Summary: They were right about self-care. He's terrible at it, but he tries his best, as he tries feverishly to prevent himself from going into deliriums.
AO3 version available here.
They were right about self-care. He’s terrible at it.
All alone in an untidy, messy flat is a student desperately trying to tame down what’s currently afflicting him: a powerful, ill-intentioned strain of influenza. Of course, he would catch it: he has been working a lot lately, hasn’t he?
The only reason he even knows why he’s sick is because Henri brought the doctor to him. Otherwise, really, he was barely able to get up. He’s still barely able to get out of bed as he speaks. Well, thinks, since his voice has gone out this morning. That’s painful, by the way.
His wobbly arm struggles to reach the washcloth which fell from his head not too long ago. He doesn’t remember when exactly, or how, but it fell off. That’s the issue with being sick: the fever is always the worst. It’s always what strikes him the most. Not the cough, not the stuffed nose, not even the muscle aches and the unending want to end it off once and for all.
No, the fever is the goddamn worst.
It’s the worst because, as he is, Florian tends to overwork himself. He knows that. He’s the only one who doesn’t have a problem with it around here. He explains it as passion, the absolute will to power through what fascinates him and encourages him to keep on going and going. He lives for this. He lives for literature, almost in a romantic fashion, wanting to know and master everything he has under his hands.
Other people would explain it as him being a stubborn idiot who can’t ever stop working or thinking about something not his books, or his girlfriend for all it matters. They treat it like he’s been with a girl for the first time: it’s the second, but it’s the first one who knows from the get-go what he really is. Roxanne is amazing and he’s grateful for her: however, she’s a lesbian, and he’s not a girl. That’s not how it works, but they remained great friends after their couple ended in deep respect and profound platonic bonds.
It’s also the worst because it messes with his brain badly. Constant headaches, a sharp pain behind his eyes and all around his head, deliriums, illusions, hallucinations. A real bane. He can’t even read when it’s at its paroxysm: it even hurts to open a book when that happens. He can barely open up his phone, actually. And he always wants to bury himself in his sheets, only to desire moving in a fridge two minutes later, then back to cuddling with the heater.
It’s annoying and counter-productive. How is he supposed to work on an essay or take notes on a fantastic book when there’s such a thing wrapped around his brain?
Fevers also remind Florian of one thing. He’s easily lonely when he’s sick. Back when he still had parents, his mother would stay at home when he was ill. Roxanne would visit after school. Chris and Henri took care of him after classes or on weekends they stayed at school. But now that he lives alone, in his own flat he pays by himself, he doesn’t have anyone to bother with his fevers and his frequent illnesses because he’s always tired.
His fault. His fault, so he doesn’t call anyone over to see him in wrecked state. A ship sunk in blankets.
His hand manages to grab the washcloth. With the tiniest footsteps, he manages to dip it in the bucket’s water. He has to bring the fever down, and fast. It’s not at forty yet, but if it reaches that stage, he’s good for dead. He never knows what to expect from his fever dreams and his deliriums, except either slipping back into his former selves and spewing his dirty secrets around, or get vivid nightmares and failing to access the sleep he needs to recover quickly.
As he wipes the sweat from his face, he thinks of one thing. It’s been a while since Chris and Henri had to guess why he wasn’t attending class, if they even noticed it. Annabelle would probably notice: they attend the same classes. He’s not so sure for Chris, but Henri was the one to bring him the doctor. They should had noticed he was missing, right? Or maybe he sent embarrassing stuff again…
He goes back into his fort of blankets and cushions. It’s freezing and burning all around him. When did he last take fever reducers? He should take his temperature. A thermometer, his mouth, a beeping sound, 39.8. It’s getting dangerous around here. He feels very uneasy, right now, his head is spinning… He can’t pass out now… Not when he’s alone and defenceless…
He hears someone rummage through the door. He has to get up, fast, tell them not to enter. Nobody can see him like that. He looks like garbage. He takes a fever reducer, not giving a damn about when he last took one, and attempts at getting up, but he just falls. His head smashes on the ground, his knees and elbows hurt, his glasses fell off his nose. His vision is blurry.
