Yessssssssssss. ^____________^ OK, so we’ve discussed this many times before but Enjolras/Feuilly is definitely a ‘10′ ship for me (maybe an ‘11′ by now? XD). ^_^ They’re just too adorable because they respect and admire each other SO MUCH and can you imagine how good they’d be for each other? I mean, they both suck at self-care because they get too wrapped up in their causes, but they’d be SO GOOD at taking care of each other. *_*
But it took them a long time to get there.
They have such a slow courtship. Seriously. SO. SLOW.
When they first met, Feuilly was very closed off emotionally. He was passionate, sure, but he didn’t open up about himself much. He was quick to take up a cause, but slow to let anyone else in. He’d lost too much in his life and he’d been hurt too often and it had turned him shy of making new friendships. And he’d been so focused on getting out and doing better for himself that romance just never seemed to be in the cards.
Enjolras, OTOH, was an open book… he’d just never really thought about dating much.
There were always other things
which took precedence – school, friends, injustice. Who had time for
If pressed he’d have
said that he was asexual and aromantic, since a history of a lack of interest must mean something, right?
But when he meets Feuilly, they just *click*.
Pfft. No, they don’t.
(More behind the cut because this is getting long and turning into a mini-fic, good grief. O_o;;;)
(I was starting to get skeptical that I’d have time to write a full fic for @lesmisrarepairs, so I had to at least do this for one of my favorite rare pairs. ^_^ So… photoset and a snippet?)
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You want me to spend Thanksgiving Break at the Cape… with you. Just… you and me. No one else. Did I hear that right?”
Enjolras swallowed hard against the feeling of nervous laughter doing its best to claw its way up his throat. He’d blurted out the offer without letting it stop at his brain on the way to his mouth, without even considering how it would look from the other side of this conversation. Feuilly was a freshman. Enjolras was a first year law student. They’d barely known each other three months, for all that they’d clicked as easily as Enjolras had with Combeferre four years prior—something that Enjolras hadn’t been able to say of anyone else, not even Courfeyrac.
Enjolras had no idea what Feuilly usually did with his time at the holidays, if there was a foster family that still had enough space for him in their hearts to willingly take him in, if there were friends who’d already asked, if he even celebrated Thanksgiving, at all. What Enjolras did know was that he, himself, had a loving family, a host of good friends, and more than his own fair share of invitations for the break… and how selfish was he to throw it all away on what must look like a whim?
Oh *gosh*, Enjolras had to say something. Offer an explanation. Make an excuse. Something about Alpha-Beta-Kappa? Maybe say that he was inviting everyone on the current board? *Anything.* Anything to get that look off of Feuilly’s face. Anything to make this look less like what it must look like—a graduate student taking advantage of a freshman’s admiration, because that was what it must look like, right?
But before Enjolras even had a chance, the bemused look on Feuilly’s face eased, that small frown inverted into an even smaller smile and his entire posture softened. Feuilly took a step closer, easing into Enjolras’ personal space as though he’d belonged there all along. Enjolras’ breath stuttered and froze in his throat, his eyes going wide as Feuilly took his hand and entwined their fingers together.
Feuilly’s smile widened, and, as easily as that, Enjolras could breathe, again.
“Enjolras… I’d be delighted.”
(…more to come if I have time between now and Saturday? -.-;;;)
Les Mis Modern Aesthetic, Jean Prouvaire
He loved to saunter through fields of wild oats and corn-flowers, and busied himself with clouds nearly as much as with events. His mind had two attitudes, one on the side towards man, the other on that towards God; he studied or he contemplated. All day long, he buried himself in social questions, salary, capital, credit, marriage, religion, liberty of thought, education, penal servitude, poverty, association, property, production and sharing, the enigma of this lower world which covers the human ant-hill with darkness; and at night, he gazed upon the planets, those enormous beings. Like Enjolras, he was wealthy and an only son. He spoke softly, bowed his head, lowered his eyes, smiled with embarrassment, dressed badly, had an awkward air, blushed at a mere nothing, and was very timid. Yet he was intrepid.
Les Miserables, Victor Hugo, 3.4.1
Face Claim: Willy Cartier
(Thanks @thecoffeetragedy, for planting the idea in my mind of him as a fc for Jehan! GOOD CALL.)
Les Mis Modern Aesthetic, Musichetta
“And you, Jolllly, where do you stand in your entanglement with Mamselle—you know whom I mean?”
“She sulks at me with cruel patience.”
“Yet you are a lover to soften the heart with gauntness.”
“In your place, I would let her alone.”
“That is easy enough to say.”
“And to do. Is not her name Musichetta?”
“Yes. Ah! my poor Bahorel, she is a superb girl, very literary, with tiny feet, little hands, she dresses well, and is white and dimpled, with the eyes of a fortune-teller. I am wild over her.”
Les Miserables, Victor Hugo, 3.4.4
Face Claim: Kate Menson
Les Mis Modern Aesthetic, Feuilly
It takes them a while to get their garden started, between moving and
Feuilly starting her new job – but Bahorel, in a slower moment, decides
to try out some things – he has time, and he remembers that kind of
stuff from growing up in the country – looks simple enough, right?
Flowers, herbs, that kind of stuff.
Feuilly doesn’t notice right away, but when she does she’s delighted. And promises to help him, as soon as she’s done grading these tests, she promises.
morning, Bahorel wakes up in their bed, and Feuilly’s side is empty.
Not too worrying, as she’s pretty much always up before him. But she’s
not in the kitchen either, and when Bahorel looks in the window, he sees
her, wearing sweats and an old college tshirt and the largest straw hat
they own, making a little corner for tomatos.
Face Claim: Coralie Jouhier
Inspired by Ve’s Country House ‘verse (can be found here and here), because it’s one of my go-to happy places and I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and @unhooking-the-stars‘ Feuilly design. ^_^
Oops. Sorry, @kingesstropolis, this ran away with me a little. ;D
If anyone else wants to send prompts, feel free!
Jehan paused in the hallway, poised to open the door to his room. That noise… Turning away from his own door, he edged down the hall towards Grantaire’s. As he edged closer, the sound of someone softly sobbing became unmistakable. He hesitated, torn between the need to help and the need to leave Grantaire his privacy, but in the end, he knocked quietly on the door.
The sounds of crying immediately ceased.
Not to be put off by Grantaire playing turtle, Jehan knocked again. “R… I know you’re in there. I can hear you. Is everything all right?”
A creak of bedsprings then, and a quickly muffled curse. Jehan waited, heart in his throat, for Grantaire’s answer. Grantaire’s voice, when it finally came, was thick with those tears that had stopped so precipitously upon Jehan’s knock. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fi—“
A rise in pitch now, a hint of frantic desperation around the edges. “Really, Jehan, I’m fine. Just… it’s nothing, OK?”
Not one to be deterred, especially when he hadn’t been asked to leave, Jehan squared his shoulders. “I’m coming in, R. If you don’t want me there, now’s the time to get up and lock the door.” When a count of twenty had passed with no sounds of movement from inside Grantaire’s room, Jehan slowly pushed open the door. The sight that met his eyes was… not the one which had been expected.