Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

Jeanne hadn’t thrown herself around my neck but she didn’t kick me out either. She probably wasn’t in the right mindset to deal with my presence at the moment, and I knew I was taking some kind of advantage of the situation. But even if I wasn’t too proud of myself I was there like I needed to be, and I was going to learn everything about what she had been working for so long, not just loose paragraphs while falling asleep. Perhaps I was even going to learn the reason why she started to write her own Fan Fiction. It wasn’t the core of the matter, but it had to do something with it, since it was the same subject. I might have been only the object but the dreaming was all about me.

Once I got inside the lecture theatre I sat as near as Jeanne’s desk as I could. Because the disposition of the seats was as an auditorium I was able to look at the faces of the people who were in front row as I was; Anne next to Mara and Maurice, and Lolo and Julie, to my left; my interpreter, Alicia and Pat, to my right. Jeanne checked that her laptop was properly connected to the projector and sat down without even turning towards me once. In front of us, over a short stage, there was a large desk where the examining committee was sitting. I assumed that the man in the middle was the main examiner. Guillaume was at his left, almost facing Jeanne and me, and two more men were on the opposite side. None of them was dashing as Guillaume, neither so young. Somehow I started to fear he could be some sort of academic prodigy.

French people talking amongst them had rapidly transformed into a living nightmare. If I didn’t normally get the language, well, then there was no chance, especially with the men. They spoke with such harsh and thick accents. For moments it seemed they were only making noises. I couldn’t even try to imagine what they were saying. With Jeanne it was slightly different though. She wasn’t in a rush. As always and with everything, she had that amazing ability to set her own pace, and her voice and manners were so deliciously sensuous I wasn’t in a position to prevent myself from staring at her. The way she moved around her desk and touched things, as if she had everything under control, was simply mesmerising. When the questions began and her explanations arrived I felt the nerves growing on me as if he was the examinee, but she just kept it relaxed and even seemed to enjoy the ride. All eyes were on Jeanne, and other people’s attention made her look even more captivating.

Jeanne talked, talked and talked, mainly explaining a hundred of tables and charts she was projecting over a screen. Tables about traits of female characters, about the most usual male features, about structures of the plots and the most cliché twists. She had analysed thousands of stories and searched for the similarities to establish certain categories. I had read plenty and what she was observing made all the sense. It was funny though, because all of what Stan said at the beginning of our own research was sort of there, although Jeanne was actually managing to demonstrate it. There was a main way to write Fan Fiction, a series of features that seemed to appear in every one of them.

After the description, the proper analysis started, where Jeanne pointed out romance as the main vehicle for the action, even when it involved the most unusual characters. To what kind of conclusion did I have to come to? That after all these years working my ass off I was still primarily an object to romantic fantasies? Shouldn't I expect a bit of recognition for myself beyond the fact that I was good looking? Because beauty is temporary, this isn’t the Roman Empire, and I’m no Antinous. With the fickleness of these days, good looks wouldn’t be enough to stand the test of time… One day they love you and the next day you’re old story. But I didn’t want to be ephemeral as an orchid. I wanted to be meaningful, to say something. Would somebody even be listening if I hadn’t the right looks? To make things more strange it seemed I was almost never portrayed as a complex individual but as a huge stereotype, mainly as an excuse for other people to meet their own dreams. Did this happen to other famous people or was it just me? Somehow it led me to think my Fan Fiction was not really about me, but about the people who were actually dreaming.

I wondered if Jeanne herself participated to some extent of the same tendency. I mean, she talked about being attracted to my image before, when she went through Tumblr during her research, and sure she told me she found me hot and cute, but nothing beyond that. And then there was everything related to Antinous’ statue. She subconsciously liked me because I resembled him. That was highly suspicious. Statues might be beautiful, but they don’t speak… How troubling was that? Did she prefer me when I was still? Because she never really talked about being attracted to me as a human being even after we met, and she mended some traits of my character in her writing… On the other hand she knew how much of a self-centred and jealous person I was, and she didn’t shut up when the issue came up. She obviously had the hots for me, but was it something more to that? Could it be possible that all we had was based on mere appearances? I was lost in those thoughts when a change of attitude in the main examiner took me down from my cloud.

“Maintenant, Mademoiselle Mars, je voudrais que vous parliez un peu de ce texte mentionné au notes de bas de page, celui qui n’a pas fait partie de la recherche…” He mumbled grumpily. While he was gesturing to read from a paper he had in front of him Jeanne lifted her hand as asking him to stop. Something in her disturbed me. All the coolness seemed to be suddenly gone. The man lightly cleared his throat, looking at her inquiringly, and pulled his glasses down. “Avez-vous réussi à déterminer si l’auteur est une jeune fille ?–––he carried on. Est-ce-que vous avez trouvée d’autre textes avec des caractéristiques similaires ? Pé…” Jeanne frantically gesticulated again, straightening on her chair. “Ab…” She cut him off with a gesture for the third time. I hadn’t the slightest idea of what he was talking about, but Jeanne’s eyes had widened. She squirmed and flashed a quick glimpse around.

“Ne traduisait pas,” she rushed to speak to my interpreter with a shaky voice, finally turning towards us. She seemed flustered but looked back at the examining committee anyway, trying to recompose herself. “Je voudrais bien que par déférence à Monsieur Styles, ici present, nous changions le sujet. Comme vous avait bien remarqué, ceci ne prend pas partie de ma recherche,” she claimed, grasping the desk, visibly tensed up.

