(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