Feuilly generally considers himself to be an observant person. He's had to be. There's no way he could have gotten where he is now without being hyper-aware of everything around him, threats, dangers, tiny opportunities– he's always looked out for the slightest change in atmosphere, and the habit's never left. As such, he's usually one of the first to notice when something's going wrong for one of his friends. Cosette might be the psychology major of the group, but no one reads human nature better than him.
So when Enjolras starts looking pale and zoning out in the middle of conversations and passing up opportunities to lecture people on discrimination, Feuilly corners him after class and takes him to their favorite coffeeshop to ask him what's wrong. At first, Enjolras, being Enjolras, won't admit to having any problems ("But I'm so privileged, Feuilly!"), and tries to change the topic. Feuilly won't have any of it. He points out the dark circles under his eyes, and the increasingly hollow set of his cheeks, and finally Enjolras lets the mask slip.
"It's like everything's happening at once," he says. "I mean, I'm not afraid of hard work, but it's so discouraging lately. Nothing's going the way I want it to."
"You do seem busier than usual," agrees Feuilly neutrally. Enjolras nods.
"I know I shouldn't be complaining, because you're busier and more stressed out than I am, but I feel like I'm about to explode. How do you do it, Feuilly? I don't know how to handle this!"
"Stress isn't a competition," Feuilly reminds him gently. "You have as much of a right to be upset as anyone else."
"I guess." Enjolras looks skeptical. "I still feel bad, though."
Feuilly doesn't say anything, and Enjolras looks down at his coffee for a moment. Then he blurts out,
"Did you know my parents want to visit?"
"Really?" Despite himself, Feuilly is horrified. Given his background, he's not in any position to be any authority on parents, but he's pretty sure that Enjolras's aren't anything to be desired. They have all of his beauty and brilliance, and none of his humanity. All of his friends are terrified of them.
Enjolras shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah, they think I'm avoiding them."
"Well, are you?"
"Absolutely."
Feuilly almost laughs at this, but he stops himself. Family problems aren't anything to be taken lightly. "Well, if they want to go out somewhere, you should bring them to the Corinth while I'm working. Maybe that will set them straight."
Enjolras finally smiles. Feuilly works night shifts at the worst bar in town. "I might actually do that," he says.
Feuilly reaches across the table to clasp his hand.
"Good."
/
To Feuilly's surprise, Enjolras really does bring his parents in to the Corinth. It's 9:30 on a Thursday night, and business is frantic, but even the busiest of bartenders couldn't miss the beautiful blond family walking in.
"What is this place?" sniffs the mother. "Dear, are you sure you didn't make a mistake?"
"Someone made a mistake," says the father irritably. "I think it was the city planners."
Enjolras is trapped in between his parents, and he looks uncomfortable, but Feuilly can see the ghost of a mischievous smile as he says,
"I told you that this wasn't really your style."
"Shut up," says his father harshly, and Enjolras does. Feuilly frowns. He's pretty sure that's not something that one is supposed to say to one's child. Still, he has to give Enjolras props for getting his one-percent parents to come here. It must have taken some courage, not to mention a healthy dose of manipulation. He does his best to watch as the family goes over to a table and begins their meal, the parents ordering actual food, and Enjolras only asking for water. Poor baby. This is probably all he's had all day. He makes a mental note tell Combeferre to prepare a lecture on decent nutrition.
Feuilly's boss is a total piece of work who doesn't allow her employees any downtime, so he doesn't get the chance to keep much of an eye on how things are progressing with Enjolras and his parents. All he knows is that everyone looks thoroughly unhappy, and the parents seem to be delivering a non-stop lecture. Finally, at around 11:15, when the family is standing in front of the door to leave, everything comes to a head.
"Fine then," screams the father, pointing an accusing finger at Enjolras. "I'm done with you, you little bitch! Go ahead and ruin your life, that's fine with me. I never want to hear from you again!"
"Don't bother coming home," adds the mother. The father slaps Enjolras in the face, then sweeps out the door with his wife in tow. Neither of them look back.
Heedless of his boss's protestations, Feuilly rushes over to his friend.
"Are you okay?"
Enjolras doesn't seem to hear him. He's looking at the retreating backs of his parents, wide-eyed with shock. Feuilly puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Enj, whatever happened just now, I can assure you that you didn't deserve it." They've been down this road before; Enjolras will blame himself for literally everything, and make himself sick worrying about it. His parents seem to be able to provoke this reaction in him at will, and Feuilly doesn't understand how he's managed to grow up with them doing this all the time. "You didn't do anything wrong, okay?"
"But what if I did?" Enjolras looks stricken. "You didn't hear what happened. I must be the worst son in the world!"
Privately, Feuilly is relieved to hear him refer to himself as a son, even in such derogatory terms. The last time his parents came to visit, they triggered so much dysphoria in him that he couldn't leave his room for days. He pulls Enjolras close and plants a kiss on his cheek.
