In response to Courfeyrac's softly uttered, "But I miss him," Enjolras merely tightened his hold and said, "I know... I miss him, too." (...take that however you like it. ^_~)
In response to Courfeyrac’s softly uttered, “But I miss him,“ Enjolras merely tightened his hold and said, "I know… I miss him, too.”
“When do you think he’ll come back?” Courfeyrac asked, resting his head against Enjolras’ shoulder. “Do you think he’ll ever come back?”
"Of course he will,” Enjolras assured him. “He lives here, after all.”
“But he’s been gone for so long,” Courfeyrac sighed. “What if he just never…?”
At that moment, they heard a key in the lock and the door opened. Combeferre walked inside, carrying two grocery bags and frowned at his friends. Curled up on the couch together, Courfeyrac and Enjolras made a miserable sight and he sighed, putting the bags down and crossing the room to check their temperatures.
“Do me a favour and never get sick at the same time again,” Combeferre muttered. “I can only deal with one of you pretending the world is ending at a time.”
OR what if you had Bahorel and Jehan together romantically and aro-ace Feuilly connected with them in some committed way that they stopped trying to find a definition for or explanation of but is definitely a Thing and they’re all in agreement on that. And so Feuilly doesn’t have romantic feelings for them (Bahorel does for him; Jehan doesn’t; it’s complicated; they’ve talked it out), but he loves them very deeply and he knows that it’s okay that his love for them is different … but sometimes he feels lesser, somehow, like he’s failing at what he’s supposed to do. Because not only does he not feel the same kind of attraction to them, but he doesn’t express any of his feelings in the same way, and when you’re a fairly reserved, unemotive person living in a house with Bahorel and Jehan it’s easy to start feeling broken again.
But Bahorel reassures him by pointing out that Feuilly listened to him complain for twenty minutes straight without once telling him to shut up, and that he makes sure to leave coffee for Jehan in the mornings when he’s out of the house before Jehan is up, and that when he has a free evening he always spends it downstairs in the living room, even if he’s just reading quietly, because he just likes to be around them, to be together even if they’re not actively doing something together. And it’s all these things–that constancy, that being there for them as much as he can–that are the way Feuilly shows love, and even if Feuilly doesn’t consciously realize he’s doing this stuff (he doesn’t), they see it and they know it means he loves them.
And then Jehan reassures him with this analogy about jellyfish and chemical reactions and also there’s space involved? And Feuilly has NO idea what it means–but Bahorel is equally bewildered. And that reminds Feuilly that he’s not the only one who sometimes doesn’t get the others in this little household of theirs.
Yeep. Good luck with that. I've got a gigunda stack waiting for me that I successfully put off until tomorrow. So in the interest of helping you do the same... telepathy, either e/R or E/C/C. Your pick because I'm feeling ambivalent this evening and (secretly) WANT BOTH... but don't want to be greedy. ^_^
i am coming to these tropes posts very late, for which i apologize…okay, i’m going to tell you about E/C/C and telepathy (or, well, just E/C, but it could become E/C/C). telepathic combeferre is actually something i’ve already thought about at length in my xavier’s school auverse!
I’m struggling to get something done myself. O_o;;; Maybe Marius doing something nice for Courfeyrac as a thank you for taking him in? Like cooking him dinner or something?
Whoops this turned out rather silly.
Marius gives a guilty start and instinctively moves to cover
his work as he hears Courfeyrac enter his apartments. Their apartments now, he supposes, but it will take more than a handful
of days for him to believe it.
Courfeyrac raises his eyebrows and Marius abandons his
futile attempt to hide his culinary efforts.
“Are you inviting guests for dinner?” asks Courfeyrac. “I
didn’t know you cooked.”
“I don’t,” says Marius morosely. “I had thought- I had
wanted-” He stops and glares at the meat he’s been cutting up as though it were
to blame for his present predicament. “You have been very kind to me. I thought
maybe I could do something in return. I made my own meals in the early days of
our acquaintance and I thought I could – I thought it would be easy to make dinner
“A kind thought,” says Courfeyrac. “And very practical. I
take it there were difficulties?”