The door opens by itself, and enters a new character into the play. He wishes it wasn’t her, of everyone who knows where he lives.
“Florian, darling??” a familiar voice screams as she runs towards him on small heels.
He rises his eyes towards the source of the sound. It’s all blurry so he can’t distinguish much, but at least, he’s certain it’s her. The warm colours, the perfume, the voice…
“Anna…belle…?” painfully exits his mouth as he coughs immediately after.
It seems like she gets down to him.
“Oh my god, darling, you look awful… Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”
He just nods. He doesn’t have any energy left to refuse such a thing. She wraps her arms around him, get him up with some grunts and in an ending pant.
“You are burning underneath… You are lucky I was there…”
A few instants later, he’s back in bed, except he’s wearing different cloths and has a fully new washcloth on his forehead.
“You have such a high fever,” she sighs as she looks at the thermometer, “goodness gracious… You need to take care of yourself more, Florian.”
He loves her voice but he also hates the tone she’s taking. He hates hearing her worry in general anyway.
“I tried though…”
Annabelle stares at the nightstand next to her, with something between disdain and upset feelings.
“I see so… Fever reducers aren’t enough and you know it, honey. You also need to rest instead of panicking… You know only a few people have the key to your flat.”
“I guess I never learnt to…”
“Hush now,” her tone gets stern, “your voice is almost gone.” She strokes a hand over his exposed cheek (the other one being buried inside his pillow). “Do you need anything else?”
He just moves his head in a pitiful no.
No, instead, he just falls asleep because he’s more tired than he remembered, but he gets to fall asleep with her smiling to him and wishing him a good night. He can even feel her kiss before it all goes black.
Summary: Three friends, only one mission: convince Florian to go the fuck to sleep.It takes conviction, compromising text messages and some girl to get him to marry his bed once and for all.
Nerds.
AO3 version available here.
“For the thousandth time already: I’m okay!” Florian yells in the general direction behind him as he gets his head out of his novel.
“Yeah, sure. Still as likely as Bouquinerie going missing for a single day,” Christian replies from behind his desk chair, his tone flatter than the medieval representation of planet Earth.
“You cannot have possibly worked so much lately and be entirely okay. This is not humanly possible, and you know it, Florian,” Eudes, who is visiting, adds.
“Oh my God, would you stop bothering me already? I have a paper to finish for tomorrow, and currently you’re making it impossible to do!”
The two men get farther from their friend, who breathes out. Their heads get close to the other, as if they were imitating TV reality starlets portraying high school girls.
“There’s no way we’re getting him out of there,” whispers Christian. Not even the fever stops him.”
“Wait,” Eudes almost speaks too loudly, “he is running a fever?! How do you even know that?!”
“He was so focused on his thing,” the History major explains, “I managed to put my hand on his forehead. He’s getting himself ill over some kind of essay… thing. I never really understood literature specialists but geez, that’s overdoing it.”
“A fever, you say…” the redhead mutters to himself, a sly smile on his face.
Christian doesn’t really get what makes him so happy, but he’s damn curious to know what.
“Yeah, a fever. A probably not-so-low one of that because, duh, it’s Florian. The guy gets sick as soon as he’s tired, even if it’s just a stuffed nose.”
“Thank you so much for the information, Chris. I know exactly what to do now.”
His smirk turns into a mischievous grin. He has the best idea he’s gotten in the entire year, and he’s certain it’s going to work perfectly.
“Florian?” Eudes yells suddenly in the room.
He gets an angered “What?!” in response.
“You’re going to piss him off,” Christian murmurs to him, “you’re not making it any better. He’s already very snappy when he’s getting told he’s sick.”
“Do you know who will come to get your soft behind to stop overworking yourself if you do not stop?”
“Yeah, Henri,” Florian replies. “Because why not invite all our goddamn room from Lakanal, while you’re at it. Why are you two still around anyway?”
“Henri? He is busy. I know someone in your course who is not, however…”
Florian’s head slowly turns towards his friends’, and he’s finally out of his book, which he put on the desk. It finally dawns on Christian, and they both say the same name at the same time.
