SPAS- …. You're welcome?
Bowties- Unfortunately I found the quality to be subpar as well as the quantity…. *Shrugs* I'm all sore with nowhere to go now, so perhaps this chapter shall improve *somewhat*
TheIbis- That's right, think think think think! MUAHAHAHAHA.
Punchy- Unfortunately, the story is going to be mostly canon. I'm sorry m'amie! But I mean, he gets his "Do you permit it" moment, so he'll be happy there. I'm thinking (*THINKING*) about including some slight Jehan/R on the barricade, what do you think about that?
ConcreteAngel - Get out. I'm sticking to canon, and if you don't want to read barricade stories THEN LEAVE.
Thank you for all the overwhelming support, guys! I'm too lazy to check, but I'm fairly sure that this is one of the most reviewed Enj/OC stories! I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH. JUST STAHP. But don't really. :)
Henri brought the notebook to the tavern. Although he was sure that Dubhghlas would care not for the many drawings, he felt the unavoidable need to see the younger man soon. He did so, and he couldn't help but feel a certain pleasant pressure in his chest when Dubhghlas's eyes lit up upon seeing Henri.
"Monsieur Enjolras." He said his greeting so formerly that Henri couldn't help but wave away the formality with a chuckle.
"Non, call me no such thing. I insist, Dubhghlas." Henri said, and the boy laughed in response before depositing himself in the spot across the worn table.
"Any news?" Asked Dubhghlas, his cobalt eyes bright with excitement. Hating to have to ruin the young man's hope, Henri gave an apology before answering in the negative.
However, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out the sketchbook that he kept on his person from the moment he discovered it. A certain sadness settled over Henri after he went through it the first time and noticed a significant absence of any works after June of 1832.
Dubhghlas took it as if he was holding something made of glass. He carefully went through the drawings with more observance than Henri had. He took his time on each individual work, and when he came across the one of his friend, he looked up with joy in his eyes.
"Ah, so this is where you have seen Gavroche!" Without waiting for Henri to respond, Dubhghlas turned to the next one. He smiled at some of the more amusing drawings, once looking at Henri with a sputtering indignance. Henri grimaced, realizing that the more innocent man must have seen the very detailed image of the late Enjolras leaning against a doorframe with no cover on his chest. At least R had been modest enough to only draw from Enjolras's tapered waist up.
When he came across the sketch of Ceara and Bahorel, he froze. He seemed to finally understand the importance of this notebook. He seemed almost to touch it, but pulled back, remembering the state of his dirty hands.
"You can touch it if you like, you are family. If you wish it, this drawing could be yours." Henri said kindly. Dubhghlas had gratitude shining in his eyes even as he refused the offer.
"I think Ceara should have it when we find her." He said it so firmly that Henri almost believed for a moment that they would find her.
"So that is how you say her name." He said instead, not wishing to crush Dubhghlas's beautiful dreams.
"Oui." Dubhghlas looked slightly bashful as he admitted, "I am not as bold as she is and my mother was. I do not find it necessary to correct people's pronunciations."
Their eyes lingered on each other, Henri almost hungrily looking at the strange softness of Dubhghlas's jaw and the handsome curve of his wide forehead. Dubhghlas found himself inspecting Henri's strange expression. Upon realizing what he was doing, Henri cleared his throat and leaned back, doing his best to hide the blush that began in the apples of his cheeks.
Unfortunately, Henri was not as good at it as his cousin was, so Dubhghlas let out a small chuckle at Henri's failed attempt before continuing his search through the notebook. He would smile softly whenever he came across a depiction of his sister. His gaze lingered on a particular one that was Henri's favorite in the notebook.
Eventually, however, Dubhghlas caught sight of Henri's pocket watch, which sat between them on the table. He cursed in a language that Henri found difficult to place, and he stood quickly, handing Henri the notebook gently.
"I have to get up early in the morning, I'm afraid." Dubhghlas apologized. Henri shook his head, granting him an understanding smile.
"Have a mistress to return home to?" He said in a teasing voice. However, one as observant as an ex-gamin would catch the slight hurt in his pale eyes. Dubhghlas caught this, and it made his heart leap, although he didn't know why.
"No, just Gavroche and a pathetic excuse for a mattress." He laughed, and noticing Henri's blush, he quickly redeemed himself by saying, "Although, Gavroche's mistress may be there as well."
Once again, Henri's relief struck something in Dubhghlas that confused the younger man to no extent.
"Allow me to walk you home?" It should have been a demand, but in his excited state, Henri couldn't help but be questioning of every move that he made. Dubhghlas could only nod, and the two men emerged from the tavern and into the warm May night.
Dubhghlas lived in a modest garret in the Latin Quarter. He complained slightly of his next-door neighbors. Their names were Marcello, Rodolfo, Colline, and Schaunard, and they constantly refused to pay rent, causing the landlord, Benoît, to overcharge the rest of the tenants. As they walked, Henri couldn't help but think of the drawing that was his favorite of Ceara in the notebook. He and Dubhghlas almost resembled Ceara and her companion.
It was sketched in black and white, showing a night time scene. There were two figures that were the subjects of the drawing, both distinctly female. They were walking down a street with only the slightest bit of light cast from nearby street lamps. The two young women had their arms linked and they were leaning close to each other as if laughing over a joke that only the two of them shared. Their backs were to Grantaire, but Ceara had her head turned ever so slightly so that she was looking over her shoulder and smiling softly at someone beyond Grantaire. There was no label, only the date of April, 1832.
They arrived at Dubhghlas's building in time to see two couples enter the building. Dubhghlas leaned close to Henri and murmured in his ear, "That is Marcello and his mistress, Musetta as well as Rodolfo and his mistress Mimì."
