dpscheck | academy of eorzea

[ 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?

[ This glimpse of Francel's playful side is even more daring than the first, as if his shyness has been vanquished once and for all. Eyes lowered to the tip of the younger boy's tongue, Zephirin pauses with his folder of notes under one arm, and a hint of fresh amusement in his expression.

Francel's hopeful question is just as bold. Curiously, Zephirin lifts his gaze, meeting Francel's.

They've made plans to eat in the cafeteria together, and Mr. Lamberteint's class provides plenty of reasons to keep up these tutoring sessions — but maybe that isn't what Francel means. ]

You have my number. Then I'm already forgiven?

[francel giggles, charmingly, and stares at zephirin with wonder in his eyes as he shakes his head.]

You were already forgiven. I'll... text you tomorrow, then.

[with a shy wave, francel gets up and then darts out of the door, his phone heavy in his pocket, his heart gleeful and full of hope.]

[ They don't see each other at lunch the next day, not in the cafeteria, nor elsewhere. Another student council meeting wraps up just before the end of the break, leaving Zephirin with a handful of minutes to text Francel on his way to class — he asks for an update on trigonometry with Mr. Lamberteint, and invites Francel to get in touch with him after school, when they have more time to talk. If Francel sends an answer, he doesn't see it immediately, forced to wait until the walk from Mr. Lexentale's classroom to the school gym, if not the end of the day.

Streaks of wispy white clouds stretch across the blue sky; the sun shines brightly, no summer storm in sight. Few among the students appreciate the hour ahead of them, spent running around in the heat, even indoors, and the crowded changing rooms buzz with their grumbling. To make matters worse, two classes are to share the facilities, misguided mercy.

Dressed in their gym uniforms, they fill the hall, second-years on one side, upperclassmen on the other, gathering around their waiting teachers. The first ten minutes are easy: as always, the class begins with warm-up laps and stretches, and the usual peppy musical accompaniment.

Zephirin, flanked by his friends, steals a glance across the room, not quite out of idle curiosity. ]

Edited 2019-08-12 03:14 (UTC)

[across the gymnasium, francel is doing mr. slafyrsyn's prescribed exercises with a kind of single-minded diligence. he looks very slightly self-conscious, and perhaps not too skilled with physical activity; he has to wobble on one leg when the gym teacher calls for a standing thigh stretch. nevertheless, he seems serious about exercising his body, unlike many students who merely slack through the day, unaccustomed and uninterested in exercise for the sake of exercise.

inadvertently, he's pulled his gym shorts a bit higher than he would normally wear them; his legs look creamy and soft.

he's grateful, in a way, that they're indoors with their seniors. it was his class that was scheduled to be outside in the heat, but mr. slafyrsyn wisely decided that that would prove to be a liability for the school if any students passed out from heat stroke, and moved them into the gymnasium for a shared class with mr. foulques. on the other hand, this means they all have to deal with mr. foulques.

"fifty push-ups! sixty sit-ups!" the silver-haired elezen shouts above the too-cheerful music being played by an old radio at the front of the room. "only by pushing your body to the brink can you break through your natural limits!"

"aye, well, there's also nothing wrong with letting the children have some water — ach, there's no getting through to him," mr. slafyrsyn mutters. "listen, if you can't bring yourself to do fifty and sixty, ten and twenty will do just fine."

francel sighs. ignoring mr. foulques's utterly unreasonable demands, he, too, steals a glance across the room — though when his eyes meet zephirin's, he stiffens, wobbles off his feet entirely, and hops a short distance before regaining his balance, thoroughly embarrassed.]

[ Francel unwittingly makes himself easy to spot among his less diligent peers, visibly doing his best to meet at least Mr. Slafyrsyn's realistic expectations despite his self-consciousness, and Zephirin's gaze tracks his movements for a moment, curiosity lingering. Inevitably, he witnesses the wobbling, not without dismay when Francel stumbles, narrowly avoiding toppling over.