“Annabelle.”
Eudes’s grin turns into an exploding laugh. He likes to mess around with Florian, that much has been established since the beginning of last year and meeting with both him and her, but this time his little devil jokes may serve a use.
“That’s weird, Flo. I thought you were alright, but you seem pained at the idea of seeing Annabelle,” Christian teases, getting way too much enjoyment out of bothering his friend.
“I-I have an incoming deadline…!” he defends himself. “I don’t have time to spend with her…! I…”
“Be honest here. You’re feverish and you don’t want her to worry.”
“I don’t have a fever! How would you know that anyway?! I don’t remember you chasing after me with a thermometer.”
“Turns out you’re completely vulnerable to touch when you’re deep into your stuff, friend.”
The literature major’s eyes grow wide as his face distorts. Some cold sweat mixes with the hot one he already has going on.
“I… When… When did you do that…?” is all he replies, so taken aback he can barely speak.
“Earlier in the afternoon. You’re a real human heater when you’re feverish.”
“You couldn’t possibly know I was ill, if I’m even ill in the first place,” (Eudes sighs: that guy’s really stubborn), “since I don’t even have class today.”
“You sent Henri and me a message at three in the morning signed François, and somehow it was meant for a Roxanne, whoever that is. I didn’t know you once called yourself François until this morning.”
“Oh, right, I once thought of… Wait, what was in the message?!”
“Stuff about your paper, or something, your verbs weren’t making sense. Then you mentioned ‘going on T’ and surgery. Let me guess, she’s…”
“Not in front of people who don’t know that!” Florian snaps, almost out of breath.
His face is both flushed and red from his obvious embarrassment. Eudes is both dying of laughter and barely understanding what all that mess was.
“You should go to bed, at least until that fever you-totally-don’t-have-right goes down. I’m sure you can’t even read what’s written properly and that you forgot you finished it like… two days ago.”
Florian blinks furiously, quiet, and then looks down at his paper.
“You’re right… I’ve already finished it…” he whispers to himself. “What was I even doing already?”
“Who knows,” Christian replies. “But now you can go to bed and sleep until you have to give it back to whoever charged you with writing it.”
“Right…”
He slumps inside his chair, no matter how basic and uncomfortable it actually is. His weak giggle is half-rewarding, half-paining. It wasn’t easy to make him come clean about his fever: it’ll be harder to convince him it’s okay to rest when there’s an impending deadline because perfectionism isn’t the key to everything.
“It means you can go to bed before you pass out cold on your chair,” Christian says.
“You’re still going to call Annabelle if I do…?” is all he asks.
Eudes sighs, “Is this all you think of when you overworked yourself to a fever? I still do not get why she chose you over all the other nice boys from her class. I did not know she liked her men vulnerable.”
Florian’s blush is now radiating over his flush, hiding the lower half of his face behind his hands. If he was Henri, Christian would have found this cute.
“Do not tell me you would not want her to take care of your fever. You are drooling over the idea inside.”
His blushing is reaching dangerously bright territories.
“T-that’s false!!”
Christian smirks and whispers to his friend, “His native accent is showing, that means he’s being embarrassed. He’s totally drooling the idea of seeing her take care of him because he’s easily lonely when he’s sick.”
“He is? I would have never told.”
“Flo’s actually a teddy bear, not a stone giant. He needs company when he’s ill.”
“This is… actually a bit sad. We seem to be bothering him, however, are you sure he does not want to be alone?”
“He’s tricking himself into thinking he’s good enough not to need company. Call her.”
Christian walks up to his other friend and gives him his hand.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed. You have a fever to sleep off.”
A quick look behind him confirms that Eudes has left. Florian grabs the hand and pulls off from his chair, gets unbalanced for a bit, and catches himself before Christian has to.
“You’re going straight to bed.”
“You’ve only said so thirty times today,” Florian snickers before almost collapsing on his friend.
“If you had listened to the first one, I wouldn’t have needed the twenty-nine others, you know.”