"Ah," Henri said, his heart beating a little too quickly for his brain to think clearly. Dubhghlas smelt of potatoes, an odd scent that carried a certain charm about it. "I shall keep you updated." He stepped slightly away from the younger man, scared by his sinful feelings. Dubhghlas looked disappointed, but he nodded.
At the very last moment before Dubhghlas entered the building, the younger man was seized with a bold feeling and grabbed Henri's head between his hands and pressed a rushed kiss to Henri's lips before disappearing. This left Henri in disarray, confused beyond anything else.
The only thing he thought of in that moment was the beautiful, heartbroken wife of his.
How could he tell her what happened?
How could he confess that he enjoyed it as much as he enjoyed her kisses?
Éponine couldn't remember ever being so happy. After her kiss with Courfeyrac, he pulled her aside and off the table. Although his voice was slurred with alcohol, the dandy confessed his love to her, to which she responded enthusiastically, kissing him full on the mouth, much to the cheers of the others.
It had only been a few days, but each morning she spent in his arms was worth all the pain she'd ever endured. She lived a life that was cold and dark, but it led her to Courfeyrac, so she couldn't find it in her heart to complain.
He was the first man who ever made love to her. She wasn't just some quick fuck in an alleyway or a way to pass time while on the look-out during a crime. He loved her, and although he told her so she couldn't help but feel waves of relief every time that she woke up and he was still there.
Les Amis weren't sure what they were most surprised about. The fact that Éponine loved Courfeyrac back, or the wild reality that the young man had only eyes for his mistress. They were so used to his crude hollerings and his watchful eyes that this new Courfeyrac was quite the spectacle to behold.
It annoyed Enjolras, to a certain extent. Bahorel and Joly already spent most of the meetings speaking about their mistresses, and now Courfeyrac brought Éponine along with him. They were getting distracted, and who was Enjolras to thwart them from that? For all he knew, action would have to take place soon, causing his friends to abandon their mistresses in favor of the cruelest mistress of all- death.
Amongst it all, cholera was beginning to spread through the city. Joly seemed especially worried for Éponine, Ceara, and Feuilly, for the three of them were the poorest of the group. Thankfully, no one in the trio showed any symptoms.
("BUT ONE CAN HAVE THE DISEASE WITHOUT SHOWING ANY SYMPTOMS FOR UP TO FIVE DAYS. WHAT IF ONE OF THEM WERE TO FALL ILL AND WE DID NOT GET TO THEM IN TIME?" Joly was hyperventilating to the point that he had to be escorted into fresh air.)
Once, when Éponine stopped by with Courfeyrac to have breakfast with Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, and Enjolras, she was overcome with nausea and Joly immediately began to rant about the importance of drinking water, for it was the dehydration that was most deadly. To this, Éponine rolled her eyes and dumped the water over the hypochrondaic, causing his love interests to laugh loudly.
However, although Enjolras loved his friends and even Éponine dearly, he could only bring himself to worry for Ceara and General Lemarque. The people's man, Lemarque spent too much time in the slums, which left him open for illness. Already, Enjolras had confessed his fears concerning this to Ceara and Combeferre. The latter assured him that it was not likely, given Lemarque's social status, for him to contract cholera. Ceara simply laughed and told him that she was more likely than Lemarque to fall ill. This did not put Enjolras at ease.
As the weather grew warmer, the feeling of dread wrapped tighter around Enjolras. He felt that there was a storm coming, he just knew not how to proceed. Under Grantaire's welcome (for once) advise, Enjolras went to the Corinth with Courfeyrac, Grantaire, Éponine, and (after being begged by both Éponine and Grantaire) Ceara.
The odd group of five grabbed a large table and ordered several bottles of wine. Ceara and Éponine insisted that the men order the cheapest wine, for the women were not used to the expensive tastes that Grantaire and Courfeyrac were used to. When Ceara and Éponine were not looking, Grantaire quickly told the waiter to bring them the most expensive champagne. Enjolras could care less, for although he helped pay the bill, he had no intention of drinking with them.
He enjoyed their lighthearted conversations, however. And there was something startlingly endearing about Ceara's cheeks, flushed from champagne. She and Éponine clicked considerably, often falling into the children's argot that they both learned from Gavroche. Courfeyrac and Grantaire began to discuss the advantages of foreign drink versus French, a conversation that Enjolras joined purely for the intention of defending France.
By the end of the night, all of them were red-cheeked and happy, even the sober Enjolras. They left in a group, Ceara and Éponine leading the way. They made an odd sight; the two bare-footed gamines with three wealthy students trailing behind them.
Ceara and Éponine giggled pleasantly at something that caused Ceara to glance over her shoulder. She met Enjolras's eye and blushed, turning back to Éponine quickly.
However, the singular moment caught Grantaire's attention, which reminded him of his favorite painting by his favorite artist. The pose that Ceara took was not unlike that of The Girl with the Pearl Earring by Vermeer.
He committed the image to his memory, storing it for future use. And, indeed, the next morning when the hangover was too much for him to attend his morning classes, he sat and sketched the scene as he remembered it. A bitter thought nibbled at his brain. He couldn't help but feel angry with the object of his affections, for once Enjolras took his rebellious thoughts to action, there was a chance of these stolen, youthful moments disappearing for good.
With that thought process, Grantaire tucked himself back into bed and fell into a fitful nap.
I bought the full recording of the musical and I haven't stopped listening to it. Once Eponine's voice grew on me, I loved it. It's mysterious, kind of rock-y and since she doesn't speak English, she pronounces things weirdly and I actually like that...
So... Urm... Yes. :)
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