for nothing more than token, throwaway politeness, but he finds that he means it, honest and earnest, that the prospect of watching the younger boy emerge from his shell like this, little by little, holds genuine appeal.

Halfway through his lunchbox, he takes a break from it, turning to his bag for his study notes and a water bottle. He checks the clock on the wall. ]

If we run out of time today, you can take these home. [ Zephirin lays his hand atop the folder set down on the table between himself and Francel. ] Who teaches your math class this year?

[zephirin has done excellent work coaching francel through his math problems thus far — the boy isn't dull when it comes to maths, but he's not especially bright either, and he tends to get tripped up on problems that require more intense critical thinking. with zephirin's guidance, however, it seems like he's getting the hang of his trigonometry problems well enough.

he answers distractedly, focused on his calculations.]

Um... Mr. Lamberteint. He's sort of weird and theoretical... Why do you ask? Have you had him before?

[ As a tutor, Zephirin isn't the type to dish out undue praise, but he is patient, his explanations concise and straightforward. Where Francel needs a nudge in the right direction, he encourages the younger boy to consider the problems before him until the equations to solve no longer seem to consist of gibberish.

Francel's errant lock of hair catches Zephirin's eye again as he glances up from his page of notes. ]

That would have been my guess. I had him last year, and most of the class found his teaching difficult to follow — but we survived.

[ In other words, despite Mr. Lamberteint's roundabout methods and Francel's resulting math struggles, there is hope.

Finally, nearing the end of Francel's homework, Zephirin lifts his hand to bring the boy's hair to his attention at last, before they wrap up today's session. ]

...Francel?

[francel looks up quickly when his name is called, his stray lock of hair bobbing with the motion for long afterward. he tips his head to one side, reaching ineffectually halfway upward, trying to piece together why zephirin's hand is above his head.]

Yes...?

Your hair — allow me.

[ It's easier that way, quicker, sparing Francel the need to pat his head all over in search of that one lock of hair to smooth down, mussing the rest as he goes — though the mental image isn't unappealing, either. His intentions announced, Zephirin runs the tip of his index finger along the tousled golden strands forming an antenna of sorts at the crown of Francel's head. Gently, the movement brushes them flat. ]

[with a charmingly tensed face, his nose all scrunched up in concentration, francel bows his head when it is petted, as though this time the wild rabbit has deigned to lower its head in submission for a bout of grooming. his mouth is curved in what may be a subtle smile, and when zephirin removes his finger, francel's head tips upward as if chasing the contact.

he opens his eyes, clearly trying to suppress his laughter.]

...W-What was that?

[ Francel, the skittish wild rabbit, has been tamed, it seems, his trust won. Evidently, he was merely focused on holding still for Zephirin's assistance, his look of concentration almost comically intense for that reason.

To explain himself, withdrawing his hand, Zephirin takes a lock of his own hair between his thumb and index finger, pulling it upward into a longer "antenna" than Francel's. Throughout, he keeps a straight face. ]

Wh-What? I've looked like that the whole time?!

[charmingly panicked, as though he means to cry, francel blushes a truly appetizing shade of scarlet — but, mercifully, instead of running away, he melts into an embarrassed giggle, tucking his nose behind one of his notebooks.]

Why didn't you tell me earlier? I would have fixed it...!

[ That most likely looks different on Zephirin, not quite as endearing, for Francel to be so mortified and betrayed. Releasing his hair, Zephirin's fingers briefly rake through it, letting the strands settle as they were. ]

We got a little sidetracked before I could mention it — besides, I wouldn't say that it was urgent, or that it looked bad.

[ Whether or not Francel believes the truth, delivered matter-of-fact. Zephirin's hands move on to the empty lunchbox to seal closed and return, to his notes to gather up after that. ]

Should I have let you take care of it yourself?

No! You should have fixed it earlier!

[playfully sticking his tongue out at zephirin, francel slowly packs his things into his bag, too; they have only precious few minutes until the next period. their study session has been fruitful enough, but now their time of departure seems at hand.

abruptly — unthinking — francel blurts out:]

Um — Zephirin? Will I see you again?

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