It’s Okay [Fever February Day 3: Forehead Touch]
FEVER FEBRUARY INDEX
Summary: Sometimes, you have to learn it's okay not to always be 100%. Everyone has bad days. Mr Honfleur has to teach so to a star student today, and he's surprised, maybe scared, but he wants to make the boy feel better.
Fandom: Original Work
Word Count: 1.1K words
Notes: It's short and it's late, but I worked on an assignment before that... At least, I got to explore Fran’s relationship with his former Literature teacher and role model.
AO3 version available here.
Inside a rather big classroom, on a cold but dry day of February, a French class is taking place. Some seats are empty: the fault to the current epidemy of flu. That happens every winter, and the experience teacher who is currently making class is so used to it, he’s not any bothered by it. He counts on his students to take care of things themselves, and give each other the lesson.
They can do that, right? They’re good, mature first-year kids. He loves them, just like he loves the current second-years, and the ones before them, and… Oh, right, Proust.
“In The Search for Time Lost, the narrator tells us about his journey to find how to write his memories in all the details he has experienced on the very day it happened. The books actually cycle at the end of the last…”
Mr Honfleur’s voice comes to a halt. He’s hearing a weird background sound near him. Something… peculiar, which doesn’t ring many bells to him. It must be something doing some weird shenanigans again, like the computer (which he still doesn’t get along with). Yeah. Outside noise he’s not responsible of.
He continues to make class after this small halt, apologizing to his students for zoning out over there, as short as it was. Maybe some of them didn’t notice, oh well. He continues on Proust, and the interest of his novels, as a way to entice his students to read him when most of them picked Céline because it was shorter.
He still hears that sound. A distraught, unnatural sound, in a way. The sound of an obstructed windpipe, like when you stick something at the end of a straw or a toilet paper roll and blow in it. Maybe. That’s just a weird sound he’s never heard, but it may be his brain. He’s probably a little sick himself.
Right, Proust, where was he? He keeps getting distracted. He needs someone to help him through it, and someone who’s read Proust of that… He knows exactly who!
“François? Could you tell us about…”
He stops mid-sentence again, right as he looks down on the table in front of him. The sound gets stronger and stronger.
In front of him is a blue-and-brown shape, slouched over a table, dripping from a chair. Dishevelled hair, discarded glasses, an empty seat next to it. Paper sheets all over the place. A limp hand suspended from the occupied table. This isn’t fine.
Mr Honfleur, in disbelief, lowers down to the level of the slump. He’s getting a bit scared when everyone goes quiet, the sound so strong he can’t attribute it to a computer he can barely turn on. He knocks gently on the table.
After a few knocks, the shape stirs and, slowly, faces his teacher. The boy looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days, deadly pale, dark rings under reddened and unfocused eyes, unshaved facial hair, red centred on his nose and splattered across both his cheeks like he just drank an entire wine bottle to himself. Sweat is pearling down a face covered in slight, rebellious streaks of hair.
“W-what…?” he rasps before coughing in his hand.
“You fell asleep. Class is not a place to sleep in, François. I know dorm life is hard, but you cannot sleep in class.”
“R-right sir…”
The student coughs out a lung as soon as he even opens his mouth. He’s not alright, and if he ever says so, it’s a big fat lie. Without adding another word, Mr Honfleur puts a hand on the boy’s forehead, his usually gentle face turning into a much severe expression. He hisses as soon as the back of it touches the other skin.
“You’re burning up!” escapes from the professor’s mouth as brown eyes close on themselves.
“Haha, maybe… What did ya want from me sir…?” he slurs back.
“Well, I wanted to ask you about Prou… Your priorities are completely screwed, young man!”
He grabs François by the arm, taking him completely aback, maybe profiting of his heavily weakened state so he doesn’t protest. It continues to heat his hands even under a wool sweater, maybe two considering the shivers and chills he feels down there.
“Where we goin…?” he asks in a painfully sore voice, coughing loudly.
“To the nurse’s office. I am going to ask your classmates to gather your stuff for you, before you can even ask such a stupid question!”
“The nurse’s office again…? She’s already seen me twice last week…”
They exit the room to a too-slow-in-his-taste pace. It’s also to respond back to something stupid his student just said.
“You had an asthma attack in the middle of a PE session because everyone forgot you even had asthma. The colleague was freaking out so badly we thought he may have an asthma attack too, actually.”
“It was better in high school when nobody knew I had asthma…”
“Please tell me your fever speaking right now, François. You sound utterly insane.”
“Maybe… Feels like I’ve always been sick anyway… Sir, what was the question on Proust…?”
“You are even worse than a college professor with the flu! Do I have to spell it out to you? You are sicker than I’ve ever been and all you worry about is a question on literature. You should reconsider your priorities, I mean it.”
“Sure, I’ll try one day…”
Halfway there, the student starts to cry as he clutches his chest with his arms, weakly embracing it.
“What’s wrong, François?” the teacher asks, with worry finally spilling out. He’s been worried all along, but it’s harder to hide it when he’s crying in front of him.
“My dad’s gonna yell at me again… My sis too…” he whimpers.
Michel can’t help but go to him and get him in his arms. Who cares if it’s authorized?
“It’ll be okay, François. Everyone gets sick one day or the other. Everyone in the class has been sick one day. I’ve been sick multiple times before, and I’ll be afterwards. It’s okay to miss class when you’re sick, and it’s okay to sometimes overestimate yourself or underestimate the ailment.”
The tears of the boy start to subdue.
“But I always go to class sick…”
“Then it means you are very involved in your studies, and it’s good as long as you try not to overdue it.”
He pulls out of their weak embrace to look at him. He’s even redder from his sorrow, but now, he has a slight smile on his face. It’s already better nothing.
“I am sure it will be fine. Come, we have to get you somewhere you can sleep and rest properly before your parents or your sister can get you.”
“Thanks sir…”
“Don’t stress it.”