Marius sighs deeply. “I don’t know how to do anything more
than apply heat. I went to the market, I bought meat as I always have, and it
only occurred to me once I’d returned that there’s more to a meal than that. I
don’t know the first thing about spices, even if I had any. I could barely
afford the meat most weeks, let alone anything with it. The only beast I’m fit
to cook for is a dog, or a man living like one.”
Courfeyrac pats him gently on the back. “Don’t be so distressed,
dear fellow. I was just coming back to ask if you wanted to dine with me at the
Café Voltaire tonight. Let me take you to dinner and let someone else worry
about the ways of spices and side-dishes.”
That feels a great deal like defeat. “Then I would be even
more in your debt,” Marius protests. “I am supposed to be balancing the
weights, not adding to them. There must be something
I can do for you.”
Courfeyrac makes a great show of thinking the matter over. “Perhaps
you ought to give me a kiss; it might transform me into a prince. Then I could oust
old Louis-Phillippe and become king myself. That would be an excellent favor.
My first act will be to abolish the monarchy. I will take the crown’s jewels
and sell them all to pay for schools and hospitals – excepting of course a
small portion which I will set aside to buy a comfortable townhome for my
accomplice, Marius Pontmercy, so that he may live as pleasantly as can be and
invite his old friend Citizen Courfeyrac over for dinner from time to time.”
Marius manages a weak smile. “The way things have been
going, I’m afraid my kiss is more likely to turn you into a fellow pauper. Then
we’d both be homeless.” He tries to sound as casual as Courfeyrac, tries to
make the word “kiss” have no more weight than any other. Courfeyrac will laugh
at him if he knows what sort of effect his suggestion has had on Marius.
“Ah well, better a pauper than a ‘de’,” says Courfeyrac
philosophically. “We can turn our coats into cloaks and proclaim ourselves a
pair of modern day Diogeneses. I would say a Crates and Hipparche, but I fear
that will take more than kissing. Still, either way we shall come out ahead,
philosopher, king, or both. I say we chance it.” He raises a single perfect
eyebrow in inquiry.
Marius can feel his ears turning red. It’s likely nothing to
Courfeyrac; he’s seen Courfeyrac kiss his friends in greeting and parting or mere
excitement at a well-chosen word or clever argument. But Marius has never had
friends he wished to kiss, not until he met Courfeyrac. And now…
Before his courage can fail him, he leans in and quickly
brushes his lips against Courfeyrac’s. He has the satisfaction of seeing
Courfeyrac blink in surprise as he pulls away.
“Well?” asks Marius, voice trembling only a little. “Have I
turned you into a prince or a pauper?”
Courfeyrac blinks once more, gives an almost imperceptible
shake of his head, and in another moment he seems his usual self again. “Neither
– you have transformed me into a sous-chef. An overlooked property of kisses, much
neglected by storytellers. You have provided the meat, I have my own stock of
spices, and between the two of us we can make a respectable showing. There is
only one problem remaining.”
“What’s that?” asks Marius,
“Why, you will have overpaid me – both dinner and a kiss
when I was only due one for the evening. You will have to let me pay you back before
we make out the receipts.”
Marius considers this. “I suppose you’re right,” he says with
mock solemnity. “I wouldn’t want to put you in a difficult position.”
“It would be quite ungentlemanly of you,” agrees Courfeyrac.
“Make your demands, Monsieur Pontmercy.”
“Well…” he says, slowly, “now that we know what happens when
I kiss you, perhaps we should see what happens when you kiss me.” He can’t
quite make himself look Courfeyrac in the eye and his face feels as though it’s
on fire, but the words are out and there’s no taking them back.
“How enterprising of you!” says Courfeyrac approvingly. “Of
course, if we want proper scientific results, we’ll have to try to replicate
them. Many times, I should imagine.”
“That’s the only responsible thing to do,” agrees Marius.
Then Courfeyrac is kissing him, and neither of them has
anything to say for a great while after.
