New chapter! Sorry the update's taken so long, but my laptop is currently not wanting to connect to the wireless port, so I have to do it manually. But here it is! And yay, new character time!
Anyway, thanks for your continued support + reviews; they mean a lot!
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: No, it's still not mine. Pity.
Chapter Ten
He liked sitting outside in the morning; especially in the summertime. The sun was just peeking over the rooftops, burning off the slight mist rising from the river.
It was days like this, he reflected, that made him glad to be an artist. Inspiration was everywhere, it seemed, and as he was sketching a template for his latest fan, he was hailed tentatively from the gate.
"Excuse me? M'sieur?"
Feuilly glanced up. A young man, perhaps seventeen, was standing at the fence and blinking at him in the brightening sunlight. He looked rather apprehensive.
"Yes?" Feuilly stood up. "Come in."
The boy cautiously pushed open the gate and entered the front yard, walking to the steps. He was tall, almost to the point of being awkward, but he moved with a grace that was somewhat feminine. His lengthy brown hair was tied back, except for his bangs, which hung in two long strands that were tucked behind his ears. His eyes were large and chocolate-coloured, and Feuilly came to the conclusion that, odd though it was, the only way to properly describe him was 'pretty.'
And rich, too, by the look of his clothes. But that was hardly important.
"Can I help you?" Feuilly asked with a smile.
"I do hope so," the boy smiled nervously. "You see, I am starting University in the fall, and my parents have sent me here to my new home, but…" he laughed quietly, "I fear I am hopelessly and completely lost."
"Perhaps I can be of assistance, then. But come inside; no sense to be talking on the doorstep." Feuilly pushed the door open and moved down the hallway to his flat. The boy followed slowly, obviously unsure as to whether or not he could trust the older man.
Entering the room, Feuilly gestured to the couch, and the boy took a seat, although he sat stiffly and looked ready to bolt at any second.
"Relax, my friend. You have nothing to fear from me," Feuilly assured him. "My name is Feuilly."
"And your first name?" The boy leaned forward.
"Ah." Feuilly grimaced. "I really prefer my surname, but if you must know…Sébastien."
"Sébastien? How could you be ashamed of such a fine name?" A dreamy look came into his eyes. "It is so very poetic. That's what I am, you see. A poet; a writer," he sighed. "My name is Jehan Prouvaire…well, Jean, actually, but Jehan is much more appropriate for one such as I," he finished.
Feuilly, who had been walking to get another chair, stopped in his tracks. "You…you're not…"
"What?" Jehan raised an eyebrow.
"It's just…your father's story is such an inspiration to me. What he accomplished," Feuilly clarified.
"Oh," Jehan looked down. "Yes, well, I am afraid I am little like my father. I have had a rather spoiled life."
"Are you afraid of me?" Feuilly asked, turning with a gentle smile.
Jehan looked decidedly embarrassed. He cleared his throat a few times before saying, "A little. My father warned me not to let anyone poor close to me, because they would just try to take advantage.
"He told me that most of his peers were dishonourable and tried to sabotage him because he was working to better himself," Jehan explained.
Feuilly let out a sigh and went to sit on the sofa beside the boy, who flinched slightly and moved back. "Jehan…look at me."
The boy looked up, his chocolate-brown eyes staring into Feuilly's cobalt ones.
"Do you think that I would want to hurt you?"
"I…" Jehan looked away. "I…no. I don't think you would."
"You are right. But I promised to help you, and help you I shall. You are familiar, I think, with a man named Enjolras?" Feuilly asked, standing.
"My father is an acquaintance of his; that is true. I met his son, once. He was around my age."
"He is going to school here in Paris," Feuilly informed Jehan. "I know him rather well, and I daresay he could assist you better than I; I am hardly acquainted with the wealthier areas of town."
"Is it far to his place?" Jehan also stood.
"Not very. Coming?"
"Naturally. He was a gorgeous boy, I recall. Is he still?"
"Indeed. I have never seen anyone like him." Feuilly paused to close up some of his paints.
"Oh! Are you an artist?" Jehan walked to the desk.
"A fan-maker," Feuilly smiled. "I'm really not that good…"
"Not good?!" Jehan looked shocked. "Sébastien, I have seen many expensive paintings in my time, and these fans could rival any of them for quality!"
"I…thank you…" Feuilly knew he was blushing, but he rarely got praise for his work. "But we should go, before Enjolras heads out for the day," he added.
The two set out, Feuilly taking the shortest way he knew to Enjolras' place. About a year before, he had moved from the huge place his parents purchased to a smaller, one-bedroom flat. His parents had hardly approved, saying something about 'living like a peasant,' but Enjolras was not the type to flaunt his wealth.
As they walked, Feuilly noticed that the roadway was unusually empty for that time of the morning.
"I wonder why…" he started, but as they emerged from an alley, his question was answered.
About forty working-men had overturned a string of wagons and were using them to barricade the entrance to a factory.
There were members of the National Guard present as well, but neither side seemed to be firing as of yet.