A few minutes later, he’s back into his pyjamas and inside his bed. Now he gets to notice the fever’s strength, with all the chills it can get out of him. It’s harder than it looks to be both hot and cold at the same time, not so surprisingly. Time flies weirdly, and he’s unable to either look at his phone, his watch or the clock in his room. That place has an awfully placed bed.
He can however find comfort in a cup of tea served by…Goddammit Eudes.
“Hello… He still called you, huh…” he tells his not-so-surprise guest as a hand lands on his forehead and someone sits next to him on his bed.
“Eudes told me you were not doing so well… It looks like he was right, you seem to need some care.”
“It’s just a tiny fever from pushing myself too much… Nothing major, I promise…”
“Hush now,” she puts a finger on his mouth as an emphasis. “Everyone here agrees you need your rest. You have to at least lay back in order to do that.”
“Mm-hmm,” he mutters, leaning against the hand on his cheek. He doesn’t want her to leave his side, ever. He’s sure she has a ton of other things to do aside from taking care of his overworked face: she has the same essay to give back as him, friends to see, books to read, quotes to learn by heart… But he can’t tell her to remember those because she told him to be quiet, so he stays quiet.
Annabelle opens a book, holding it in her left hand as her right one is still stroking where he hasn’t shaved for a few days now (he does like finally having facial hair, though). It doesn’t look like she’s leaving for a while, so he just fully leans under her touch. That’s one blessing he doesn’t want to miss any piece of.
An hour later, Eudes realizes he forgot his phone on Florian’s kitchen counter (if a kitchen that guy even has, buried under all the other crap on his furniture). When he goes to get it, he notices a peculiar scene that he finds absolutely disgusting: the guy sleeping in his bed, with his sister having fallen so while doing whatever couples do.
Summary: Annabelle can't focus on class today, and she's fully aware that's not how things usually are, except she can't exactly tell why she's like that. At least, that's until Magda helps her realizing why, and then Christian indirectly helps her to realize exactly why things are that way, by simply encouraging her to make a visit.
Length: 2.4K words
AO3 version
Annabelle is quite out of it today. Usually, she is fascinated by the Ancient French class, comparing it with how French is currently getting spoken around her, how she speaks it, the list of uses goes on. However, her mind cannot find a way to focus on what their teacher is currently speaking about, and she struggles to keep up with it. This does not feel right, and the way Magda and Louise are looking at her from the neighbouring row of chairs and tables make her acutely aware of this.
A piece of paper lands on her table, coming from the left. It must had been Magda, and when she looks at her khâgne godmother, she sees a small smile on her lips, the one she used to give when she doubted herself last year. Her eyes then go back to the class, as Annabelle should be doing. She opens the paper and read what is written on it.
“It’s bcs he not here, no?”
Who is “he”? Magda seems to be oddly vague about the whole ordeal. She still glances at a table at the other side of the classroom, next to the wall and the door, only to notice an empty seat. Oh, so this is the “he” she was referring to earlier… Annabelle can only put this as an explanation of her difficulty to focus on anything today.
She sighs softly to herself, head resting on her hand, as she wonders what could have possibly happened to him. She hopes it’s not much. It’s not his kind to skip class, so something must had happened for him to be stuck outside of their classroom.
When it finally rings off, Annabelle exits the room. As soon as she spots him in the forum space, she walks up to Christian, a friend of her brother’s, but mostly a friend of Florian. He must know where his comrade is, right? Or at least he has an idea of so. When she tells him hello, Christian is surprised. They never spoke to each other directly yet, only when Florian was there. He still greets her back.
“Let me guess, you want to know why Flo wasn’t in class today?” he asks her, smirking.
“Is it this obvious? Oh my…” she replies, feeling a bit guilty of being such, such an opportunist.
“You weren’t as focused as usual, so I guessed you were worried for him. He hasn’t told us anything yet, but I’m sure he’s just sick and forgot to plug in his phone.”
His smirk turns into a grin. He whistles as his eyes look away.
“I’m sure a little visit wouldn’t hurt him, though… What about you check up on him? I have to attend class at Sorbonne this afternoon.”
