sky ferre


Based on a dialogue prompt, here’s some Enjoltaire


“You need to put a shirt on.”

“Why, does my bare chest offend you?”

“Everything about you offends me.”


At this point, Enjolras shouldn’t have been surprised. He often heard random shit like this from Grantaire.

It just wasn’t normally in reply to Montparnasse.

Eponine, yes. Courf, yes.

Hell, he’d even heard Marius bantering back and forth with the artist.

But Parnasse?

This was new.

He glanced up from his notes and tried not to stare. He failed miserably.

The artist was covered from the neck down in paint, right to the waistband of his jeans. It was a deep blue, mottled with black and silver like the night sky. Grantaire noticed Enjolras looking and gave a mocking twirl to reveal that yes, it was across his shoulder blades too.

“How do I look?”

“You look like a twat.” Parnasse offered. Jehan shushed him.

“Dazzling.” The word didn’t come from Enjolras - he was too stunned to speak. Courf was sitting down next to him with a coffee, looking highly amused. “What’s it for?”

“I’m raising awareness for astrology and the constellations of the sky.”

“Really?” Ferre joined in, looking both mildly interested and mildly concerned about the health risks of covering ones body in paint.

“Nah, I just thought it looked cool. I have got a couple of actual constellations on here though -” He twisted to look over his shoulder and attempted to point at one on his shoulder blade. “- Orion. Look.”

“So it is.” Courf grinned wickedly. “Do you have Dionysus’s Asses?”

“Sadly no.”


He drifted closer, close enough for Enjolras to smell the paint on him, mingled with surprisingly little alcohol.

“It’s nice.”

The words were out of his mouth before he had the chance to register them and he had the satisfaction of seeing Grantaire’s jaw drop. Unfortunately, that lasted approximately three seconds, before he wheeled around to the rest of the café.

“My friends!” He cried, “Finally, on this most joyous day, I have been complimented! Complimented on my artwork by our glorious leader!”

WHY?” Montparnasse was enraged. “It’s outright visual pollution!”

“No, it’s not.” Enjolras could feel his cheeks heating up under the scrutinizing gazes of his best friends. “It’s…educational.”

It was a lame excuse and he knew it. The rest of the café knew it. The people of Paris knew it.

Hell, even the Australians knew it.

But he’d never been one for lying, and as such he was terrible at it. Courf sat in silence for a few seconds before howling with laughter, so hard that he fell off his chair and scared the shit out of everyone.

Gradually other people joined in. Ferre snickered at his boyfriend crying on the floor. Bahorel and Feuilly roared from the other side of the room. Eponine smirked and even Parnasse’s mouth twitched.

Meanwhile Enjolras felt his insides shrivel up and die, just like his will to live. They were all laughing at him. He felt his cheeks flush crimson, and then drop back to ice cold.

“Can I do nothing nice without being mocked?” He inquired icily. The laughter in the room froze. (Courf froze quite literally, his face still stretched into a grin. Ferre kicked him.)

“I’m joking, mon ange.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why? You look like an avenging angel, all righteous and-”

“No. I’m not an angel and you can stop mocking me because you know damn well I’m not.”

“Enj.” Ferre broke in calmly. “Maybe you should take a walk.”

“Why? Because I don’t want to be made a laughing stock?”

“Because you’re going to have a stroke. Go outside.” Ferre made little shooing motions with his hands.

As he turned to stalk out, he heard a sly remark from Montparnasse about it not just being a medical stroke.

It was cold outside and as soon as he was out there, Enjolras regretted his existence.

Well, maybe that was a bit strong.

But he regretted his actions, anyhow.

He needed to go and apologize to Grantaire, apologize to everyone else, possibly punch Parnasse, maybe ask Grantaire about the constellations and wait, what?

That thought was shot down even before it had fully formed.

Puffs of air rose up in front of him as he shivered for a few moments, before mentally slapping himself and turning to head indoors-

He walked smack into Grantaire and got a face full of paint.

“Oh, for f-”

“Shit sorry, I-”

There was an awkward few seconds as the artist tried to get some of the paint out of Enjolras’s eyebrows.