I'm torn between asking you for your headcanons of what Les Amis do when they're sad or asking what they do on rainy, dreary days. So, take your pick? Or do both? Both is good, too. ;D
I can do both? today’s ot a sad day (for me), but it is rainy and dreary and well, I love angst. ;)
Enjolras, when sad, writes lists. Lists of why he loves what he does, lists of his hopes and dreams, lists of good things in the world, lists of what he admires about each of his friends… It helps him remember things and focus when his mind just feels like it’s flying everywhere in anxiety. Enjolras doesn’t really take notice of the weather, in general, and will frequently be found doing errands and walking around in a tshirt even when it’s cold and rainy. Leading to colds alarmingly often.
Combeferre is a stress baker, but also when he’s sad. He attempts his biggest baking projects when he’s especially upset. He once had a fight with Enjolras that really upset him, and he made croissants. Then cried a bit because croissants are Enjolras’ favourite. An hour later, Enjolras showed up at his door, wet and shivery, and they talked it through over croissants and tea (and over the course of the last few days as Combeferre nursed Enjolras through his terrible cough). On dreary days, Combeferre loves putting on his favourite music and picturing he’s back in warmer places.
Courfeyrac gets angry when he’s sad. Well - agitated. He’ll yell and he’ll cry and generally just need to let it out. He usually gets over these kind of emotions pretty quickly, though sometimes he ends up having to repair a few broken metaphorical pots - like him yelling the wrong things at the wrong person. He also really, really craves hugs and affection when he’s sad. When it’s rainy, he usually tries to go out anyway, or he’ll call a friend on skype and chat for hours while treating himself to his favourite food.
Prouvaire doesn’t mind being sad - to him, it’s an emotion that asks to be felt just as deeply as joy. He’s a peaceful person in his emotionality - he tries to look at it through a creative, productive angle. Have a good cry, write about it, and think that tomorrow will be easier. But sometimes he needs other to pull him back, because he can get a little too introspective and overthink himself into a week-long depressive state… He also doesn’t mind rainy days - he’ll just put on a layer more, sit on the porch and compose some music using the rain and wind as accompaniment.
Feuilly has the bad habit of closing up on himself when he’s sad, because he doesn’t instinctively trust anyone to care or listen. He knows his friends are there for him, but emotionally, it’s a bit harder still. So he’ll work through it until he can’t anymore - then he’ll attempt to sleep through it. Like Jehan, though, he sometimes need someone to pull him back because he gets overwhelmed. When it’s dreary and cold, he usually has to go to work and stuff anyway, but if he can he’ll make himself some hot chocolate, wrap himself in a blanket and read.
Bahorel, when he’s sad, tries something new: it sounds a bit silly, but it’s pulled him out of some hard times. He used to be more destructive and physically, but he actually tries to hold that back, because yeah. A good run does usually help, though. Rain doesn’t hurt Bahorel. Wind doesn’t hurt Bahorel either, but he hates the cold. He will usually grumble and complain through these days, and sleep more than usual (which is already a lot).
Bossuet has two coping methods: humour, and helping people. He tries to focus on others, which is admittedly not the healthiest, but to be fair, it takes a lot to actually upset Bossuet. A lot. He sorts of hardened himself against most things that would upset pretty much anyone else. He needs a hug, please hug Bossuet. On rainy days, it’s business as usual for him, and he usually has something planned outside, like a picnic. He’s amazing at finding ways to make up for it, though.
Joly needs a lot of affection and quiet when he’s sad. He needs to be with his friends, and distracted, but not in a loud and busy way. More than that, he needs to be aknowledged - his upset aknowledged, and help to find practical solutions. If he has that, he’ll usually be okay. On rainy days, he’ll try to be productive - do some cleaning, or read things he’s meant to read for forever - but since he doesn’t like going out in the rain, he usually ends up curled up on the couch, binge-watching sitcoms and eating candy.