Her face lights up with surprise. This offer is too attractive for her to resist the urge to accept, especially since she doesn’t have any class for the day… But is it right for her to do so? She doesn’t even know where Florian lives…
“You look like you’re hesitating, am I wrong?”
“I-it’s not that, but… I don’t know where he lives…”
“It’s just that? Let me send you his address. Don’t forget to bring him some soup!”
Walking down the street, going back to her flat, Annabelle receives a text message from Christian, containing the address he said to give her. The young lady clutches the phone next to her chest, already thinking about what she needs to bring with her.
Soup will take her too much time to make on her own, she’ll buy some at the nearest shop. Maybe he’s running low on medicine, she should make a small trip to the pharmacy and buy some fever reducers and cough drops. Oh, she should bring some tissues with her too. Man, so many things he needs, and so many things she’ll gladly pay for.
Now that she is in front of the door indicated on her phone, the small student feels shy and almost scared. It makes her nervous to knock at his door when he doesn’t know she got her hand on his address. She also doesn’t want to wake him up, if he’s asleep. A sigh escapes her glossed lips as she lays back to the door, looking at the ceiling, her hand firmly holding her small basket.
Her ears twitch when she hears coughing inside. Her hand knocks on the wooden surface before she can think about it. Now facing the door, she anxiously waits for something. Her nose transforms into a leaking air balloon.
The coughing gets louder and louder until the knock starts to shake. Wood gives the spotlight to blue fabric, buttons, body hair, then a familiar face. It’s him, obviously, dressed in a badly ironed pyjama and covered in a blanket.
“…Anna… Annabelle…?” a hoarse voice calls for, a rather strong congestion and sounding like there’s an accent that shouldn’t be in there.
Her heart hurts.
“H-hello…,” it’s as if her voice has dried by the second, “it’s indeed me… Do I disturb you?”
Florian, under the flush of what she can only guess is a fever, makes her a small smirk.
“I’m very happy you came to visit me,” he coughs, “but that’s not the day to do so…”
“You have gotten this wrong!”
A scoff escaped his mouth as his face got covered in a pained amusement.
“You’re kidding me, right…? I look like crap, I sound like crap, my flat is a mess and…”
“You are ill, and when someone is ill, someone else has to take care of them. And I will be the one to do so for you, even if you refuse me.”
Her friend’s eyes looked on the side, his cheeks reddened, and eventually, he just sighed.
“I can’t possibly say not to such solicitude… Please enter… I’m sorry, the place is a mess, I haven’t had the energy to clean lately…”
Annabelle, who has been crossing her fingers behind her back, steps inside the flat. She can see it is indeed pretty disorganized, with books and some other items on the floor of his one-room flat. Meanwhile, Florian just staggers in front of her, only to collapse on his bed, head crashing first while his coughing echoes in the entire room.
“My, my, Florian, you sound like you came down with a terrible illness…” slips out of her mouth as she rushed to him.
“Do I…? Guessed so… Everybody looked at me like I was about to die when I went to the doctor…” he croaks out as he laid properly in bed. “Please forgive my unformal look… I didn’t plan on getting a visit today…”
Annabelle didn’t say anything. Instead, she lowered herself to the bed, took her own temperature with the back of her hand, then laid it on his forehead. After barely touching it, she took it off, shaking her wrist, accompanied by a small hiss.
“You’re running such a fever…!”
“Come on, it’s not that bad… I think it’s around thirty-eight…? I can’t remember when I t-”
Before he could keep on, she had already put a thermometer in his mouth. His eyes, which had tried to be stern until then, just rolled slightly and he simply took it in and let it go.
“Thirty-nine point six… This is pretty high if you ask me…” she muses as she reads the numbers on the small stick.
“Agreed… I just blanked out there…”
“This does not sound like you to say so, Florian. It is almost as if you are… someone else…”
He looks away, bits his lip, scratches his beard.
“To be entirely honest with you, Annabelle… I’m not in the right state of mind to look fancy…”
“Does it mean you’re… usually playing a role…?”
