[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

[umbralla]

Ouais.

[He doesn't exactly sound defeated, but there's definitely an edge of that same deflation that Romain is obviously feeling. They've come down off a huge high and now have no idea where they landed.

But first, one last time:]

... merci.

[quantities]

Yeah.

[that. he begins to move out of the bed, lifts the hand that's... really just filthy. sticky. ack.]

Do you mind if I just - use the bathroom before I go?

[umbralla]

Ah - oui. [Wait, "Do you mind," he's supposed to answer:] Non. [But he just said -] Bien sûr, tu peux.

[The awkwardness could be cut with a knife. He climbs out of bed and heads straight for the fridge, for a bottle of water to start cutting this headache while he puts on the coffee that'll do the heavy lifting. It's not entirely to put his back to Romain while he leaves, but that isn't really something he wants to watch, either.]

[quantities]

[he nods, hides in the bathroom for a little while and comes back out zipping up his pants. Yeah, he should have done that behind the door, shouldn't he. Woop.]

So, uhm. Thanks.

[He's ready to go, but at the last second decides not to turn the doorknob. Because this looks like a one night stand that he woke up instantly regretting and... that's not how he feels. Even when he thought he would.]

Listen, I... I don't want you to think I'm running away from you or anything.

[umbralla]

[He stills with a scoop of coffee halfway to the filter basket, then slowly turns around in exactly that position. Just unsure, but very stiff because of it. He's been speaking French all morning, but he thinks it's time to switch again - as hard as that is with a screaming headache.]

What - are you doing? [No accusation. He really wants to know.]

[quantities]

[... good question.]

I don't actually know. I don't know what I've been doing since last night.

[If that's hurtful, he doesn't realize it at all. He's just really confused.]

[umbralla]

[It is hurtful. If nothing else, he at least seemed to have made all the choices for himself, so to say he doesn't know - Ghyslain gives a little wince, sucking his lips between his teeth.]

Did I - make you feel -

[Coerce is the word he wants, but it's way out of his grasp.]

- I did try not to make you feel anything was expected.

[quantities]

[He thinks the opposite - that Ghyslain is wondering if he made Romain feel something like love. Which is a scary thing to ask, just as much as the other, and it makes Romain lose his words all over again.]

I don't know. I mean - I don't regret it, I don't, but.

[ugh. These conversations are hard enough when he's familiar with the scenario.]

I need some time to think. Before I end up hurting your feelings.

[umbralla]

[No regret. That's the best news he's had all morning, and makes air rush back into his lungs.]

That is - oui, that is best. [He starts to turn away, focus on his coffee again, but he has to say something else first.] Je ne suis pas attaché, Romain.

[He likes this young man, yes. Very much. And last night was thrilling. But he won't bash his heart against any more brick walls; there will be a sting, not an open wound.]

[quantities]

[quietly, after a moment, he nods. That's good, he thinks. Takes some of the guilt off.]

So I'll see you around.

[and. Go.]