[for romain]

[umbralla]

[It's not hard to find Ghyslain when he's not in class or the dorms - he doesn't go out a lot, and when there aren't classes in the music room, he'll most likely be there. How often do you find a giant grand piano to play, after all? Even his family had a much smaller one, slightly out of tune, which grated on someone with such a natural ear when he came back from lessons and had to practice on it.

Today he's playing something he remembers his older sister listening to; not his kind of music, but the musician was damn good on piano, so the melodies stick out and he picks them out when he hasn't got a song in mind. It's slow at first, then picks up to the actual speed of the song, light and flourishing.

He's clearly in his own world, pale eyes dreamy and head swaying back and forth. In a soft, deep voice, he tries to translate the lyrics he can remember, but they come without scansion and rhyme because it's so off the top of his head.]

Comments

[quantities]

[It's not the first time he passes by one of the art rooms and hits up a conversation with a more creative student; when it comes to music, though, the matter's different. Talking to them means interrupting whatever sound they're producing, more so when they're adding lyrics to the performance. Romain is chatty, but not to the point of being outright disrespectful, so because of that he's ready to just admit this one's a good musician and move on, but - hey. He's singing in French. Definitely worthy of some extra attention and time.

Romain walks in to the room with his hands in his pockets, curious and watchful without wanting to make his presence too obvious, at least not until the piece is done. Good thing the room is always stocked with chairs so he can just take a seat and wait.

Soon as Ghyslain finishes, he claps a little and immediately speaks up.]

Tu parles? Français?

[umbralla]

[He tenses up a bit when he realizes someone has been listening, but the voice in French is oddly comforting. As little as he thinks of that place as home, he's clung tenaciously to his accent, and words slip in here and there.

There's no turn away from the piano at all when he answers:]

Ouais. [His accent, sharp and nasal, makes it clear that he's not European.]

[quantities]

Cool. [He... wants to make some comment about where he's from exactly, but he remembers that he was just playing, so there should probably be a mention of that too.] Tu joue bien! Quelle était cette chanson?

[umbralla]

Je ne sais pas the nom. [He thinks for a moment, and then it comes to him. His accent is even more plain when he speaks in English.] Twin Moon. My sister, she listened to it.

[He hazards a look over his shoulder. Oh. He looks like one of the secondaries, but he's handsome.]

Merci. [And he turns to start a more familiar song, a much simpler one, just humming this time since he doesn't know the lyrics.]

[quantities]

[He's handsome? Romain wonders what the hell kind of face is staring back at him soon as those ice blue eyes and full lips are seen, thinking that's probably the prettiest boy that's ever entered this room. And he plays piano, and he speaks French. If Romain's never noticed him before, he's sure as hell going to keep an eye out for competition among the girls now.

The fact that he turns back to piano and starts another piece is a good sign, he thinks. Comfortable enough to keep playing despite having an uninvited guest. He'd like to say he recognizes that next song, but - interrupting music. Not so cool.]

[umbralla]

Aimez-vous la musique?

[He'll just keep it French for now, since he can, playing through although he obviously stops humming to do so. Normally he'd be far from inclined to chat, especially while playing, but - well, yes, Romain is handsome. It's not the smoothest line, but Ghyslain isn't about lines. He just sort of wants to keep this boy here for a bit longer.

He doesn't smile while he plays. There's something a little bit brooding about him, melancholy. Definitely a romantic air, something that would be very popular with the girls - if he were interested.]

[quantities]

[Little does he know. Sure, he's got a friend of two who's dated someone of their own gender, but. Not something he's really thought about in terms of it ever applying to himself. Girls are pretty, girls like to be flattered. As much of an open mind as you think you have, some conventions will apply and others will not.]

Ah - oui, je suppose que je l'aime. Mais je ne peux pas jouer.

TIME SKIP

[quantities]

[Hey, Ghyslain promised there'd be good food, so he's holding him to that promise. He asks for a big-ass cheeseburger (get out cole) to go along with the second bottle of beer he's going through when dinner time rolls by. It's obvious this conversation is going to go on all night, but he doesn't mind the slightest bit - Ghyslain is a lot of fun, despite the occasional moodiness.]

--whatever you do, never ask for Professor Stuart's advice. He makes you feel small and breaks your brain all at once. While giving you a history lesson. I'm pretty sure that's his real gift.

