Matthew William Jones fixed the thin framed glasses on his nose as he studied the spines of the collection of French History books. There weren’t many to his dismay, but what was laid in front of him was a good enough…or so he genuinely hoped.
With Alfred and Matthew arriving in the middle of the year, there obviously was some adjusting in workload that needed to be done. Matthew had gone to see his French teacher as soon as he and Alfred had set up their dormitory. Madame Delafenetre had been impressed by the blonde’s already-extensive knowledge in the romantic language, and allowed him to just have a head-start in the next assignment, which would focus on an essay about French history written in the language itself. He had decided to choose the post-WWII France because it was plus that the Second World War had been taught back at home.
Going on the tips of his toes, Matthew reached up for the thickest book available. Unbeknownst to him, a certain French student had just walked by to see the new face reaching for a book about his motherland.
“Do you need help, baby?” Francis Bonnefoy cooed. It had meant to be a playful tone, suspecting the new student to be completely ignorant to the language.
Matthew turned his head to see where the voice was coming from. He widened at the sight of the tall, and well-built student who was currently leaning on arm smirking. He tipped the spine of the book to allow it to fall into his hands and gave Francis a nervous smile.
“No, I think I’m good. Thanks for the offer,baby.”
Francis gasped quietly. “You speak French, dear?”
“Well, I’m speaking what you’re speaking.”
“New student?”
“Yes. Just transferred,” Matthew said proudly. He stuck out his hand.
“Matthew Jones.”
“Francis Bonnefoy.”
“Senior?”
“Non, junior. You too?”
“I’m actually a sophomore. Majoring in Romance Languages and History. Arts, you know.” Matthew said.
Somewhere in their introduction, the two blondes had ended up walking side by side together. Matthew realized this when he found himself the library check out, digging for his student ID in his Roots backpack. Francis leaned against the check out desk, mindlessly twirling a finger in Matthew’s hair.
A soft blush ran over the tips of Matthew’s nose and upper cheeks. Matthew handed over his ID to the librarian and gave Francis a once-over.
It was nice to be centre of someone’s attention for once.
Sure, Matthew loved his brother- he was family. In a way, Alfred was his best friend, and vice versa. But when it came to the public, everyone noticed Alfred. Seeing Matthew beside an Alfred was the equivalent of seeing Alfred’s shadow. No one really paid attention to it. Otherwise, Matthew was a replacement for Alfred. Now this ‘Francis’ character was looking at Matthew with interest. It wasn’t Francis looking at Alfred (like that Brit earlier), and he didn’t even know of Alfred.
It felt nice.
A surge of confidence ran through Matthew’s veins.
“You want to have dinner together? I’m new here so-“
“Say no more, dear.” Francis winked. The junior plucked a Post-It note from the desk and scribbled his dorm number.
Matthew widened his eyes. That had worked?
“My cooking is far more superior than the McDonalds littered all around campus.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Lovers at Second Glances 3/ ?
(Anonymous) 2012-12-26 03:53 am (UTC)(link)Matthew William Jones fixed the thin framed glasses on his nose as he studied the spines of the collection of French History books. There weren’t many to his dismay, but what was laid in front of him was a good enough…or so he genuinely hoped.
With Alfred and Matthew arriving in the middle of the year, there obviously was some adjusting in workload that needed to be done. Matthew had gone to see his French teacher as soon as he and Alfred had set up their dormitory. Madame Delafenetre had been impressed by the blonde’s already-extensive knowledge in the romantic language, and allowed him to just have a head-start in the next assignment, which would focus on an essay about French history written in the language itself. He had decided to choose the post-WWII France because it was plus that the Second World War had been taught back at home.
Going on the tips of his toes, Matthew reached up for the thickest book available. Unbeknownst to him, a certain French student had just walked by to see the new face reaching for a book about his motherland.
“Do you need help, baby?” Francis Bonnefoy cooed. It had meant to be a playful tone, suspecting the new student to be completely ignorant to the language.
Matthew turned his head to see where the voice was coming from. He widened at the sight of the tall, and well-built student who was currently leaning on arm smirking. He tipped the spine of the book to allow it to fall into his hands and gave Francis a nervous smile.
“No, I think I’m good. Thanks for the offer,baby.”
Francis gasped quietly. “You speak French, dear?”
“Well, I’m speaking what you’re speaking.”
“New student?”
“Yes. Just transferred,” Matthew said proudly. He stuck out his hand.
“Matthew Jones.”
“Francis Bonnefoy.”
“Senior?”
“Non, junior. You too?”
“I’m actually a sophomore. Majoring in Romance Languages and History. Arts, you know.” Matthew said.
Somewhere in their introduction, the two blondes had ended up walking side by side together. Matthew realized this when he found himself the library check out, digging for his student ID in his Roots backpack. Francis leaned against the check out desk, mindlessly twirling a finger in Matthew’s hair.
A soft blush ran over the tips of Matthew’s nose and upper cheeks.
Matthew handed over his ID to the librarian and gave Francis a once-over.
It was nice to be centre of someone’s attention for once.
Sure, Matthew loved his brother- he was family. In a way, Alfred was his best friend, and vice versa. But when it came to the public, everyone noticed Alfred. Seeing Matthew beside an Alfred was the equivalent of seeing Alfred’s shadow. No one really paid attention to it. Otherwise, Matthew was a replacement for Alfred. Now this ‘Francis’ character was looking at Matthew with interest. It wasn’t Francis looking at Alfred (like that Brit earlier), and he didn’t even know of Alfred.
It felt nice.
A surge of confidence ran through Matthew’s veins.
“You want to have dinner together? I’m new here so-“
“Say no more, dear.” Francis winked. The junior plucked a Post-It note from the desk and scribbled his dorm number.
Matthew widened his eyes. That had worked?
“My cooking is far more superior than the McDonalds littered all around campus.”