“No, I’m just trying harder than that… If you don’t mind, can we have this talk later…?”
“Sure thing. You look like you need some care and not some deep conversation.”
After a quick blink, the little woman rushed to the tiny bathroom of the flat, grabbed a bucket, filled it with water and fetched the first cloth she had under her hand. She then proceeded to dunk it inside and wipe the sweat off his face.
“Wait, is that… your handkerchief…?” he coughed out.
“It is not a problem, before you ask… Maybe you should change clothes if you feel up to it. You look like you are sweating a lot.”
“You… don’t mind doing all of this…?”
Annabelle blinks before a light-hearted laugh escapes her mouth.
“Of course, I do not, silly! I was worried for you, it makes me feel better to be able to do something… You look like you needed some help and care anyway…”
His face lights up a little, to the point colour may be coming back there to counter the red of fever.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve this… but I’m truly grateful…”
“Do not mention it. I am just doing what I think is right.”
She eventually flats out her handkerchief on his forehead, intrigued by a small piece of paper she noticed when she first entered in his flat. She reads it, notices his healthcare card right next to it, deciphers the cryptic writing.
“Florian,” she asks, “did you get the medicine your doctor told you to get?”
“I didn’t… I fainted before I could grab my credit card…”
A wet, violent coughing fit hurts her so strongly she clutches her own chest, right where her beats are getting out of control.
“You still need it. I am borrowing this,” she says as she shows him his own card, “and the paper. I will be back in a bit.”
Annabelle gathers her coat and purse when she notices her classmate’s hand reaching out for her.
“I’ll go… Let me just… gather myself over there…”
Before he can step more than a foot outside of his bed, she rushed out to him, grab his shoulders and gently puts him down back to bed.
“Are you insane, Florian? You are in no condition to get up at the moment… Let me do this for you, okay?”
“You’re not gonna pay for that… I’m weary about my credit card code…”
“Oh, come on! I can do this for you! And if you want to repay me so badly, you can do so when you’re feeling better, is it right?”
He simply nods back.
“Deal…”
She passes a hand through his hair, kisses the top of his head and waves him a “I will be back soon” look as she grabs the key and closes the door behind her.
As soon as she’s out of view, Annabelle hides her face in her hands, feeling all of her blood reaching out to her head. She can barely believe she just did that without realizing it! It’s something she would do out of sheer affection, to her brother when they were younger, then to her ex-boyfriend… It doesn’t have the platonic resonance it used to anymore, it’s become something else over time.
She can only hope Florian was too dizzy to realize how unpolite and intimate the gesture was. Still, she doesn’t have much time to lose to her clumsiness: she has medicine to buy.
As the pharmacist she usually goes to is maybe the gentlest man she’s met (after Florian, that is), the literature student enters the same pharmacy as before, clutching the paper in her gloved hands, her purse firmly clutched in her armpit. Today is chilly outside, but so, so warm inside.
Her small boots clack and clack to the desk, where the white-coated man smiles at her with his ice blue eyes and his dimple in his left cheek. He’s as lovely as he ever is.
“Hello again…” she says, unable to retain a smile.
“Hello again, Ms Baudelas! What can I do for you this time around?”
“I am here to get my friend’s medicine… Here you go…” She puts the bill on the counter. “Thank you very much, once again.”
“I will take care of it.”
He reads the contents of the small piece of paper with the help of a pair of reading glasses.
“Hmm… One preparation of Tamiflu, three doses per day, for Florian Moinot…” he muses to himself. “Do you have his healthcare card?”
Annabelle gets it from the chest pocket on her overcoat, “here you go.”
He scans it and goes through a door in the back of the shop, whose sign reads “Staff only”.
When he comes back, a couple of minutes later, he has a small plastic bag in his hand, which he then hands to her. A payment with her credit card later, she can’t help but notice her pharmacist seems… puzzled.
“Is something wrong, doctor?” she asks, feeling her worry intensify.
“No, I was just wondering about something… When you came to buy some medicine earlier, was it for this man too? If you do not mind telling me, obviously.”
