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His companion grasped his arm with concern (as if that would help stop the coughing attack). Grégorie felt awkward under his firm touch. Sadly, the sudden battle with the noodle stuck in his esophagus robbed him of the opportunity to protest. He expected that when the festival of grunts and snarls came to an end, Garçon would wash the darn grimace from his face and pull his hand off Grégorie’s shoulder. He did not, stating instead that he hoped Grégorie had not given up the ghost.
“Inside, I’ve been dead for a long time. But my physical shell is not yet gone from this world.” Grégorie confessed aloofly. He turned his eyes to the boy’s hand, which was still on his shoulder. “Did it get stuck, or what?” At this point, he wanted to get away from this place as quickly as possible. Or, at least, discourage this playboy from invading his privacy. The pasta was almost gone from his plate, which was now mostly covered in thick streaks of tomato sauce. His stomach was churned by the stress of his first day anyway - Grégorie wouldn’t be able to squeeze the rest of the dish into himself. Deep down, however, he knew that he couldn’t just go. His good upbringing (curse you, father, for the umpteenth time that day!) would not allow him to leave the table before Garçon had also eaten sufficiently. The handsome man’s gaze filtering him through and the cooling, almost untouched, pizza, were indications that Garçon was unlikely to get into eating. He had to be encouraged to do so. “I don’t know if you know, but food doesn’t stay warm forever. I know, I was also surprised by this unexpected, how peculiar suggestion!”
Finally, the guy-times-three decided to remove his hand. Grégorie, let out a barely perceptible breath of relief. He did not eliminate it from the boy’s sight but stretched it forward. Beforehand, however, Garçon reassured him that his parents just had a great sense of humor. Yes, destroying your child’s life by giving him an embarrassing name is truly the peak of comedy.
“Grégorie Leclair,” Garçon said his name as if he had just climaxed. Grégorie squirmed, hating himself for the comparison. “That’s quite a lovely name…I can’t understand why anyone would make fun of it.” Grégorie smiled almost imperceptibly at that statement. Perhaps if his real name was Leclair, no one would have called him a fool or a lackey - an errand boy. If his father hadn’t given him such a foolish name (pun intended), the boys wouldn’t have treated him as a potential toy for more… sticky activities. They said such a future was destined for him because of his old man’s doings, though that wasn’t entirely true. Any speculation about how Marcel LeFou would show his obedience to Gaston was just fables. Contrary to legend, his father’s name wasn’t Louie at all - though, the initials in the form of two L’s would perfectly reflect his lame life. Well, anyway, Grégorie preferred to believe that his padre wasn’t ever on his knees before his friend.
“But children can be pretty stupid, right?” Garçon continued. Grégorie merely nodded. “Anyways, it’s my pleasure to meet you, Grégorie,” he spoke his name again in an unnecessarily suggestive manner. The boy combed his hand through his curled hair. He could still feel that damned flirty smile on him and the piercing gaze he was running away from like some kind of sissy. Grégorie took Garçon’s behavior as a challenge that he now had to live up to. If he blushed or seemed intimidated by the pretty boy’s behavior - he would lose. With uncharacteristic confidence, he grasped his hand, smiling just as gallantly, though reluctantly. He stared into his dark eyes, almost oppressively, feeling that he was gaining the lead in this strange battle. He had no intention of giving the impression of being easy to get or shy in an oh-so-cute way. Gross.
He used this moment of silence between them to collect his thoughts. For there were too many of them for such a brain tiring day. The way Garçon addressed him, the way he looked at him relentlessly, and the slight twitch of his hand when he touched him. Something was confusing about it. Even if, by some odd chance, Grégorie had caught the cover boy’s attention, it seemed unlikely that he had made such a powerful impression on him. They must have met before. Grégorie did not know many people, yet he could not remember Garçon’s face from his childhood or teenage years. This task should not have been so demanding. There was no need to wrap his mind around it. Grégorie released his hand from the boy’s grasp and wiped it on his greenish pants. Without taking his eyes off Garçon’s affectionate eyes, he simply asked, “Do we know each other? I mean, have we met before?”
I LOVED YOUR POST LIKE OMG! AMAZING! I tried to match its wonderfulness but naaaah, my brain decided to work against me! Anyway, I hope you liked the post (and the shade I threw on the prequel, hehe)
Grégorie's outfit ~ he will change into his uniform after lunch (his uniform is in his closet or does he have to go somewhere to get it?)
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Cafeteria 