Jehan was staring at the sight in wide-eyed astonishment, but just then both sides seemed to come to a simultaneous and unspoken decision and shouts of "Fire!" were heard.
"Come on, Jehan," Feuilly started to back down the alley; some of those bullets were getting dangerously close.
"But Sébastien…"
A bullet clipped the stone wall of the building next to them, and instinctively Feuilly knew what was going to happen before it did. He grabbed Jehan about the waist and pulled him to the ground, shielding the boy with his own body.
He could feel how stiff Jehan was; probably in shock. They had to move.
"Let's go," he urged the other, gritting his teeth as he stood up. He glanced down at his leg, unsurprised to see blood sluggishly oozing out of a bullet wound.
But pain was nothing compared to death. He grabbed the poet's arm and pulled him up, forcing him to move back down the alley.
Emerging back onto the main road, Feuilly limped his way to a nearby bench and collapsed gratefully onto it.
"Wh-what was that?" Jehan sank down as well, his eyes huge.
"That, Jehan, is Paris," Feuilly replied, slightly out of breath. He reached down to pull up his pant leg, wincing as the fabric came away from the wound.
Jehan looked over in confusion, but when he saw the bright red blood, his face paled. "You…you did that…for me?"
Feuilly nodded, unravelling his scarf and using it as a makeshift bandage.
"But…but why?" the poet continued, looking perplexed.
"Couldn't let anything happen to you," Feuilly replied. "After all, I'm somewhat expendable."
"What? Expendable? But you're so talented!"
"I appreciate that, Jehan, but the fact is…I'm also an orphan," Feuilly gingerly stood up, trying to put some weight on his foot, but he staggered and gripped the bench for support.
"How far is Enjolras' place?" Jehan asked.
"A few blocks."
"How heavy are you?"
"Not very. Why?" Feuilly turned to face the poet.
"BecauseIcancarryyou," Jehan mumbled, staring at the ground.
"Come again?"
"Because I can carry you," Jehan repeated, although he still did not look up.
"I think I can manage," Feuilly assured him, taking a step forward and nearly falling over again.
"And I think you can't," Jehan countered, standing up. "Don't you trust me?"
Feuilly sighed. "It isn't that, Jehan. It's just…"
"You don't want to look weak," Jehan finished. "I know. My father is the same way. He always says that on the streets weakness was like a death sentence. Like a hunting pack; they always take the crippled ones first."
Feuilly blinked, a little surprised, but then he nodded. "Exactly."
"But you should have no need for that, Sébastien! If you are friends with this Enjolras…"
"Friends, Jehan. I'm hardly looking for handouts."
"But…"
"Enjolras has done more than enough for me already. He got me a place to live, he and his friend. I won't impose on him again," Feuilly countered.
"Admitting you have troubles is not weakness."
"But depending on somebody else to solve them is."
Jehan sighed and crossed his arms, "Okay. Well, no sense in staying here, is there? Let's get going, then," he stood up.
Feuilly took a step forward and cringed again, knowing that there was no possible way he could make it to Enjolras' on his own. Admitting defeat, he bowed his head slightly and muttered, "You win."
"I what?"
"You win, Jehan. I can't walk. Once we get to Enjolras', I can contact some friends of mine who are studying medicine."
Jehan clapped his hands together and beamed. "Excellent! Let's be on our way, then." He scooped Feuilly up, one hand under his knees and the other on his back.
"You alright? Can you manage?" Feuilly asked with some concern, as Jehan didn't seem too steady on his feet.
"Fine…" Jehan sounded strained. "No, I'm not." He set Feuilly down as gently as he could. "Sorry."
"Don't worry about it," Feuilly assured him. "I'll be alright if you help me a bit."
Jehan nodded, looking thankful. "Okay. That I can do."
000
It took them awhile to hobble the few blocks to Enjolras' place, but they made it without further incident. Feuilly couldn't put any weight on his leg, and he was obviously in a great deal of pain as he rapped on the door.
Enjolras arrived momentarily, took one look at Feuilly, and demanded, "What happened?"
Jehan winced at the harsh tone as Feuilly explained, "Group of factory workers facing the Guard; got caught in the crossfire."
"How bad is it?"
"Hurts like heck," Feuilly admitted. "But it was only one bullet. Do you think André will be around?"
"I'm sure I can locate him quick enough. Can you make it to the sofa, or…"
Feuilly knew how much Enjolras still loathed physical contact, so he put on a brave smile and nodded. "I can manage."
"And who is this?" Enjolras inquired as Jehan helped Feuilly to the couch. "You seem awfully familiar, M'sieur. Have we met before?"
"Once; briefly," Jehan admitted. "We came to your manor to visit. My name is Jean Prouvaire, but, true to my nature, I prefer 'Jehan.'"
"In that case, it's good to see you again. But what brings you to Paris? University?" Enjolras asked.
"Indeed. But I am afraid I got turned around somehow and cannot find the address of my new home," he explained.
"Well, that should be easily remedied. But I have to go and search for André. Will you be alright, Feuilly?"
"Of course."
"Good. I'll be back shortly."