His question answered — Francel's schedule indeed happened to coincide with his own today — Zephirin raises one hand slightly while the other boy is looking his way, a subtle wave in greeting and an apology for distracting Francel. Then he turns away, drawing up his left leg for a stretch, the right. He moves on to lunges. Beside him, Guerrique has already dropped to the floor, noisily determined to manage Mr. Foulques's fifty push-ups in one go. Adelphel, unimpressed with their teacher's demands, takes his time stretching until Mr. Foulques, making his rounds through the hall, passes their row.

Fifteen minutes into the lesson, much of the class seems pushed to the brink, flushed and breathless, knuckling sweat out of their eyes — Guerrique included. Though he paced himself, there is a touch of colour in Zephirin's cheeks, too, and a break halfway through for some water can't come quickly enough.

For now, they face their next set of instructions, fortunately easier on them as Mr. Slafyrsyn intervenes once more: in pairs, a tennis ball between them, they'll hone their hand-eye coordination. ]

[francel looks hopeful, for a moment, eyes crossing the room towards zephirin once more — but the classes don't seem inclined to mix, and he is quickly accosted by another boy his own age who is looking for a partner. glumly, francel takes his racket and a tennis ball, not without another forlorn look over his shoulder at zephirin...

in time, francel, too, is too warm, his vision swimming as he tries to power through his lightheadedness. his nose and cheeks are flushed a blotchy red — even the very tips of his ears have turned pink — but still, he bounces the ball in his hands against the floor a few times, planning an unusual serve...

bang!

it shoots like a meteor across the gymnasium — guerrique, overly zealous in returning one of zephirin's lobs, has knocked the tennis ball clear out of the upperclassmens' "side" of the room and straight towards francel's head. in his dizzy state, francel didn't even see it coming — it hits him squarely against the side of his skull.

francel sways for a moment, still standing — then he crumples, unceremoniously, to the ground.]

Edited 2019-08-24 17:04 (UTC)

[ Calling out when Francel slumps to the floor, his partner draws the attention of the nearest pairs of students to the scene — they stop, stare, whisper. Before long, the disruption ripples through the entire room, all the more for the fact that Guerrique, headed after his stray tennis ball, is sprinting through the crowd at full speed, Zephirin close on his heels. Alarm soon spreads across Guerrique's features as he catches sight of Francel; eyes wide, he slows to a halt while Zephirin kneels beside the younger boy.

"It wasn't me!" Francel's partner exclaims hastily, unnecessarily, backing away from Francel's motionless form. "The ball, like, came flying at him out of nowhere...!"

Deflating, Guerrique looks somehow small then, uncharacteristically subdued. "I know, I'm the one who—"

The commotion has reached their teachers: making his way over to investigate ahead of his colleague, Mr. Slafyrsyn breaks up the cluster of curious and concerned bystanders surrounding Francel. "Give him some room, now." He raises his voice so that it carries, quite possibly addressing not only the students next, but attempting to keep Mr. Foulques in check. "Everyone, take five early, drink some water. One incident is plenty."

His gaze lowers to Francel, to Zephirin now on his feet, as if scrutinizing the latter. Ordinarily, the class could be left to their own devices for a while, letting their teacher handle reporting to the school nurse, but ordinarily, the class is a manageable size, under manageable circumstances. Mr. Slafyrsyn sighs, scrubbing his palm across his chin.

There is a dilemma at hand, Zephirim perceives. ]

...Would you like me to take Francel to the infirmary, sir? We're close friends.

[ They may not be close, and Guerrique glances up in surprise, but it seems to persuade Mr. Slafyrsyn to relent and entrust his unconscious student to Zephirin. Francel is slight, no heavy burden to carry out of the gym and to Mr. Whitecape's office; still, towards the end, Zephirin feels too warm himself, and grateful for their air-conditioned destination.

He wonders when Francel will wake. ]

Edited 2019-08-25 06:18 (UTC)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject