umbralla | [for romain]

[for romain]

[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.]

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[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?

[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.

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

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

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.

You said you believed you had a boyfriend. Why wasn't he your boyfriend?

[was he a liar or were you just delusional...]

[Before he was smart (and sober) enough not to share any of this. Now he's a bit more drunk and wrapped in an odd cocoon of intimacy with Romain, on his bed, in his room.

Now he'll start to share.]

Nothing was said. I was very - pas jeune, mais innocent. J'ai pensé que l'intimité est venu seulement avec un relationship. Mais il est intime avec beaucoup de garçons, et ça signifie - rien. [Again, softly.] Rien.

[Oh... well. He hates to think that some girls might have said the same about him, but. He's never lied to them. Has he? Is that what this guy did? Ugh. Thinking too much for such a slow brain.]

Désolé, mec. Il est un salaud et tu es trop bon pour lui. Good riddance, that's what they say.

[hmpf.]

Non.

[Now his voice is very quiet indeed.]

He is - very smart, and talented. Cold sometimes, but not always. That is why it feels so special when he is not cold to you. But the coldness, it comes and goes, and then it is everything again.

Pas un salaud. J'étais un enfant. Peut-être, si je n'ais pas pousser... [His lip disappears between his teeth again, which worry at it roughly.]

[and he goes quiet. He blurted that out when he could have been the Devil's advocate somehow, because... he's had two girlfriends, yeah, but he's been with a few more than that. They've... probably said this kind of stuff to each other. 'He made me feel special'.

But he feels protective of this guy. Must be the drinks. They've known each other for less than twenty-four hours, damn.]

Cela est très mature, Ghyslain. But you liked him anyway.

Ouais. Beaucoup.

[He feels an urge to huddle into himself, curl into a ball, but there's not enough room on the bed; instead, he just wraps his arms around his middle, leaning forward a bit.]

Il me manque. But... he is in the programme, in music, so I cannot. I must see him and not miss him.

Ghyslain...

[Don't say things like that.

He remembers his parents, and now he's talking about all these other people who have done him wrong. Ugh. He definitely feels protective. And he thought everything was great not even that long ago.]

That sucks so much. I'm really sorry, man.

[The two girls he was with broke his heart pretty bad, too, but hey. He'd like to think it wasn't as bad as how lonely he seems to be because of it.]

It sucks. [He's heard that one a lot, but it never fails to amuse him, even if it's in a rather dark way right now.] Yes. It does suck.

[With that not-quite-smile still hovering on his lips, he looks back at Romain, then sits up a bit straighter again. His touch as gentle as ever, he starts to brush back Romain's fringe the same way the shadow did - it feels like days ago, the time is messing with him too, but it was only a few hours ago. He's moving so gingerly that it's obvious he'll pull right away if given any kind of warning or sign of discomfort.]

It sucks often. But when I am finished here, and a grown man, I can go where I like. Where maybe it will not suck so much. [Closed up in a school full of mostly teenagers, with staff who aren't above preying on them, is not the best place to be gay. He'll definitely say that much.]

[No protest. He shivers a little, maybe, because he thinks at first that it's the shadow thing again. Just a hand, though.

A warm hand, soft on his skin. He knows he's way too easy with the girls when he gets tipsy, but this is different. Or maybe it's the same, and that's the problem.

Which is a bit ridiculous.]

Yeah. You'll be free.

[So will he. Free to do whatever he wants. But he doesn't know what he wants. Argh.]

You will be free before me. [Now his voice sounds just a touch coy, like maybe he is putting on an act. Or at least trying.] Will you visit me, when you are free? Now that we are friends?

[When there's no objection, he starts to thread his fingers through with each pass of his hand. Not taking advantage, he swears he's not - it won't go any further, but he may never have a chance to touch Romain so freely again.]

[He presses his lips in a smile. Not awkward, not playful. Just sensing the humor.]

Oh, man. You bet I will. Someone's gotta protect you from the stampede of fanboys.

['Cause that'll be greaaaaaaaat.]

My hair is a mess, isn't it? [EVERY STANFORD WORRIES ABOUT THE HAIR.] Oh well.

[just shuts his eyes again.]

It is very soft.

[The fanboy remark is just teasing. It doesn't need an answer. But Romain's hair is wonderfully soft.

He's serious again in a flash, his gaze down at Romain blurred by alcohol but still very intent.]

Do you really not know, how handsome you are?

You're drunk, Ghyslain.

[Why is it so weird to accept that a man can find him attractive too? Bah.]

You're un garçon attractif too. Wait - shit.