Grantaire - well. Grantaire doesn’t deal with being sad very well. He’ll snark about it, and often end up hurting people. What he needs though is to be reminded that he’s loved and cherished and that his friends are there for him, which isn’t always easy to do, because when he’s hurting he tends to isolate himself and push people away. But he needs his friends to literally fight for him, to love him despite that. He actually likes cold and rainy weather, it makes him feel at peace for some reason, and inspired. It usually during those days that he’ll pick up a pen again and doodle, or call his sister, talk to his nephew and buy him a present, maybe even plan a visit. Make a huge batch of his mom’s spagetthi sauce, etc.
Courfeyrac; sleeping and soft spot headcanons? ^_^
He’s Good At Sleeping! Doesn’t thrash about much, doesn’t snore often, only steals the blankets a reasonable amount. But he does have to be in bed pretty early, for a college guy, like, before 11; he’s found out from experience that if he stays up late, he’d better just set himself to stay up alllll niiiight and until the next evening, because he won’t be getting to sleep.
He has a serious soft spot for socially-awkward, weirdly intense nerds.
I WAS GOING TO ASK YOU COURFERRE, BUT YOU BEAT ME TO IT. XD That being said, if you're willing to revisit an old pairing, I will ask you anyway. ^_^ (I'd ask a newer pairing, but I don't know your new fandoms. O_o;;; Sorry!)
It’s been a while since I’ve written them, but of course!!
It’s Combeferre’s own damn fault and he knows it; he’s had ample opportunity to speak up about his feelings for Courfeyrac. If someone else has beat him to it, then he’ll just have to deal with it.
Courfeyrac’s dragon is small and quick and energetic, just like him, flying loops in the air and Combeferre smiles as he watches them, hearing Courfeyrac’s elated laughter even from a distance.
“You’re—” Courfeyrac blinks, “are you making coffee in a beaker?”
“We have a dog together,” Courfeyrac says abruptly, in the middle of their walk. He turns to Combeferre, blinking rapidly, “We have a dog and—shit, everyone is right, we are married.”
Combeferre’s hands are shaking and Courfeyrac holds them, bringing them to his lips to kiss them, giving him a reassuring smile. “Only if you’re ready.”
Combeferre has fallen asleep on the floor. Courfeyrac smiles to himself, gently moving his books and notes aside, and lies down too, curling up against him.
“I swear the textbook caught fire on its own,” Courfeyrac insists, hiding his box of matches in his pocket.
“We’ll change things,” Courfeyrac promises, pulling Combeferre into his arms. He knows that Combeferre isn’t in the mood to believe him right now, but that doesn’t change anything. “Bit by bit, we’ll change things, and we’ll get there.”
“Two more minutes,” Combeferre tells him with a fond smile, checking on his bonds one last time before turning Courfeyrac’s vibrator to the highest setting.
UST (Unresolved Sexual Tension)
Sharing a bed with his best friend is the worst feeling in the world when Courfeyrac wakes surrounded by Combeferre’s smell and his body warmth, and wants nothing more than to press himself closer.
I feel like every time I send you a prompt it's basically "PLS WRITE ME H/C OR SICKFIC INVOLVING COURFEYRAC." And I'd feel bad about that except that I'm pretty sure that you like when I send you such a prompt? (ALSO I JUST LOVE WHEN YOU WRITE ME H/C AND SICKFIC, OK? BECAUSE YOU'RE REALLY GOOD AT IT.) So, would it be grossly self-indulgent to just, like, ask for headcanons about how each of Les Amis (+Marius & Cosette) would handle taking care of a sick Courfeyrac? Or is that crossing a line? ;D
SICK FIC IS MY FAVOURITE :D
Courfeyrac, when sick, is kind of a handful - in the best and worst possible ways. He’s still his charming, loveable self, because he knows no one can resist the puppy eyes - and they really, really can’t, even when he’s being a little more difficult and dramatic than usual.
He likes the attention, of course, because he’s Courfeyrac and he hates being alone when he’s sick, but he doesn’t like being fussed over, feeling like a burden on his friends.
