⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰ * ⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰ * ⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
|| LUNCH ||
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰ * ⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰ * ⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
He swept his eyes around the room, occasionally. Students came in and out, joking quietly with others or snorting with laughter at high volume. Despite his skepticism, Grégorie increasingly turned his chocolate eyes toward the ticket booth. Some girl was situated there, staring frantically at the approaching couples. Her amaranth hair bounced with every turn of her head. Watching her preoccupation, Grégorie deduced that she was the school’s cupid. She was fascinated with high school sweethearts, new relationships, and of course, matchmaking those pitiful loners. Her enthusiasm, generated by new couples buying a ticket for two, amused Grégorie.
Because all these relationships have a short life. After a while, those “struck by love” will get bored with each other and choose a new partner - a better model, a more modern one, that everyone likes. They will then claim that their newly chosen one is absolutely different from the previous partner. It usually can’t be further from the actual reality, observed by the eye undimmed by the veil of infatuation. But a lie repeated many times soon becomes the truth.
Everyone has a type of person, who they attract, sometimes, unconsciously. Maybe that’s what Grégorie was afraid of? That he was a walking magnet for characters that triggered repulsions in him? His father’s blood flowed through his veins, whether he wanted it or not, and the old man had no luck when it came to acquaintances.
He turned his gaze as the cupid-girl disappeared from his sight, dissolving into a flurry of people. She was chasing some student who (oh no, how could she?) hadn’t bought a ticket to the party. Grégorie realized he had to avoid the booth’s place by a wide margin on his way out. The last thing he wanted was to be confronted by the oh-so-happy matchmaker.
Before he focused on eating again, he took one last look around the room. Apart from the new apprentice - a tall boy with his hair pulled back, approaching his clique with a resolute smile - he did not notice anything noteworthy. He shrugged his shoulders and drowned in his music. He mechanically busied himself with his pasta, and nothing existed in his world except the jauntily hopping jazz notes.
A shadow covered his plate and diminished the bright red color of the tomato sauce. The table shook as the person (now standing in front of Grégorie) moved alarmingly closer to the furniture. Grégorie hesitantly lifted his brown eyes to make eye contact with the equally chocolate irises of his guest. He didn’t hide his surprise, realizing that it was the same boy he had just seen. He was approaching the table of a group of much friendlier people a moment ago with such bravado. Grégorie took off his headphones, cursing them inwardly. They had failed in their task of scaring off any people eager to talk. Next time, he would bring a large banner, announcing that he expected peace and privacy.
He wondered what made the boy change his mind about the table. The student standing in front of him looked like he was pulled straight out of pathetic romantic movies. Probably he would play the admirer who had more women than boxes of condoms hidden in the closet (so his mom or official girlfriend wouldn’t find them). It was hard to believe that he, just like that, decided to sit next to Grégorie. He sent another glance in the direction of the loudly discussing group. Perhaps it was a bet? They had been wondering who this strange new boy was, and the admirer-from-cheesy-films, who wasn’t afraid of any risks, had decided to volunteer. Now he came up here, probably waiting for the best moment to ask what cult Grégorie belonged to. The boy put on an uncertain face (maybe to gain his trust? - then, an unpleasant remark would be more painful). Grégorie didn’t expect anything from him but great acting, but the nervousness hiding in the corners of his smile was so convincing that it couldn’t have been a bluff. Grégorie ostentatiously let out a breath.
The boy (without taking his eyes off him) asked if he could sit down. Grégorie knew it was a courtesy question, but he was in such a cranky mood that he couldn’t help but give a sarcastic remark. “No, my invisible friends are sitting here. This is Adelaide,” he turned his gaze towards the nothingness sitting next to him. “She’s kinda shy.” He stuck his brown eyes on the really-nervous-admirer expecting him to rush back to his group. However, the man had already decided to set the tray on Grégorie’s table. And that meant only one thing. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Grégorie smiled reluclantly. “No, of course not. It’s free, as you can see.” He wrestled within himself not to put on his headphones and sink back into the music. His innate kindness forbade it, and for the first time, he wished he hadn’t been brought up in the teachings of good behavior. Fortunately, no politeness prevented him from being silent. He did not speak up or encourage his new “friend” to talk. He concentrated on his food, trying with all his might not to look at the rather-handsome-if-he-was-being-sincere admirer.
@ethereal ~ Garçon & Valentina (mentioned)
@eunoia ~ Ariadne (mentioned)
Ahhh, thank you! No, worries, I can wait! AHHHH YOUR POST WAS AMAZING LIKE WOWOWOWOWOWOWO! SO BEAUTIFUL, AHHH
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰ * ⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰ * ⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