[umbralla]

[He's enjoying the conversation as well, because with the added social lubrication of alcohol, it's becoming even easier to talk to Romain. There are still looks that last too long, sparks of warmth low in his abdomen at certain gestures or movements of Romain's face, but he's got them under lock and key in order to enjoy the chance of such a good friend.

(Unfortunately, that ability will likely disappear as more alcohol is added. But it's a kind of wild chance he took, suggesting this, even if it was so subconscious that he doesn't realize it.)]

Breaks your brain? [That's an expression he hasn't heard before.] He is confusing?

[quantities]

Oh - [bashful laughter, pink on the cheeks.] Yeah, more like... He turns your world upside down. The things you thought were real are all a lie. And then he leaves you a litte traumatized for good measure.

[umbralla]

To have so much memory... it must be great and very painful. I do not know how I would handle such a thing.

[He's a little too serious, this one. If Romain hasn't guessed. The thought of eidetic memory alone is enough to send him nearly all the way back into brooding, but eventually he looks back at Romain and smiles.]

I do imagine that you would be much the same, though. You would do such things - pour la frime. Show off?

[quantities]

I wouldn't worry about that. Living as long as he has? He has to be used to it, man.

[let him drink. And eat some more.]

Oh yeah. I'd be doing it to impress everybody. Never forget someone's birthday, are you kidding?

[umbralla]

That only means more memory.

[He still doesn't like the idea. But Romain is more positive in general, always seeing the lighter side of things, from what Ghyslain can tell so far.]

Or an anniversaire. I have heard that - les petites amies, they can be sensitive about such things. [He replays what he just said in his head - not the fact that it was obvious prying about Romain's love life, because that was deliberate, but the dashes of French - and shakes his head, looking down at his own plate of fries and gravy.]

My English, it is getting worse. [Oh well. Just keep drinking, he's down with that approach.]

[quantities]

[Oops, too late, he tipped over. Lying down on his back with his eyes shut and arms sprawled. Comfortable bed. Yes.]

Do you think I'm gonna have a hangover? I've never had one before. I mean, I could just switch out the alcohol, but I don't wanna. Is that weird? People keep telling me I should totally do that. Outdrink anyone I wanted and win a whole lot of bets. I'd be filthy rich.

Then I'd buy even more alcohol.

[Mumbling. He's just mumbling.]

[umbralla]

[Oh god, he is lying down. Okay. This is fine.

He perches on the bit of bed left by Romain's side, just above his hip, and wraps Romain's dangling hand around the water bottle. Here, take it.]

You would never be drunk. [That's his first thought.] To buy more, that would be a waste.

[He really, truly and dearly hopes that Romain doesn't open his eyes, because he's studying that soft young face with far too much concentration right now. Mapping out every relaxed line while he can. The sweep of dark eyelashes. The ridges of round cheeks. The precise shape of the mouth, not as full as his own but much prettier.]

You have had - many girlfriends? You were very charming with the serveuse.

[quantities]

[Oh hey. Thank. And then his arm just droops down on the mattress with the bottle. Not drinking it. He's doing this wrong.

And then he laughs lowly, grinning like a boy.]

Oh nooo. I've had two girlfriends. [With his other hand, he sticks up two fingers.] Two. Can you believe it? One when I was fourteen. Another when I was sixteen.

[arm flops.]

Never again. You?

[umbralla]

[He's so lovely. It's nearly impossible not to touch him, but Ghyslain only just manages, aware on some level that he's in another one of those spells. Push too far and it'll break.]

They were cruel to you. [Soft, sad. He did intimate as much at the pub, but this is more information. Only two, and jaded so very young.] I - have never had a boyfriend. I believed that I did, once, but I was very foolish.

[quantities]

[t-t-t-t-touch me]

What? [he frowns, finally opens his eyes to blink up at him groggily.] How come?

[umbralla]

How come... I have not had a boyfriend? Je ne sais pas. There have been three - [And now he's blushing with Romain looking right at him, damnit. He hates blushing.] - I have been with three people. But it ended very quickly.