“It was…”
“You are a wonderful friend, Ms Baudelas. I am sure he is very grateful for you.”
When she comes back to his flat, Annabelle finds her classmate sound asleep in bed, an half-opened book on the ground right next to his hanging arm. A soft smile installs itself on her lips as she takes off her shoes, tip-toes to his bed and lays the blanket over him, retrieving his arm under it as well. She also picks up the book and puts it properly on his nightstand, right next to his lamp.
From her purse, Annabelle grabs a piece of paper and writes on the back of it the instruction the pharmacists gave her about the medicine, until her hand slips and she writes down a small word to him.
“Dear Florian,
I wish you a safe and sound recovery. Please take care and do not overdo it, at least not until you are all recovered. The better you take care of yourself, the sooner you will be back in the swift of things. If you ever need help, do not hesitate to send a small message to either me or any of our friends, okay? Do not stress over me having paid for the medicine.
I also left you some homemade soup and an Egyptian fairy tale book in case you are in a dire need to read something easy and lovely.
With love,
Annabelle.”
As she exits the flat, trying to make as little noise as possible, Annabelle feels a lump of warmth and bliss rise in her chest. It never felt so right to take care of someone. Her heart finally beats at a normal speed as she cannot help but realize it.
She never thought she would be back in such feelings so soon.
Summary: How two lovebirds started their journey: a pretty awkward encounter in the school library.
Length: 1.3K words
AO3 version
“Can I ask you both something?” he suddenly whispers, raising his eyes from his book on romantic poetry, as he looks away.
“Sure thing,” replies Christian, “what is it?”
“I bet you’re going to ask us where we can find this very rare book you once read in Lakanal’s library” deadpans back Henri.
“The… girl right there, her name is Annabelle, right?”
His shaky, trying-to-be-sneaky finger points in the direction of an auburn-haired, petite young woman from their class. She is speaking with two of her friends, a blonde and a redhead, both of which are taller than she is. They all seem to enjoy themselves as they speak about a topic they cannot hear about.
“Yeah, Annabelle Baudelas, our class major. It’s been two months since we’ve been in the same class” replies Henri. “It’s time you realize that I guess.”
“Don’t forget Flo is bad at remembering names. He called Juliette Soissons “Julie” as long as we studied Lamartine in high school.”
“Guys, this isn’t the time to argue about my bad name memory…”
Christian’s face lightens with a wide grin.
“Hey, Flo, you’re all red suddenly. Care to explain to us why?”
The glasses-wearing boy hides his face in his hands.
“I-I-I’m not blushing…”
“You totally are. Let me guess, you think she looks really pretty and really nice and you want to talk to her?” asks Henri, allowing his friend to break out from his embarrassment.
“Y-yeah… Goddammit, my stupid accent is slipping…”
“You’re auto-commenting yourself again, Flo. Just go for the kill.”
He takes a deep breath in and walk towards her, struggling to find his words. They know it because his eyes are squinting. His demeanour is the less natural thing since Formica tables, but they are sure he will manage to at least pick her interest.
“Huh, Annabelle…?” he squeezes out from his chest, right hand over it.
“Yes?” she hums back as she turns towards the source of her name, only to stop for a bit.
Her friends look at each other, nod and swiftly walk away, blinking at the two boys across their dedicated library spot.
“You are… Florian, right? How can I help you?” she asks, waving him a small smile.
He is already happy she is even smiling at him, even if it is just by politeness.
“Well, I, huh… I know we never really talked yet… But I really wanted to talk to you…? You seem like a pretty nice person, and I want to know you better…”
He is really, really awkward right now. He swallowed down a huge part of his pride and tried to stop fuddling with his hands right in front of the lovely Annabelle.
She chuckled softly.
“Aw, you are so sweet… You seem like a very nice boy too, I am glad you want to get to know me better. It is really kind of you.”
He could almost taste his heartbeats from how vivid these were.
“Are you all right? You look like you are going to fall down” her voice tints in worry as he feels his legs transform into jelly. He almost feels lightheaded too.