He gave up and tried to talk “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel you were being laughed at-”

“I’m sorry for losing my temper and-”

They stared at each other, which gave Enjolras plenty of time to form a proper apology and an appropriate question about the constellations and-

“Ah fuck it.”

They were kissing.

They were kissing and Enjolras didn’t particularly care about the paint covering his shirt and face because it was good, it was amazing even and there were tiny fireworks exploding around him, no matter how cliché they were.

It was a while before they re-entered the café. For a few seconds, everyone stared at them, then Marius asked cautiously “Enjolras, why are you covered in paint?”

They looked at each other. “Fuck.”

“I’ll bet you were.”


Like A Comet I Was Wondered At

A/N: This is the first time I’ve been confident enough to actually post something I’ve written! I hope you all like it! As you all know, I’m a sucker for Courferre :3

Combeferre stared up at the sky, connecting stars in his mind to form constellations that he could remember. Aside from the few thin strips of clouds, the sky was clear and open. It was almost like the stars were welcoming him to ascend into the heavens to join them. In the moment, he thought, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It was a more pleasant option than preparing for the debate tomorrow morning. He exhaled loudly, feeling the stress of school pressing him down into the grass he was lying on. Everyone had told him that his final year of high school would be a breeze. Such liars, he thought.

“Ah, I see you’re prepared for tomorrow!” said Courf, who took a seat in the grass. He beamed at Combeferre, leaning back to lay beside his friend in the cool grass. Courfeyrac, his neighbor, his classmate, one-third of the greatest friendship known to mankind. Combeferre smiled fondly, keeping his gaze on the stars, but basking in the presence of his close friend.

“That’s quite an understatement,” he said quietly. “I’m just enjoying some fresh air. The teachers really smothered us in homework this week.”

Courfeyrac snickered. “Nobody asked you to take nearly all honors classes, ‘Ferre. We all told you to lighten your school load! Bahorel thought you would collapse under stress. He gave you five months, at most. I disagreed, of course,” he waited for Combeferre to show that he was listening before he continued, saying, “I gave you two.”

“Glad to know you have faith in me,” Combeferre said dryly, but Courf could see a small smile tugging at his friend’s lips. A few moments floated past in silence. Combeferre’s eyes remained fixed on the sky above them. The black canvas dotted with small stars stared back at him, still beckoning him to drift up into it. Away from all of the madness that people tried to call “life.”

“I’ll never understand your massive crush on the sky, ‘Ferre.”

“I’ll never understand how you don’t,” he remarked, pointing at one spot of the vast expanse of sky. “Do you see it?” Before Courf could even nod, Combeferre cut in. “I mean, do you actually see it? The cluster of lights, some dim and some bright, with no specific pattern to them? A work of art, it is. The same sky that brilliant scientists and astronomers and philosophers looked at.”

Courf hung on to every word that left Combeferre’s lips. He watched fondly as his friend gazed up at the sky, the light of every star reflecting off of his glasses. Courf rested his hand over his chest, trying to keep his heart from beating through his ribs. But his ribs were only bone, and the amount of admiration he had for Combeferre was stronger than that. He thought of the scientists and astronomers and philosophers that Combeferre was talking about, how they had observed the same sky. He wondered for a fleeting moment how many of them had been in this very situation. He wondered if he and Combeferre were reenacting a scene from history, and if it would ever end in Courf’s favor. He wondered how Combeferre could look at anything with such wonder in his eyes, as if he didn’t know that he himself was more remarkable. He glanced up at the sky, then back at Combeferre, and he knew which one of them was observing the bigger masterpiece.

“—and it’s simply stunning!” Combeferre finished, and Courf was shaken from his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed when he stopped paying attention to Combeferre’s spiel. “Don’t you think?”

Courf nodded slowly, willing himself to look away from Combeferre. He felt heat gathering in his face, and was thankful for the lack of light. “Breathtaking” was all he said in response.

And he wasn’t talking about the sky.


Sky Ferreira - 17