Courfeyrac can activate Enjolras’ mother hen mode like few of their friends can; they’ll be sitting there, studying, and if Courf sniffs or cough Enjolras’ will immediately starts to ask questions. “Are you alright”, ‘If you’re sick you should rest”, “I’ll make you some tea”. It becomes Enjolras’ personal mission to make Courfeyrac feel better, which Courf kinda feels bad about, because really, it’s okay, Enjolras should focus on his work. “No,” Enjolras stares at him intensely. “You will get better. I’ll make sure of it.” It’s a little scary.
Combeferre is an entirely different thing. They love teasing each other, so Combeferre will roll his eyes fondly at Courfeyrac and Courf will exaggerate his symptoms to make Combeferre smile. If Courf’s really feeling miserable, though, and he can’t bring himself to make light of it, Combeferre will immediately be able to tell and he won’t let Courf out of his sight until he’s feeling better.
Prouvaire always looks slightly disappointed when Courfeyrac’s sick; Courf doesn’t really understand why. Maybe it’s because he’s feeling guilty for having kept Courfeyrac outside in the pouring rain for hours when they went on a walk around the city the night before; but really, Courfeyrac has zero regrets. Prouvaire makes him drink a lot of tea, most of it smelling, well, bad, to be honest, but surprisingly, it works!
With Feuilly, it’s a little like Enjolras. It’s harder to play it like with some of the others, because Feuilly will be so earnest about wanting to make sure Courfeyrac is okay, going out of his way to look after him even though he’s pretty busy himself. So Courfeyrac tries to hide it, even though it’s hypocritical of him (he’ll be the first to berate Feuilly for hiding when he’s the one who’s sick) and fails spectacularly every time. “It was a good effort,” Feuilly says, smiling, as he hands a sniffling Courfeyrac a bowl of soup. “But you’re easier to read than you think you are, especially when you don’t even have the energy to tease your friends for fussing over you.”
Bahorel has a ton of home remedies from his family, ready to help in case of illness. Which is why Courfeyrac avoids him as much as he can. He’s still convinced the last one made him even sicker.
Joly - well - Joly always fusses, but he’s so good about it, and he knows what helps, and he’s so happy to help that Courfeyrac doesn’t even feel bad for making him take care of him. Plus, they never get to spend enough time together, so it’s a good opportunity - “Not that I’m happy you’re feeling sick, of course! Of course you know what I mean, right? Right.”
Bossuet will never be too far, either, and while his bedside’s manner’s not as professionnal as Joly’s and he is bound to catch whatever was ailing Courfeyrac, he’s definitely of the opinion that the mind heals the body and all that, and makes it is missing to also spend time with Courfeyrac, make him forget about how terrible he’s feeling until he’s actually better! This also works very well.
Grantaire throws in hands in the air. “I can’t even take care of myself,” he sighs. “It’s really not necessary,” Courfeyrac frowns, but Grantaire pulls him close. “How many times have you done this for me? Come on, just take my blankets and we’ll watch a movie or something. You’re not going to get me sick, i’m never sick.” He’ll drive Courfeyrac to any doctor’s appointment, and go get him all the medicine he doesn’t already have in his cabinet. He waves off every one of Courfeyrac’s attempts at thanking him.
Cosette and Marius are, like Joly and Bossuet, two of the ones that he feels the most comfortable being vulnerable around. They’ll both cuddle with him on the couch and feed him what he can eat and pretty much baby him for the entire time. It would be embarrassing, except that they look happy to do it, and it feels natural for Courfeyrac to let himself be taken care off by them. They care so much about him and Courfeyrac cries a little when they’re not watching because he loves these two so much and he’s so glad and proud of them. He ends up staying with them for a week, eh.
Poetry Smash for the two characters askbox game? ^_^
Who would win in a fight …Prouvaire would try (Bahorel would win)
Who would be a better roommate oh gad I want to say Prouvaire but FLUTE PRACTICE EITHER WAY I LOSE can I just let them share rooms and I go live somewhere else if no then uh *flips coin * Bahorel apparently!
