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Howl would be in for a lovely surprise when he settled into the benches: the metal was full of the chill of the early-morning air, and it cut straight through the layer of green plaid he was wearing around his legs. As he started watching he would note that the Polecats had just started their warm-up run around the track, their breath puffing out in little plumes of mist like a gaggle of train-engines exchanging whistles, call-and-answer lines loud but mostly indecipherable at this distance.

The gangly figure of one Simon Ferris would be easy to spot: tall, dark and... clumsy, as he slipped gracelessly on a slick of mud and landed squarely on his face. A couple of other Polecats appeared to be more exasperated than concerned as they stopped to help him back to his feet, as if they were used to this sort of thing happening.

It didn't seem to interrupt the flow of the practice at all - right when the more obviously enthusiastic members of the team were done with their run they had started practicing little stunts, repeating cheers, seeming to compete on who could damage their vocal chords the most in the shortest amount of time given how loud some of them were getting. Simon, on the other hand, was characteristically hesitant; it seemed like it was very difficult to pull him into action given the pleading looks and gestures in his direction.

After a few moments of what might have been guilt-tripping, though, he backed up a few steps and began demonstrating some dance moves for a loosely-bunched group of teammates. It looked as though they'd been instructed to bring notepads and pens, and told to scribble down observations on the taller boy's display. He was surprisingly skillful.

The rest of the practice was pretty much several repetitions of the same thing: the boys shouted themselves hoarse while going over more stunts and tried to copy Simon's dance moves with varying degrees of success, and Simon had to be gently coaxed into every demonstration he gave, like someone dangling a tomato slice in front of a tortoise to get it to come out of its shell, except a fair bit more aggressive. It was more like the tomato slice was being shoved into the space the tortoise's head was trying to occupy.

By the time the whole session was over, a good half hour or so was still available before the cafeteria would start teeming with shuffling sleepy zombie-boys in pursuit of their breakfast. Simon looked more than ready to join their ranks as he began to saunter off the field, his posture nothing short of terrible and his expression positively downtrodden. As he walked he received a series of backslaps from about a third of the cheerleading team while they passed him by. He seemed used to this.

He wasn't, however, used to seeing Howl, and blinked in surprise at how there had not only been someone actually watching practice, but how it was that one boy from the gym class with the fencing moves. "Oh, hi..." he offered, giving a weak and unconvincing smile. "What are you doing all the way out here?

"Your r-roomate? Wow, are you serious?"

Simon looked initially surprised, then torn between being afraid and sympathetic. Franz's roomate... he couldn't imagine what that might be like. He had suddenly decided that Howl was either the most patient, psychologically stable man on the face of the earth, or just as crazy as his cheerleading captain in ways that hadn't quite become apparent during the short, rushed interactions they occasionally had during gym class. The boy had enough trouble handling the overenergetic blonde during these relatively short practice sessions - living with him was probably worlds more stressful.

A curious part of him wondered if Franz made a habit out of standing over Howl's bed, watching him sleep. He barely suppressed the shudder, but it was enough to make him to make him decide on sympathetic.

That was, until, one of the prettyboy's fingers jabbed at his spine. Simon squeaked, suddenly going rail-straight and stiff as a board. Howl was touching him, why did half the school suddenly want to touch him?! Was it too much to ask for his personal space to remain uninvaded for at least half a day? Whatever the case, he was obeying Howl's request, though he didn't look happy to be doing so. He looked more like a man whose pillowcase probably reeked of salt.

It was decidedly uncomfortable to be appraised in such a way. Not quite as uncomfortable as the manhandling he'd been subjected to in the library, but he still felt a little bit violated being given a once-over on his posture. The mini-lecture Howl gave him didn't help him much - his brow furrowed a bit at being referred to as "my dear" by a classmate. He liked to think he wasn't on such close terms with Howl.

The boy had no confidence, and zero desire to be intimidating to anyone, but he just nodded, working his jaw a bit and allowing his posture to relax to a slightly more self-conscious version of how he had been standing before.

"He's been talking about me?" Simon asked nervously, wringing at a wrist with the other hand, a nervous habit he displayed once in a while. It was fair to assume that Franz probably talked about the Polecats, and ultimately Simon, to any friends of his who cared to listen, but... god dammit, it was still creepy.

In truth, it wasn't that Howl was intimidating to Simon, but that Simon was intimidated by everyone. Intention wasn't going to have an effect on that, not now, not ever. He was just a nervous guy. Reading him as being such wasn't really anything unusual.

However, feeling Howl's eyes scrutinize him like that was, and it was putting him on a bit of an edge that didn't ease away upon taking a seat on the icy slab of metal the other student offered. There he continued fidgeting, looking a mixture of affronted and guilty at the review of his practice session he was getting, briefly chewing on his lip as he tried to think of something to say - or, at least, something that wouldn't be depressive and potentially harm Howl's mood.

"I..." he started, and faltered, and hesitated, then raised his head back up to try again. "I guess I'm n-n-not the kind of person who l-likes showing off..."

"W-well..." Simon started, and his pause to collect his thoughts was just enough time for Howl to eloquently and effectively spell them out for him. He responded with a quiet nod, momentarily pushing aside his fidgeting in favor of loosely folding his hands over his lap. Even in a sitting position he slouched terribly.

"A fencing team?" he parroted, sounding genuinely interested - though, in all honesty, that was at least in part due to how this part of the conversation provided a window from which he could escape more discussion about himself. "That's right, you did those moves in gym class... I didn't know anyone else in the school even liked fencing -- sorry, not that it's uncool or anything, it's just... you know, rare."

Simon gave a small, appreciative laugh at the compliment, but it was accompanied by a furrowed brow and a slight grimace. He clearly wasn't convinced he was well-fitted for this or any sport.

His expression relaxed a bit as Howl went on, drawing up into something sympathetic as the fencer lamented on the general lack of success he was seeing for his team. Simon couldn't help but feel a little bad; he'd avoided talking about a subject that was stressful him only to make Howl talk about something that caused him frustration. This was just a bad mood morning all around.

"N-no, you're not boring me at all," the reluctant cheerleader assured, shaking his head to emphasize. "I'm sorry to hear things aren't going so well... but... well, I dunno, don't they say it's good to go back to the basics once in a while? There's a chance you could learn something from having to teach... or something. Maybe."