The night of the play came, and the boys were practically bursting with excitement. They felt that they were involved in something important – it was a grand statement against the crown. They felt as if they were finally getting somewhere.
Henri was not quite finished dressing when Julien burst in, looking absolutely dashing in a brand new sapphire blue waistcoat that perfectly complimented his beautiful complexion. Overcome with the joy of the occasion, Julien swept across to Henri and greeted him with an exuberant bissous.
Henri blushed at how close his bare chest (for his shirt had not yet been buttoned) had come to Julien. Beautiful Julien. Wait – had he just thought that? I mean, he is very good looking, but –
Flustered, Henri misbuttoned his shirt, and Julien reached out to help. Not trusting himself to make the right move, Henri stood still and attempted to begin a conversation – anything to distract himself.
"You look very well tonight, Julien," he blurted, without thinking.
Julien grinned at the compliment, caught up in his own jubilant world. "Merci beaucoup, ma cher ami."
Julien finished the final touches on Henri's costume, and then said, "And so do you." And he really meant it. Henri was wearing a green waistcoat with his suit that went perfectly with the green of his eyes. And his eyes were really green. Not hazel, not bluish. Just green. Which is a rare sort of thing. Julien was sure he had never seen the like.
Henri smiled in the way he always did when he was earnestly pleased, pushed up his spectacles, and together they went downstairs to meet their professor.
They climbed into the carriage, and the Professor said something to the coachman to ensure that their whereabouts would be kept secret, and passed him a little bribe. The coachman nodded his assent, and they were off. The ride was not long, but it took them into a low part of town. One cannot put on an illegal play in a theatre patronized by members of the government, after all.
When Julien climbed out of the carriage, he could not believe his eyes. He was a sheltered child, and he had never seen such poverty. Some of the buildings were little more than shacks, and there were beggars everywhere. At the corner, a group of scantily clad women called out to them, and Julien blushed at their indecency. At the same time, he was enraged. Where were the leaders of the land? Where were the swells who ran this show? Why was the government allowing its citizens to live in such conditions?
Finally, they entered a tavern where the performance was to be, and took their seats. The crowd was not filled with impoverished people, as Julien had expected. (He had initially thought himself overdressed.) Admittedly, there were some, but it seemed that every rebel in Paris had turned out to see this play. They were a motley crew – university students, professionals, craftsmen, chamber maids – but they had all of the right intentions. All were there to rebel against censorship. Julien was excited, and he was not the only one. Henri and the professor kept trying to suppress their grins. At last, the play began.
The acting was good, even if the costumes and scenery were low budget, and the players truly connected with their audience.
When it came to the scene in which Achilles is told of Patroclus's death, Julien was struck with emotion. Tears streamed down his face, and he unconsciously reached out to clutch Henri's hand. Henri clasped his hand just as tightly, and they watched the final scenes of the play in utter solemnity.
They were silent on the ride back; each absorbed in his own thoughts. Even Monsieur Cheverny, though he would have normally insisted on a discussion, was subdued. He could not help but smile a tiny satisfied smile, though, when he saw that the boys were absent mindedly playing with each other's fingers as each looked out his own window, subconsciously taking comfort from the other's touch.
They arrived at the school, and the night footman took the boys back up to their room, holding a lamp. They wearily undressed and pulled on their nightshirts, and collapsed into their beds. But despite their drooping eyes, neither could sleep. Finally, Henri broke the silence. "Julien?" he whispered through the darkness to his friend in the neighboring bed, trying not to wake the two other boys in their dormitory room. "Are you awake?" he asked a bit louder.
Julien was awake. "Hush, you'll wake the others," he replied gently. "Come over here and we can talk."
Henri slipped out of his bed and padded across the cold floor, quickly climbing under Julien's covers to escape the night air. He nearly sighed with contentment. It was bliss to have another warm body next to him. The other boys didn't know it, but Henri and Julien often shared a bed like this, lying chastely together for warmth and comfort. Without any space between them, they could speak quietly and still hear one another.
"I could not sleep," began Henri.
"Nor could I."
There was a short silence between them. Then, ponderously, Julien spoke. "Henri… The play, it – it touched me deeply." Henri nodded, and nuzzled closer into Julien's chest. It was best to let him speak. He was the more eloquent, and he would speak for the both of them.
"There is so much injustice in the world, my friend… I saw many things tonight. Beggars on the street. Women driven to the worst of professions, life having dropped them at the bottom of the heap. I saw a play that had been censored – the most emotional and the most human bits taken out for what a few people viewed as "too offensive" or "improper". And what was it that they found so offensive? Love. Deep, human, heart-wrenching love. But because it was a love between two men, someone had tried to erase it from history. And then I saw all sorts of men and women – of all ages and classes, gathered together in one place, for one cause. I realized it's possible, Henri. It's possible to change the world. And if it's possible, I am going to do it. I am going to do it."
Henri looked up into Julien's face, illuminated by bars of moonlight streaming in through the window. "And I will always be there by your side."
Julien's smile was so saturated with his emotions – happiness, reassurance, determination – that Henri felt he could see straight through to his friend's soul.
"Henri – " Julien said the name not as a question, but as an acknowledgment. An acknowledgement of all he knew his friend to be and all he hoped he would become. An acknowledgment of the aching affection he had for his green-eyed, freckled, curly haired ami.
" – I love you," Julien finished, as if he were about to add, "you know." And he had known. For a long time.
Henri was flooded with joy. He leaned up to kiss his beloved chastely on his cherubic lips, then hugged him tightly, and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. "I love you too," he whispered. They drifted off to sleep in a joyful fog of love and promise.