Who’s better in bed Bahorel this is not a question
Who I’d pick to be my presidential running mate …these are both horrible options really but everything I said about Borel still goes , Bahorel could keep up with the energy of a campaign and might bite someone I don’t like so yeah (though Prouvaire might also bite someone I just feel like he might also decide the debate wasn’t worth his time and LEAVE and Bahorel has many faults but I don’t imagine Walking Away From A Fight is one of them :P)
Whose shoulder I’d cry on wow they are both really fantastic choices?!? but uuuh Bahorel though. For Secret Reasons (not very secret reasons >_>)
Who would make a better parent BAHOREL OH NO DON’T LEAVE PROUVAIRE IN CHARGE OF A KID
Who I’d rather date Still Bahorel I KNOW MY OWN SIN OKAY
OMGOSH THOSE ARE GORGEOUS. *_* I am very impressed! If you’re so inspired later, do you think you could talk a little bit about the process? Because this is something I’d like to attempt myself someday. ^_^
Yeah, sure! You have to get a lot of supplies together for it - I think that’s the hardest part really.
First you get some good quality paper - I think there are some types that take the ink better than others - and treat it with a mordant to make the colors stick. My dad uses water and a mix of alum powder. Mark the backside of your paper, sponge the front with the mordant, and let it dry.
Then you have to find a tray that’s at least a little bigger than the paper you’re using and your rakes and combs. You fill the tray with a dense liquid “size” that the paint colors sit on top of. Take you paints, and flick small droplets of a color - usually black to start - onto the size and let them spread out. Then flick some more colors and top of that, then another, until you have all the colors you want. At this point it just looks like a freeform mess.
Then for most patterns you take a stick and trace straight lines back and forth through the paints so that the colors line up and start to look like this (called a gel-git):
At this point, you need some special tools. There’s a fine metal comb you use to rake through the gel-git to make something like this:
You can see the zig-zag of the gel-git underneath, but the comb has dragged the ink in a different direction into a nonpareil pattern, with the little arches. The two pieces I did had a gel-git from side-to-side and a comb from top-to-bottom.
Ok, now you use a tool with much bigger and more widely spaced teeth, called a rake. You can move the rake through the nonpareil in different ways to make different patterns! The first piece I did was just a gentle top-down motion swaying from side to side as I went.
You can see the nonpareil under there swished around by the rake! The second piece I started the rake at the side and did sine waves left to right and then back right to left (quite inexpertly).
Once you made your pattern in the tray, you carefully lay your paper down on it, with the side treated with the mordant touching the paint. Then you carefully take it out and wash the excess ink off (the mordant will keep your pattern from washing away!) and let it dry!
I don’t know if that was at all helpful, but hopefully it at least gives you an idea of the process? I think my dad actually made a few videos of himself doing one piece through these stages - I’ll see if he can send it to you!
Wait, do you all want my opinion on Killian Donnelly? :D
There have been a lot of words written about Killian by people who are far more knowledgeable about his career and far more eloquent in their praise than I can ever be. Relatively speaking, I’m a late arrival to the Killian party, having only really joined his fandom after seeing him in The Commitments almost exactly two years ago. We had decided to go see the show on a whim during our trip to London in 2013, when it was in previews: I walked into the Palace a casual Killian fan, and walked out a full-blown fangirl. As a performer, he simply owns the stage, possessing so much charisma it’s almost palpable, and to hear him sing those songs, scratching and growling and God knows what else, was a revelation. When we returned to London just over a year later, we knew we had to get tickets to Memphis, where he was no less charismatic, but also deeply moving as an actor as well. His rendition of Memphis Lives in Me practically moved me to tears, and I remain convinced that he absolutely should have won the Olivier for that performance.
I’m also really impressed with him as a person: I think he’s grown up so much in the past couple of years, even as he maintains his sometimes boy-like wonder at the world around him. I refer to him a lot as a beautiful grown-up boy, and that’s what he is to me: you see him at press nights and the like and there’s still this sense of awe that he’s made it to this place, albeit still grounded with his family and friends and always, always, so appreciative of the support he gets from his fans.
And, last but not least, he’s incredibly attractive, even in some of his more ridiculous casual outfits. I’ll take this opportunity to post my absolute favorite picture of him ever, from his ramble around Ireland two summers ago: what a journey in so many senses of the word.