[and he laughs, cheeks high up, eyes shut tight. That's got to be the biggest mess of English and French he's uttered so far.]

I was not drunk when I first saw you.

[Too much, he's going way too far, but everything feels so comfortable and amiable here that he's not seeing the lines he keeps crossing.

His hand stills when Romain returns the compliment, though, and he takes in a surprised little breath.]

Moi? Non. Ça n'est pas amusant. [That's going too far, teasing him about being good-looking when - there's just no chance. Let him have this moment, but don't let him believe it could be any more.]

But you didn't even know me. Like, at all.

[ROMAIN THAT'S WHAT YOU DO WITH GIRLS

'OH SHE'S PRETTY LET ME GET TO KNOW HER' and the rest is history.]

Hey, je peux admettre quand un mec est beau! [Pointing at him emphatically again.] Entendu?

[he grabs Ghyslain's hand and smacks it against flat his forehead like he's proving a point. Ow. Did not mean to do that with so much strength. In any case, no homo!! But we're buddies!!!! now let's kiss

wait]

Keep doing that thing; that thing was nice.

Do you need to know someone to know that they are handsome?

[Okay, shit, that makes him laugh. He's still not sure he's handsome - too delicate, he thinks, features fine like a girl's and could blow away in a stiff breeze - but Romain's antics make him laugh. And when he's asked to go back to stroking Romain's hair, he first draws the back of his hand across Romain's cheek before returning to his hair.]

Your skin is soft as well. I thought that you were Secondary, you look so -

[Fresh is what he thinks first. Untouched. But that has an unfortunate connotation, one of inexperience, and that's not what he means. Untouched by time, as though he were born looking like this and will die looking like this decades from now.]

- I have no word for it. Not just young.

Haha, yeah. I get that a lot. Baby-faced. That's what they say.

[he's not upset - he even makes a game of it. How old am I? No, I'm twenty, I swear! Want me to prove it to you? Etc etc etc.]

Maybe it's a gift. Step aside, professor Stuart.

[everything's greaaaat.]

Mm.

[he relaxes his hand, grip loose on the bottle that rolls off and clatters on the floor. Soon as he realizes he lamely sits up, too drowsy to be properly alarmed.]

Oh, crap -

[Not baby-faced. Fresh-faced. That's why he went to fresh, he was halfway to a real expression.

His heart skips a beat at that sound, and then flutters wildly when Romain sits up, only to crash down to his toes when he hears oh, crap. It's been broken. The spell has been broken. Romain is still dopey and drunk, but he's aware now.]

Do you want to leave? [He sounds guilty. He looks guilty. He has been taking advantage, for all his justifying to himself.]

[so drowsy that he keeps bending over the edge of the bed to pick up the bottle with a little grunt. Now it's his clothes and hair that are disheveled, in addition to looking like a muppet that just came out of dry-cleaning and doesn't know why.]

What, no, man, [he checks the bottle - hopefully nothing spilled - before realizing Ghyslain might just be sick of him taking up his bed.] Oh. Sorry, d'you want me to go? I keep butting in. Sorry. I said that already.

You are very drunk as well.

[His smile is small and affectionate. Romain makes an oddly sweet picture, all rumpled and dazed like this, but it's true. He's very drunk. Ghyslain should make him leave before any mistakes are made, the kind that could end a friendship only just beginning.

He doesn't.]

Non, I do not want you to go. But now you are a mess. [Toeing the lines again, smoothing down Romain's shirt with light, sweeping little movements before trying to finger-comb his hair back into place. Much more slowly and carefully than necessary, smile very gradually dropping from his lips.]

[what the hell does he do with his hands that they feel so nice? Or maybe tipsy means he's now a cat. Something has to be it. He just knows that his lids go droopy and - oh, those lips. He's not smiling anymore, and neither is Romain, but he doesn't care.

He still thinks they remind him of a woman's mouth, but in no odd way. They fit his features nicely. His eyes are so striking and full of character. His brows make him look like he's so focused on everything. Like he's had his full attention the whole time they were talking. Yeah, he - he knows what Ghyslain means when he says he's been made to feel special. More so when he knows he's attracted to him.

... Focus, Romain. Don't just wet your lips and swallow dry. No. What are you doing letting those lips part slightly. Stahp.]

Thanks.

[is this happening? He's never even thought he'd find another man so magnetic. It's so simple, but. Confusing. He needs to google about this. What to do when a pretty guy isn't a girl? Dear yahoo, am I gay or just suffering tue side-effects of beer? Am I drunk-gay?

You know that thing about replacing matter. He needs to replace his brain.]

You really think I'm pretty?

[wrong word but u tried]

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