A few days after Gaston avoided him, Jacques decided to go check the school again. Maybe his best and only friend just was unwell. Sometimes, even the petite crêpe wanted to be alone when he was sick. It was November and really freezing outside but he didn't mind. He had to know. He put his small frostbit hands on the window's rim and tried to stand up on his toes. He glanced over the classroom but saw no sign of Gaston.

"C'est pas vrai, you're still here?" The schoolmaster told him off.

Jacques flinched and let out a small squeal. He hadn't noticed him.

"Haha! Look Tom, Le bouseux is here again!" one of the boys said to his classmate. If Jacques remembered correctly, his name was Didier but the other kids called him Dick.

"Go away, raclure de sabot! Reading is too complicated for ya!" Tom added.

"Yeah, go back making out with your chickens!" Dick mocked. Now Jacques knew the origin of this nickname.

He slowly lifted his head to meet the flaring eyes of the schoolmaster. This man looked scary, Jacques thought. Although he was about to cry and run away, he held back his tears and cowardice and stammered:

"Do… do you know where… G-Gaston is?"

"I d-don't know." The teacher mockingly answered before the whole class burst into a loud laughter. "Quiet, petits vauriens!" He roared even if he refrained to laugh himself. "Get out of here, load of cow's shit. This is not a place for ignorant peasants like you." He spat out right into Jacques' eyes.

Not crying felt more difficult.

"B-but… what about Gaston?" The shivering little pancake tried one last time in a sad squeaky voice.

"Who cares about that stupid jerk?" One boy blurted out.

"Yeah, he never learns shit! All he wants is hunting!" Another complained.

"Or bang you filthy little butt!" Tom nastily implied.

"Or have you in his!" Dick added.

"I said quiet, you load of nasty bastards!" The master ordered before he slapped them with his wooden ruler. Then he turned back at Jacques. "You heard them, little piece of goose dung? Your dear block-head is not here, so fuck off!" He yelled as he punched the little boy out.

Jacques screamed and harshly fell in the icy mud. As he staggered up, Jacques could hear the class laugh at him wholeheartedly. Also his cheek started to hurt really badly. He began to sniff and wipe his itchy eyes. He wanted to go home.

Gaston, where are you? Why don't you come defending me?

But then he remembered there was one more place he could check. Gaston's father's house. This was the only place his beloved could be. Yet, Jacques feared it. This house and Monsieur Duhamel gave him the coldest sweats even if he didn't know why. He just didn't like them. But inside this place he disliked may be someone he liked. He gathered up all the bravery he held in his soft heart and dared to knock at the door. Three little faint knocks.

"Yeah, who is it?" Duhamel opened. "Who is it?" He repeated as he didn't notice his visitor was a small 4 feet child. Then he looked down. And slammed the door in the petite crêpe's face. Jacques felt like the wind just gave him a good slap.

"W-wait! I came to see Gaston! Is… is he well?"

"Fuck off, bratty fiend!" Duhamel answered with his strong voice from behind the door.

"B-but…" Jacques trembled again as fresh tears threatened to run over his burning cheeks. Why did everyone hate him? What wrong did he do?

"He's not well, and it's your entire fault, you stinky piece of trash! Seems you're dirty in the inside as well! You've forced some sinful and yucky ideas into my son's brain! And when he comes back, he won't see you ever again! Not like he ever wanted to in the first place…" Duhamel angrily ranted.

What? Gaston never wanted to see him? That's what the schoolboys told him too. But then, why did Gaston keep hugging him? Why did he kiss him? Was Jacques somehow forcing him to do it? Was everyone else right? Gaston had no interest in being friends with him and just hanged with him for lack of someone better? Was Gaston… playing with his feelings just not to be alone? Will he let him down when he gets proper friends? And "when he comes back"? That meant he even had left the village? So he wouldn't have to see him again?

That was too much for the small pancake's fragile heart. He burst into bitter tears and ran back at home sobbing loudly. Gaston was his light, his hero, his god… and he hated him! He hated him!

As for the latter, he was meeting new friends indeed. But the kind of friends who makes useless having enemies.

Nom de Dieu, it was fucking freezing in this repellent cell. Even though there was sunlight outside, it looked like it didn't want to shed into the Maison's basement floor. Which day was it? Tuesday? Saturday? Gaston didn't remember. But the bitter cold that paralyzed him in a sitting position reminded him it was winter. Constantly rubbing his frozen arms and shoulders was of no help. He also recalled the remains of earth-stained snow when his father sent him here. Bordel, why didn't they even give him clean clothes? He had the choice only between his sullied wet clothes or a rough and smelly burlap -but dry- robe. He picked that one. He hoped the strong smell that assaulted his nostrils could at least keep his attacker away. But it seemed the guy was used to it. Or worse, maybe he liked it! How many times has he already… sullied him? Gaston saw him with horror unlock the cell door.

"Rise and shine, little one!" He giggled. "Time for your breakfast."

Yeah. Breakfast. Some porridge-like mush with a dubious taste. Probably the waste of the upper floors' meals. Gaston received it right into his left eye without flinching. He already was used to the guards' tender considerations. He scooped it and ate what he could under the lurking eyes of Eudes.

In addition of being a gross pervert, he had a stupid name. Gaston once had heard his mates call him like that. Sounded like œufs with an added d. It made no sense. Just like his too strong 'affection' for boys. And it daily reminded Gaston how his father used to force him to eat dozens of raw eggs every morning in order to make him a real man's body. If he threw up, Duhamel also forced him to swallow it back. He felt like he was going to be stuck with all these eggs stories forever.

As for Eudes, surely he was at the Maison des Lunes for sodomy acts too. But unlike Gaston, Eudes was on the commanding side. He almost had the right of life and death over the… 'patients'.

"Now, as for the dessert…" He began.

The frozen boy knew what it meant.

C'est pas vrai: I can't believe it

Le bouseux: full of cow's dung, a serious insult for farmers and people from the country in general

raclure de sabot: scrape of hooves

petits vauriens: little scumbags

Nom de Dieu: holy shit, for God's sake

Bordel: fuck

Eudes: rare French first name, je m'excuse par avance si vous vous appelez Eudes.

œufs: eggs