Auron and Braska, #20 (things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear)? ^_^
“I am sorry for putting you through all this, my dear friend.”
Auron heard as a hand brushed away the stray strands of hair
on his face. The instinct to grab his blade and strike whoever got close enough
to disturb his slumber faded the second he recognized the voice. His heart
squeezed painfully in his chest as he kept his eyes shut, doing his best to
even out his breathing.
With Jecht having accepted the role of Final Aeon, the trek
back to the Calm Lands all the way from Zanarkand had been quiet. Words were
barely exchanged between him and Braska, as there was nothing but the sense of
impending doom hanging over their heads. Or perhaps just his. Braska’s resolve
never seemed to waver while Auron still struggled with accepting the man’s
It shamed him to appear so weak that his lord summoner had
felt the need to apologize. But he was not ready.
For the fluff meme: 9 & or 27 for Enjolras and Feuilly. ^_^
(already had a 27 prompt for these two, so I’m going to do 9 :) I can’t resist sick!fic, eheh.)
Feuilly woke up to a quickly darkening room, the sound of wind through the tree branches outside his window, the lingering scent of his favourite herbal tea, and the unpleasant feeling of his dry and scratchy throat.
“Hi,” Enjolras said gently from somewhere to Feuily’s right. Feuilly turned his head, his neck painfully stiff and sore, to look at him; Enjolras was sitting in one of the last visible sunrays, his curls framing his face effortlessly. He held a book in one of his hand and a cup of tea in the other. “You’ve been sleeping for a while. How are you feeling?”
“Better, I think,” Feuilly regretted the words as soon as they left his throat; they pounded in his head, from behind his ears to the roots of his hair, and he winced. “Or maybe… not.”
Enjolras clicked his tongue and set the book he’d been reading on the floor. He ran a hand in Feuilly’s hair, on his forehead, on his cheeks. His skin was warm and soft, the only callouses there caused by how tightly Enjolras held his pen when he wrote. Feuilly relaxed against the pillow and let the sound of the wind appease his nerves. It had been a while, he thought, since he’d let himself relax this way, since anyone had cared for him so fondly. But being looked after by Enjolras felt special, like lying in the grass and basking in the sun. Feuilly wondered idly if he did this for all of their friends when they were ill.
Probably. Even for proud Bahorel or stubborn Grantaire, no matter how much they’d complain.
The thought made Feuilly smile.
“Your fever’s down, at least,” Enjolras said after a moment, bringing Feuilly out of his reflexion. “You should eat something, or drink. I made tea.”
“You did,” Feuilly teased lightly as he dragged himself into a sitting position.
“I can make something else, if you wish. I just didn’t know what else you’d…”
“Tea is perfect, Enjolras. It smells very good. Thank you.”
Enjolras handed him a cup. It wasn’t steaming hot anymore, and so was cooler than Feuilly usually drank his tea, but the liquid soothed his throat and he was grateful.
They drank in comfortable silence; Feuilly was too tired to feel awkward about having his friend practically nurse him. He yawned.
“I feel like I’ve been sleeping all day,” he said, and Enjolras chuckled, and took the cup of tea back from Feuilly’s hands.
“You have, my friend.”
“But you can sleep some more. Tomorrow is Sunday, but I can wake you up before the morning if you want.”
“Ah - you don’t have to stay,” Feuilly assured him. “I know the chair cannot be comfortable, and I’ve only got the one bed -”
“It’s alright,” Enjolras said, picking up his book again. “I’ve brought a candle, and my book - I’ll be just fine. You rest. You need it more than I do.”
Truthfully, Feuilly was too exhausted to argue. He lay back against the pillow and was asleep moments later. When he woke up again, his head didn’t ache anymore, the sun was starting to rise in the window of his room, and Enjolras had lain down in bed with him and was now snoring gently, one fine, tender hand resting on Feuilly’s shoulder.
Feuilly closed his eyes, curled up even closer to Enjolras, and went back to sleep.