𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭

twenty six

Delphine

I'm in the middle of my practice, fully immersed in the rhythm of my routine when I hear footsteps approaching. Just as I'm about to focus on my next move, that familiar voice cuts through the air.

"Delphine!" Francis calls, leaning against the barrier of the rink.

I roll my eyes without looking up. "Francis, va-t'en!"

("I'm busy!")

He laughs, undeterred by my irritation. "Pourquoi si sérieuse, ma chère soeur?" he says, crossing his arms and smirking.

("Why so serious, dear sister?")

"Parce que je suis en train de pratiquer!" I snap, my voice sharp as I try to ignore him.

("Because I'm practicing!")

"Je peux voir ça," he replies, gliding onto the ice with a confidence that annoys me.

("I can see that.")

I huff, turning my back to him as I continue my routine. I can feel him skating closer, and it just heightens my frustration. "Tu es toujours là pour me déranger. Je n'ai pas besoin de toi ici."

("You're always here to bother me. I don't need you here.")

"Mais tu m'aimes quand même, non?" he teases, making a mock-pout.

("But you still love me, don't you?")

"Cela reste à voir," I mutter, trying not to smile.

("That remains to be seen.")

He skates in a circle around me, clearly enjoying my annoyance. "Ne sois pas si sérieuse, Delphine," he urges, adopting a playful tone.

("Don't be so serious, Delphine.")

"Je le suis, et tu devrais être aussi," I retort, trying to keep my irritation intact.

("I am serious, and you should be too.")

"Mais la vie n'est pas si compliquée, tu sais?" he replies, flicking his hair back dramatically.

("But life isn't that complicated, you know?")

I glare at him. "Et pourtant tu es là à m'embêter," I point out, shaking my head.

("And yet you're here bothering me.")

"C'est parce que je t'aime," he says with a grin, which only makes me roll my eyes again.

("It's because I love you.")

"Je vais bien," I say, my tone softening slightly.

("I'm fine.")

"Alors pourquoi as-tu l'air si tendue?" he asks, tilting his head curiously.

("So why do you look so tense?")

"Parce que je ne veux pas que tu gâches ma pratique," I snap, exasperated.

("Because I don't want you to ruin my practice.")

"Mais je pourrais t'aider!" he insists, laughing.

("But I could help you!")

"Je n'ai pas besoin d'aide," I counter, crossing my arms defiantly.

("I don't need help.")

"D'accord, mais je pourrais toujours t'apprendre quelques astuces," he says, trying to sound serious.

("Okay, but I could still teach you some tricks.")

"Tu penses que tu es un expert maintenant?" I challenge, raising an eyebrow.

("You think you're an expert now?")

"Je suis toujours meilleur que toi," he boasts, puffing out his chest playfully.

("I'm always better than you.")

"Tu rêves!" I shoot back, unable to keep the smile off my face.

("You're dreaming!")

Francis chuckles, clearly enjoying our banter. "Allez, Delphine, je sais que tu m'aimes!"

("Come on, Delphine, you know you love me!")

I can't help but shake my head, a small smile breaking through. "Non, je t'assure que je n'aime pas ça," I retort, trying to sound serious.

("No, I assure you, I don't love that.")

"Tu es trop sérieuse!" he declares, gesturing widely.

("You're too serious!")

"Et toi, tu es insupportable!" I fire back, turning away to skate a little faster, trying to escape his relentless teasing.

He simply follows, clearly not ready to back down. "Mais je suis ton frère," he points out, skating alongside me effortlessly.

("But I'm your brother.")

"Et ça fait de toi un poids lourd," I quip, glancing at him with a smirk.

("And that makes you a burden.)

"Mais je suis un fardeau adorable," he laughs, pretending to pout again.

("But I'm an adorable burden.")

"Tu es insupportable!" I exclaim, shaking my head as I finally break into a laugh.

"Et tu aimes ça!" he counters, beaming with triumph.

("And you love it!")

I can't deny it. Despite his annoying antics, I wouldn't trade our banter for anything. Francis has this way of lightening my mood, even when I'm dead set on being serious.

As much as I pretend to be frustrated, I realize I wouldn't want to be anywhere else but here with him, even if it means enduring his teasing.

"Alors, quand est-ce que tu me laisses t'enseigner?" he asks, slowing down to match my pace.

("So when are you going to let me teach you?")

"Jamais!" I declare, grinning widely as I shake my head.

("Never!")

"On verra," he shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes.

("We'll see.")

As he walks away, I find myself smiling despite my best efforts to stay focused on practice. Maybe having him here isn't so bad after all.