"I didn't have to hear anything," he says. "I know how they are, and how you are. You're good, okay? You're a wonderful person, and your parents ought to be ashamed of themselves for treating you this way."
Enjolras sniffles, and his voice sounds choked as he says, "Thanks Feuilly. But I still don't know how to deal with this, I can't…"
"Feuilly!" His boss stalks over in a towering fury, brandishing her ever-present bottle of whiskey. "This isn't what I pay you for. Move your ass. Go!"
"Babet, wait I–"
"Go!" She grabs him by the collar and marches him off towards the bar, glowering back at Enjolras as she walks. "And you better pray I don't find you anywhere but where you're supposed to be from now until the end of your shift. Got it?"
Feuilly groans. Why does she have to be so unreasonable? "Yeah, I got it."
"Good. I'm watching you!" With a last glower, she turns to deal with another problem, leaving him to pour drinks for the steadily-growing crowd of inebriates at the bar.
As soon as she's out of sight, Feuilly pulls out his phone to send a quick text to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, letting them know the situation, and asking them to come quickly. The Corinth isn't any place for someone as pretty as Enjolras even at the best of times, and with the state he's in now, it would be best for him to head home as soon as possible. Fortunately, Courfeyrac responds almost immediately, saying that they're on their way. Bless him and his compulsory need to check his phone every five minutes, Feuilly muses thankfully, pocketing his phone to go back to work.
It's fifteen minutes before they arrive, but Feuilly is so busy that he doesn't get much of a chance to check on Enjolras, besides making sure that he's safely out of the way of the crowd. He's red-eyed and miserable, and he quietly flops down in the corner without saying a word. Whenever Feuilly looks over to make sure he's all right, he's sitting in the exact same position, motionless in his despondency. His parents must have really let him have it; he hasn't looked this upset for a long time. Finally, Combeferre and Courfeyrac come in, and although Feuilly is too busy to go over to them, he waves frantically at them, and points them to where Enjolras is. They don't hesitate.
"We'll take it from here," says Courfeyrac, waving gratefully across the bar. "Thanks, lovely!"
He and Combeferre go up to Enjolras and put their arms around him, one on each side. Enjolras looks at both of them and bursts into tears, still somehow managing to look tragic and beautiful.
"I'm sorry, you guys," he sobs hysterically. "All I do is cause trouble! I'm such a mess, and I'm the worst. I'm so sorry!"
Courfeyrac clucks at him. "Hey now, stop that. You're not the worst, and you don't need to be sorry for anything. Okay?"
Enjolras's only response is to sob harder. Combeferre pets his hair soothingly.
"We're going to take you home now," he says. "Come on, sweetie, let's get you out of here." He scoops him up and carries him towards the exit, murmuring lovingly to him all the way. Courfeyrac comes over to the bar.
"Feuilly, when you get off work, you should totally come over," he says. "Bring Bahorel with you too. We're having a sleepover night, I decided right now!"
Feuilly isn't sure of the last time he heard such a wonderful idea, and he tells Courfeyrac so, much to his delight.
"It's happening!" he shouts as he goes after Combeferre. "Better not back out! I'm holding you to it!" Before Feuilly can assure him that he has no intention of backing out, he's running out the door, calling for Combeferre not to drive off without him. Feuilly can't help but smile. He couldn't have put Enjolras into better hands.
/
Bahorel always comes to pick Feuilly up from his night shifts, no matter where they are or what time they end. Their friends tease him for this, and to some extent Feuilly does too, but he really is happy to have him there. He's perfectly capable of handling himself in a tough situation, but there's something incredibly reassuring about having his own personal UFC-sized bodyguard whose glare can scare away almost anyone who looks at them wrong. Tonight, he shows up at 12:30 on the dot with a bottle of Everclear for Babet and a kiss and an extra scarf for Feuilly.
"I used this in a fight," he says proudly, draping it delicately around Feuilly's neck. "I wrapped my hand up in it before I punched the guy, and he went down like that. Good luck token, I'm telling you. This is gonna keep you in the fighting spirit."
Feuilly kisses him again. "That's the most romantic thing I've heard all week."
Together, they leave the Corinth to head over to Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac's apartment. Feuilly tells Bahorel all about the events of the night, and he glares darkly and makes ominously specific threats, and has to be talked out of tracking down Enjolras's parents to "have a discussion with them." It can't be said that Bahorel doesn't love his friends.
Since it's already fairly late, everyone is there when they arrive, lying in various attitudes and degrees of wakefulness across the apartment. This doesn't stop them from cheering loudly when Feuilly and Bahorel enter, however, and Joly bounces up to them to throw himself dramatically into their arms.
"Mes amis!" he trills. "Welcome, welcome!"
"Come play Scrabble with us," calls Bossuet from across the room. "We're just about to start another game."
"I love me some Scrabble!" Bahorel cracks his knuckles and grins. "First though! How's our little sunshine doing?"
