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That was not the reaction he had expected. He had awaited the man to run away screaming, conveying to his group that Grégorie was f*cked up. It wouldn’t have been a bad reputation but the one that fate had marked on him, thanks to his name. Instead of taking to his heels, his new companion turned his head towards the nonexistent Adelaide and began flirting with her as if she were a living, capable of blushing girl. Grégorie almost smiled but quickly covered his mouth with his hand. Why should he send his “colleague” the misleading signals, that in fact, his company was not as uninteresting as he had thought?
“Gee, should I leave you two alone?” he muttered involuntarily. He bit his lip, having said it unnecessarily. Now the perfect stranger would think it was intriguing to talk to him, and his (already undoubtedly contrived ego) would grow even more.
Admittedly, this intrigue with his interlocutor did not last long. As soon as he turned his flirty eyes towards Grégorie, sending him a suggestively raised eyebrow (as if his disarming smile wasn’t enough), Grégorie lost his interest in him. The stranger now presented himself like those houses at Christmas, decorated for no apparent reason with lights, reindeers, baubles, and other trinkets. As if one decoration would not give a clear enough message. Grégorie experienced a mental vomiting reflex. He turned toward his food again, though he could still feel the eyes of the flirtatious walking-Christmas tree on him. The pasta seemed more engaging than the words spoken by an intrusive admirer from bad movies. That was until he introduced himself to him (which Grégorie did not ask for at all).
“My name is Garçon Fils Le Mec.” A piece of pasta lodged in the boy’s throat, causing an unexpected coughing fit. Grégorie quickly drank some of the water he had brought (he wouldn’t, after all, be buying it in the canteen for God knows how much if he still had some drink left from his trip). The name was so similar to… It was enough to change only a few letters, and it would…
Fate was playing a terrible trick on him now. As if the fact that his middle name was just like his was not a sufficient humiliation. However, one should not draw hasty conclusions. One should most simply ask the living-from-flirting Apollo.
“Are you the… Wait a second…” something else caught his attention. A matter of less pressing urgency but with a higher degree of preoccupation. “Does your name mean ‘guy’?” Grégorie turned an amused but indulgent glance in Garçon’s direction. He had always reacted with considerable opposition to naming children unconventional names like Snowflake or Cello. At least, though, they had something poetic about them, whereas the name ‘Guy’… it was just straight-up offensive. “My name is more normal, although it didn’t help me avoid kindergarten bullies. I’m Grégorie Leclair.” His mother’s last name. He didn’t want to admit the real one - the shameful, permanent tattoo on his fate.
Ahh, I loved the flirting - it was so clever! I LOVED IT SO MUCH! I HAVE TO REACT TO YOURS AS WELL (bookmarks it). Ah, thank you, thank you - I adored writing about them! I love you too! AHHHH YOUR POST WAS SO SO SO AMAZING! LIKE WOWOWOWO!
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Cafeteria 
