#franpan

–

Kiku Honda keeps thinking about a nameless blond man with shining blue eyes. He keeps thinking about the way they reflect himself back at him, like glass.

Francis Bonnefoy keeps thinking of a nameless black haired man with eyes that pierced clean through him. He keeps thinking about the way they haunt him when he closes his eyes, bearing into his soul and withdrawing every tiny secret he hides there.

A man who fears love and a man who craves it in even the most painful forms, whose lives collide and unknowingly intertwine. A novel setting in a small world.

–

Their hands meet, reaching for the same book.

“Oh,” says Kiku, “sorry. You can- Oh.”

Their eyes alight with recognition.

“Hello, again,” Francis smiles, “were you going to get this?”

“Oh,” Kiku says again, eloquently, “no. I work here. I was just going to move it to its proper shelf. You can take it.”

Francis smiles that even smile. Kiku still cannot read him. It’s frustrating; he’s usually better than this.

“Thank you,” the blond says, prompting, and with a start, Kiku realizes he doesn’t have his name tag on.

“Honda,” he tells him, “Kiku Honda.”

“Mr. Honda,” he murmurs, thoughtfully, as though the words taste like sweets on his tongue.

–

(Dear Kiku Honda, the first letter reads, when Kiku finds it in the book return pile.

Fate is an odd and benevolent thing. I wonder if it intended for us to meet?)

–

“Are you going- Oh,” Francis blinks, pauses, and then starts again, “Mr. Honda.”

Kiku goes still, statue-like, lips slightly parted and eyes fixed on the blond.

“Francis,” the blond introduces himself, “Francis Bonnefoy. Apologies; I never did introduce myself, did I?”

“No,” Kiku cracks an almost smile, “not until now.”

Francis holds the cafe door open. “Third time’s the charm, I suppose.”

(Fate comes in fits and bursts, rearing its head when you least expect it.)

–

Kiku Honda is the man who fears love. He is afraid to trust, afraid to give someone his everything, and then be cut loose, as if there had been nothing to begin with. And maybe, he thinks, there hadn’t been. Perhaps he’ll only imagine it, and they’ll take pity until they find someone better.

So, yes, Kiku fears the idea of love. He’s rabbit hearted, fickle at best, and never firmly rooted in a meaningful relationship.

Francis Bonnefoy is the man who craves love. In any form he can find it, he springs, desperately. Relationships, friendships, friends with benefits, purely sexual relationships - he’s been through them all. They lose their touch, after a while, he concedes. He is afraid that he will never be loved as strongly as he loves. Most of the time, he thinks it’s something about him that drives others away, but he smiles and carries on, nonetheless.

So, yes, Francis craves the idea of love. He is unrelenting in his beliefs, but lately something in him sways, hesitating, wondering what am I doing?

(They both gave up on love until they met each other; they just weren’t aware of it yet.)

–

Francis visits the library more. Sometimes, he comes to read. Sometimes, he comes to sit and draw designs. Sometimes, Kiku Honda peers over his shoulder, smiles, greets him, and carries on with his job.

Francis watches him, sometimes, when Kiku’s back is turned. Inexplicably, they’re drawn into each other’s orbits.

“Kiku,” says the dark haired man, one day, “you can just call me Kiku. Mr. Honda seems… too formal.”

Francis tips his head. “Are we friends?” He asks.

Kiku isn’t sure. He doesn’t answer right away; Francis doesn’t push it. He merely smiles that even smile and asks if Kiku is going to get coffee later.

“It’s a date,” Francis says, then clears his throat, thinks better of his words, and says, “I’ll see you later, then.”

–

[KHonda is online. 3:14am.]

(3:15 AM) KHonda: Francis? Your profile says you’re still online.

(3:16 AM) Charmant_Charmant: I am.

(3:16 AM) KHonda: It’s unhealthy to be up this late, you know. You should take care of yourself.

(3:17 AM) Charmant_Charmant: You’re one to talk. Aren’t you always up this late?

(3:21 AM) KHonda: I suppose you’re right. It’s hypocritical of me. Apologies.

(3:22 AM) Charmant_Charmant: You’re still so formal. It’s been what, almost a year that we’ve known each other? You don’t have to apologize over trivial things, Kiku.

(3:24 AM) KHonda: Sorry.

(3:24 AM) KHonda: Oops.

(3:25 AM) Charmant_Charmant: I was thinking about that, actually. You’re on my mind a lot, lately. It’s almost been a year, but I still don’t know what we are.

(3:28 AM) Charmant_Charmant: Are we friends, Kiku? I would assume, normally, but you’re different somehow. I know you distinguish friendships from acquaintances or people you just talk to, in any case - like with Ludwig and Feliciano. They’re your friends. But people like Alfred are just people you talk to. You’ve never made it clear with me.

(KHonda is typing…)

[KHonda is offline. 3:36 AM.]

(3:36 AM) Charmant_Charmant: Good night, Kiku.

–

“I couldn’t think of the right words to explain it,” Kiku tells him, days later, when he chases him down on the street and stands, breathing hard, lips parts and face flushed. “You’re my friend. Of course, you’re my friend. But you’re not; you’re more important than that to me. I care about you, Francis, and that terrifies me.”

Francis is still, holding his gaze. They’re the only two on the sidewalk, despite the crowds parting around them.

–

Francis doesn’t know who figures it out first. All he knows is that the moment he realizes, he knows this was different, more distinctive. This is not the feeling he’d been chasing for a good part of his life, the high he’d ridden in empty promises and short relationships. This is something solid and sure, something he can stand on without trembling and face a hurricane and scream back.

([KHonda is online. 11:58 AM.]

[Charmant_Charmant is online. 11:59 AM.]

(12:00 PM) Charmant_Charmant: Meet me at the cafe.

(12:01 PM) KHonda: I’m on my way.)

And he runs.

–

“All I know,” Francis tells him, when he and Kiku crash and grapple for each other, grabbing forearms and shoulders, breathless and wide eyed and bright, “is that I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know if it’s love, or if it’s obsession, or fear, but I’m ready to find out.”

“Okay,” Kiku breathes, “okay.”

–

(Dear Kiku, read the note.

The idea that you can’t love someone unless you love yourself first is a lie. I never loved myself as I should have, but you - god, you, I loved so much that I forgot what hating myself felt like.)

–

In years to come, Kiku Honda will achieve his dream of becoming an author and Francis Bonnefoy will become a world famous designer. They’ll each live out their lives in a comfortable home, with pets and the love of their lives.

(It’s just that life works in ways that drives them apart and brings them together. Kiku will write a book about that - it will be his bestseller, a story about two boys who find each other, against all odds. The world, he’ll say, is a small place. He’ll tell the interviewers that destiny has a plan for everyone, and then he’ll share a knowing little smile with his husband, who sits disguised nearby, with a fond smile on his lips.

September comes and goes.

Science doesn’t typically have downtime, but when it does, no one fails to take advantage of it. There’s something tranquil about the autumn, even with the noisy background of the rest of the class. Outside, the trees are losing their leaves, and I watch as the wind swirls them away across the school’s courtyard. The sky is dark with the clouds of an oncoming storm, foreboding masses of darkness that creep slowly across the blue expanse above.

I’m not too concerned; I’ve always liked the rain. There’s something tranquil about it.