He feels himself lose his balance as she caught him in his fall, sitting him on the chair right next to her. Between his furious blinks, he sees her put a hand on her forehead, then it’s on his, then she’s looking at him with worry.
“Fortunately, you are not running a fever… What happened?”
“I think my stress got relieved too quickly and I lost control, or at least I suppose. I’m not really sure…”
“You were this nervous to talk to me? I am flattered, but you got me really worried for your well-being there.”
“I’m…” he corrects himself from slipping into his native accent, “I am sorry. I did not want to worry you.
She smiles again, a hand on his shoulder. Is she a little redder than before? His mind must be playing tricks on him.
“It is all right, there was more fear than harm. Just take a bit more care of yourself, okay? There is no need to get this stressed out. This is all fine.”
A small giggle escapes his mouth. He feels stupid right now, he really does, but being around her makes it so it is okay in his mind to look stupid at the moment. She grabs a chair and sits next to him.
“What did you want to ask me to know me better?” Annabelle asks, looking at him through her pink glasses.
Honestly he sees her through pink glasses too.
“I am not really sure… What do you like to read, maybe? Who are your favourite authors?”
“These are really precise questions. I do not think I have set favourite authors. However, I mostly enjoy poetry. There is something about both the freedom and the constraints of it which fascinates me. The sound some verses have is simply wonderful.”
“Poetry is my favourite genre too. I cannot really state why so, strangely.”
He still feels somewhat dazed, but it’s all okay if he’s with her. It’s like he’s already in love when, really, that can’t be the case. They just started speaking to each other.
“Now is my turn to ask you a question.” Annabelle continues, eyes shimmering. “What is your favourite music instrument?”
“I love how piano sounds the most. Classical music soothes the most, would you not agree?”
“I like piano a lot too, but I will have to say my favourite instrument is the violin. Most people only see it as crying, sad, inherently depressing. This is not the case. You can convey such a wide variety of emotions with it… One day, I will show you how so, if you agree.”
“Anytime…”
They continue to make small talk, learning about each other’s tastes in various fields. Sometimes they agree, sometimes they disagree, but it’s all okay. He’ll roll with it, if it means they can spend more time together in the coming future. After an hour or so, he has to attend to his Ancient French class. It’s with some sadness he leaves her to be, but not before getting her phone number after he asked her for it. He is still so glad she accepted to entrust him with it.
After Florian left, she gets up from her chair and puts it back where she got it. Feeling lovestruck, Annabelle simply muses about having given him her phone number. She wishes very hard he will send her a message as soon as possible. She wants to talk to him again, just like they just did. Her thoughts are a mess: she does not remember what book she just read.
The verses are all lost on her. She does not remember what they were even about. All there is in their place is a soft piano melody she will write down whenever she gets back to her flat.
There is something in his voice, in his laugh, in his eyes which she loves, but she cannot pin-point what. All she knows is that Florian is lovely and that she wants to know him more even more now.
Magdalena and Louise were waiting for her at the door of the library.
“I can’t believe he talked to me...!” she squeals, trying to keep her voice as low as possible.
“Told you he had eyes for you since day one,” smirks Magdalena gently slapping her shoulder. “How did it go?”
“It was wonderful! He almost fainted because he was nervous, but once he got all settled down, I did not see the time go by…”
“That’s really nice to hear,” comments Louise smiling to her friend. “It looks like you’re already in love with him, am I wrong?”
“Not yet, it’s impossible!”
However, Annabelle cannot deny she is the happiest she has been in a while. Or that she is blushing previously.
“You do sound like it’s going to happen soon” Magdalena scoffs, a large grin on her face.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: The tales of two bookworm lovers, from their studies in Paris to their domestic family life in Lille. Expect some fluff, some angst, some hurt/comfort, love, pain, sadness, happiness, anger, ups and downs, books, music.
It's not because you're a literature professor in a-not-so-prestigious khâgne class in the north of France that you cannot have a rich romantic life.
Length: 2 oneshots (ongoing)
Note: I’ll post each individual oneshot separately. For now, I’ll have this as a masterpost of sorts, as the stories will take place over the course of a few Periods.