"Why don't you see for yourself?" Joly pulls them over to the couch, where Grantaire is sitting, cuddled up with what looks like a pile of blankets. "Enj! You awake in there?" The blankets shift, and Enjolras's tousled golden head pops out.
"What happened?"
"Feuilly and Bahorel finally got here," says Grantaire. "They wanted to say hi."
"Oh!" Enjolras struggles to sit up properly. "You guys really came? That's so wonderful! I can't believe we're all here now. Everyone's so nice!"
Feuilly reaches down to give him a hug, and Bahorel fluffs up his hair. "You're cute, sunshine. Don't worry, we're all here, and we ain't leaving, so go back to sleep now."
Enjolras pouts. "I wasn't asleep."
"Sure you weren't."
Feuilly looks at him fondly and tucks the blankets around him more comfortably. For such a fiery rabble-rouser, he can sometimes be surprisingly adorable. "I'm glad we're here," he says. "Goodnight now, love."
Enjolras hums sleepily in reply and curls up against Grantaire, who presses a kiss to his forehead, and begins to murmur such nauseatingly sweet things that Feuilly and Bahorel quickly decide they'd rather be elsewhere. They join Joly and Bossuet in trying to beat Jehan and Cosette at Scrabble, and chaos quickly ensues, as everyone else abandons their other activities to watch. Even Marius wakes up to come over and offer unhelpful suggestions. It's really no wonder, thinks Feuilly. After all, no matter where Bahorel is, good times are sure to follow.
By about 3:30, even Courfeyrac is passed out, snoring in harmony with Combeferre from their makeshift bed under the coffee table. Only Feuilly is still awake, lying against Bahorel and staring up at the ceiling. Sleep has never come easily to him, a fact which is helpful during his night shifts, but is anything but convenient now. He's considering getting up to make himself a cup of tea, or at least turn off the lights, when Bahorel rolls over on top of him, blissfully cuddly and unaware of how heavy his sleeping body is. Feuilly wriggles into a slightly more comfortable position, but he can see that he isn't going anywhere, and decides to make the best of it. After all, this is fairly cozy, and there's no one else he'd rather have draped across him.
Thusly situated, he's directly facing the couch, getting a front-row view to Enjolras and Grantaire snuggled up in each others' arms. Grantaire looks utterly peaceful, but Enjolras is wearing a little frown, and fidgeting restlessly in his sleep. Suddenly, he gasps and sits up. Really, thinks Feuilly, it's amazing how quickly Grantaire responds to this. It's as if these two share some sort of empathy link.
"Enj," he whispers. "You okay?"
"R?" Enjolras looks at him uncertainly, clinging to his shirt with undisguised fright. "You're here, right?"
"I'm here, angel. I'm not going anywhere."
"Oh, good." Enjolras settles against him. "I had a bad dream."
"Wanna talk about it?"
Enjolras shakes his head. "Just stay here. Please?"
"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." Grantaire kisses him on the head and pets his curls. "I'm going to talk to you until you go back to sleep, okay?"
Feuilly sighs. There's no way he could get up now, even if Bahorel decided to get off of him. This is cute and all, but he really wants to go to sleep. Unless Grantaire is planning to recite some magical incantation to instantly knock people out, he's probably going to be up until sunrise. Since he can't really do anything else, he tries to lie still and regulate his breathing as Grantaire starts to speak.
"I know I just told you this," he says softly, "But I'll tell you again. I'm not going anywhere. I mean this with all my heart– I want to be by your side, no matter what. Sometimes it's hard, I know, but that's okay. We've gotten through everything so far, and we'll continue to do that– together. And I'm not just talking about myself here, although I mean that too. I'm also talking about our friends."
Oh, what's this? Feuilly can't help but listen a little harder. Grantaire hardly ever makes friendship speeches, so this ought to be good.
"I know how much you love them all," says Grantaire. "Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly–" Feuilly starts, hearing his name. "–everyone. Even Marius, although he can be a massive dork sometimes. But what I'm not sure you know is how much they all love you too."
Enjolras sniffles. He looks like he's crying. "R, I don't–"
Grantaire goes to wipe away his tears. "Hush sweetheart, just listen, okay? You're so important to all of us. You have a family here, and yeah, we might fight and have our issues, but we all love each other, and we're all going to stick together, no matter what. We don't desert each other, even when things get hard, and we're not going to, not ever."
Feuilly feels a warmth spreading through him. He's always thought of his friends as the family that he never had, but he didn't know that they felt the same. Now, though, hearing Grantaire say it so confidently, he feels sure that they all consider their group the same way that he does. It's so reassuring to know this that all lingering traces of discomfort leave him, and he finally relaxes against Bahorel, feeling warm and safe. Grantaire continues talking to Enjolras, and Feuilly thinks he even starts singing softly, but the words slide past him, into a comfortable sort of haze. Gradually, he feels his eyes drift shut, and as he floats away into a sweet dreamland, his last thought is that he's finally home.