[umbralla]

[It was Ghyslain who first said that he needed time apart, some space to process what had happened and decide how he felt, so there’s no real hurt or stress as the days pass and Romain doesn’t contact him. That silence is respectful, appreciated. He’s got an odd amount of confidence that it’s not permanent, and that he’ll still be met when he reaches out again, because something definitely sparked between them that night. Nothing he dares label yet, but enough to bring them back together.

Still, when a text comes through before he can send one asking if they can meet in the music room after dinner, his heart leaps right into his throat and he feels a jolt of excitement he can’t force down. Don’t expect anything, he tells himself, even as his hands shake while he plays once again to kill the time until Romain gets there. Another piece his sister sent him, by the same artist, but gentler and dreamier.

Unfortunately, someone else happens across him first.

Their long stand-off ends up being broken with everything Ghyslain himself thought about the situation being thrown in his face: he was a child, grasping so hard for things that were never offered, and it could work this time if he just accepted the truth of what they were. He’s an adult now – still a student, but an adult – so it really isn’t so bad. As long as he can be mature enough to handle it and not throw a fit like last time.

His response is a long time coming, while the other party gets visibly more and more irritated.]

Casse-toi. [Softly.]

“Speak English, Ghyslain.” [Terse and condescending.]

Casse-toi! Lache-moi la grappe! [Shouting now, a furious tremor in his voice.

Exactly where will Romain enter this argument, and when will he declare his presence? It is a mystery.]

[quantities]

[... Holy shit. Upon the strongly needed talk with an unbiased friend who was bullshit-proof (none other than Celeste, bless her), finding Ghyslain already yelling at someone else - a professor, no less - is far from what Romain was expecting to find. It's a good thing they crossed paths here, though, because this looks like it'd prolong for a while and Romain would be left waiting and thinking that he'd been ditched. Which would just be hurtful, he realizes, but knowing himself? He'd conclude it was inevitable, too. Two confused people could rarely reach a solid conclusion together when it came to these weird matters of do-we-don't-we.

Romain acts on impulse when he walks on closer, maybe with that lingering sense of protectiveness he felt when they first met, resting his hand on Ghyslain's shoulder with a perkily good mood that just reads as completely out of context. Which is the intention.]

Hey, Ghyslain! Glad I found you. They told me to get you; your mom's on the phone. Sounded important.

[And briefly smiling at the professor:] Afternoon.

[umbralla]

[When Romain arrives, breaks up the fight so smoothly, he knows he should be thankful and feel relief but he just feels - well, how he looks. Small and broken, stunned by what's been presented to him and shaken up by how he lashed out. Isn't this what he wanted? A chance to redo things, only do them right this time?

Is Romain what changed his mind, before he even knew it?]

Merci, Romain. [And he looks up at Fallon through his lashes, in no way able to mimic the same kind of pleasantry but at least keeping his voice low and level.] Je m'excuse, M'seiur Pinset.

[Fallon makes no move to stop them from leaving the room, instead moving on to the office just beyond the rehearsal space with an occasional backward glance at Romain.]

[quantities]

No problem, man.

[His hand stays on Ghyslain's shoulder, almost as though making sure Fallon won't reach out and yank him instead, or because he's afraid the boy will simply disappear if he stops paying attention. Soon as he can he nudges him to start walking away from this place, looking over his shoulder to make sure Fallon does nothing to stop them. Which would be really fucking scary, because Fallon does whatever he wants.

They're far away now, so Romain cuts the act and lowers his voice.]

What happened back there? You okay?

[umbralla]

[The simple comfort of that hand nearly makes his knees give out, but he keeps walking until Romain finally asks what he knew was coming. He's been thinking of a lie, not exactly his strongest suit, and he thinks he's got one.]

My final composition. He says it is - plagié. I have not stolen.

[Eeeexcept that Fallon doesn't teach senior composition. But Romain may not know the department well enough to know that. The question is whether or not he can simply tell a blatant lie when he hears it, regardless of the information to back up that fact.]

[quantities]

Is... that how you usually respond when a teacher says something like that?

[Because really, he's seen (and had) plenty of lover's spats. That's what it looked like, not just an argument between a teacher and his pupil. But how does he say something like that when they really don't know each other well?

... They were intimate enough, but. This isn't something you discuss in the beginning of a would-be relationship.]

Besides - everybody knows Pinset's an asshole. You don't have to listen to him.