“Mais c’est un sujet important–––the man stated severely–––un petit garçon ab…”

“Non, mais c’est testimonial,” Jeanne interrupted him almost in a groan, her fingers on her forehead. What the hell was happening? Everybody seemed uncomfortable. “S’il vous plaît, ne traduisait guère–––she nervously talked to my interpreter again. Il pourrait avoir des effets négatifs sur Monsieur Styles.”

“What’s going on?” I asked him quietly, quite confused by the whole situation.

“She doesn’t want me to translate what they’re saying…” He answered while holding her gaze.

“Jeanne?” I turned towards her, puzzled.

“I’m sorry…” She murmured to me, glimpsing down.

“Is it about Larry?–––I said softly, leaning forward. Because if it is, I’m OK with it, Jeanne,” I told her reassuringly, but she looked torn. I started to panic. I didn’t want to ruin her viva voce. I could never forgive myself.

“Je vous en pris…” Jeanne mouthed, shaking her head ‘no.’ God, she was so frustrating. I’m a grown man. I could manage anything, even Larry. Couldn’t I?

“Just translate,” I curtly groaned at him, but fixed on her eyes. The entire audience was staring at our little number.

“I’m sorry but I won’t,” the interpreter lowly stated. Sure, she was the babe in the man suit. “I can leave if you want to.” I twisted my mouth, annoyed.

“No, it’s fine,” I muttered, clasping my hands together over my lap. What was that all about? And why did they all seem so worried? I glanced at Lolo and he just looked away from me, then at Anne and she nodded as asking me for patience. I finally looked at Alicia, and she just shook her head ‘no.’ What were they trying to do? When I returned my attention to Jeanne I noticed their quiet argument was still on. I listened carefully trying to understand something. My French should have been better by then.

“Non, je ne voudrais pas approfondir dans la question–––Jeanne asserted, a bit angry. Ce n’est pas partie de ma thèse. Et surtout je ne veux pas qu’il comprenne.” The main examiner insisted and Jeanne seemed to become even more nervous and interrupted him. “Non, je refuse de parler.” They all kept going now and Jeanne cut them off. “Mais non. Je ne vais pas parler du sujet. Il va comprendre. Regardez-le! Il n’est qu’un garçon–––she gestured towards me quite dramatically and just her tone and knowing she was speaking of me were enough to make my heart break. Il ne pourrait pas se charger de ça…” Her eyes were so sad when they locked with mine I couldn’t help but glimpse down. I hated myself for not understanding a single word. Anxiousness grew bigger in the pit of my belly. It was like she told me; I shouldn’t be there…

“Mademoiselle Mars, soyez prudente…” The main told her threateningly. As I was timidly scanning the faces of the examining committee, I caught a glimpse of Guillaume glaring at me, arms tightly crossed over his chest. “Voulez-vous mettre en danger les félicitations du jury? Répondez, s’il-vous-plaît.”

“Non, mais je m’en fous de vos félicitations et du doctorat,” Jeanne claimed through gritted teeth, standing up, and walked towards the door, leaving us all shocked.

At that moment, Guillaume stood up himself and almost ran behind her. He grabbed her by the wrist, making her turn around. She looked at him and they started to murmur things to one another quite passionately. Jeanne was frowning in a way I had never seen before. He was trying to talk her down, but suddenly cupped her cheek around his hand. A sudden rush of heat washed me over and I gulped, squirming in my chair. It felt like a punch in the stomach, but I couldn’t look away. Jeanne quickly glimpsed at me and then down, while he just cupped her other cheek, and I just hated it. My blood boiled through my veins. She brought her gaze back to him as he kept whispering soothingly, talking so near her face. Jeanne nodded, but seemed unsure. Guillaume finally let go of her and she walked back to her desk in a grumpy expression, as he did the same. He sat down exhaling loudly and turned towards the members of the examining committee. After a brief talk they seemed to understand what the point was. The rest of the audience was as holding their breath. What the hell was that all about? And what had just happened between Jeanne and her director? I shook, distraught, rubbing my mouth with both hands. Did they have something going on? I remembered how she told me once there was nothing between them, but that was months ago… Could it be possible? Were they fucking?

–.–.–

Notes

About this chapter:

1) If you don't speak French, it really doesn't matter because Harry has told you the most important part, everybody's reactions. If I'd have to translate just one sentence though it is 'I don't give a damn about honours and the PhD.' They are asking about a story Jeanne doesn't want to talk about in front of Harry. I know what I have in mind when I think of one story Harry should never learn about, but it is too heavy to impose it to you, so you just fill the blank with the heaviest you have crossed over the internet. I'm against censorship, but some things should never leave people's minds.

2) There is something on what Harry has to work a lot in this story, mentioned from the very beginning, his focus. Enough said.

3) Chapters to come will bring answers but also more chaos. Judging based on Harry's criteria is not a good idea. Don't quit just now.

This is one of the hardest chapters I've written so far. I trust for you to read between and beyond the lines. I'd love to know your opinions and even your doubts. If we get enough comments I'll update the second part this weekend. God, I'm so freaking nervous right now. Thank you so much for reading, voting and commenting. Love you all <3