#why does enjolras own a dog that he needs someone else to walk!!! what happens after that to presumably bring them closer!!!!! CMON KLEE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wilwywaylan · 5 years

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Drink me, and the bromos!

Okay that wasn’t really what you asked for, but I had an idea, so…. enjoy :D

Also on AO3 !

Feuilly turned another page of his book, and winced. He’d been studying for so long that his neck was stiff, his fingers were frozen, and according to the low rumbling in his stomach, he had once again forgotten to eat. With a sigh, he stretched, groaning when his shoulders gave a series of painful snaps. His eyes landed on the clock at his left. Quarter past… He blinked. And again. Rubbed his eyes to get rid of the sleep clouding his sight. But no. It really was quarter past two. He had been sitting there at his desk reading for four hours, barely moving, except to turn his pages. No wonder he was stiff as a board and his elbows were hurting.

He got up, trying to ignore the low burning feeling in his thighs. Maybe there would be something to eat in the fridge that he could quickly gobble before going to bed. Or at least lie down and tackle a few more pages. He opened the door, careful not to be heard. Bahorel must have gone to bed now. Except that, he suddenly realized, he hadn’t heard him come home. Usually, it was quite hard to miss. Bahorel signaled his presence by a series of loud noises : bag hitting the ground, shoes against the wall, grunts, opening and closing the fridge, loud singing, doors banging… A whole concerto.

That had been suspiciously absent that night. It wasn’t worrying, of course, it wouldn’t have been the first time that Bahorel had come home at the small hours of the morning, or even not at all. He was an adult, and didn’t need permission from anyone to party as much as he wanted to. And Feuilly didn’t frown at this, even when he learnt later that it included drinking his own weight in beer, getting into dangerous shenanigans with Courfeyrac (often fire-based), Jehan (in very strange places around Paris) or Grantaire (both). Or all three of them, usually ending in chaos, street fights and various acts of mischief. Three times this year already, Feuilly had had to go and bail them out. He’d been welcomed by four idiots way too cheerful for the situation or that time of the night, and he’d taken greatest delight in bringing those smiles down a notch by threatening to rat them out to Combeferre. All in all, there was no worry to have about Bahorel’s whereabouts. He’d be home in the morning for breakfast as if nothing had happened, with only a bruise or two more.

Feuilly walked down the hallway, trying to remember what was left in the fridge that he wouldn’t need for his lunch the next day, when he suddenly noticed that the light was on in the living room. Did he forget to turn it off when he left earlier ? He mentally slapped himself. Ecology and sparing ressources were huge talking points during the ABC meetings, and here he was, wasting electricity because he was too absorbed in whatever was currently piquing his interest.

He walked to the couch, and it was then that he realized that someone was lying on it. Someone whose huge feet were clad in Bahorel’s favourite neon socks. Feuilly was absolutly convinced that no one else owned such an abomination and his friend was the proud possessor of the only pair ever made. So the body lying on the couch was probably his. Now, why he had crashed there instead of his bed, Feuilly didn’t know. From the soft snores that he could hear, it was probably due to an alcohol-related balance impairment.

Since he was now assured that Bahorel was alive, Feuilly focused on his prime objective. A look in the fridge gave him some lunch meat and a bit of cheese that he stuck between two slices of bread. Now provided with a snack, he wandered back to the living-room, wondering if he should wake Bahorel up and kick him out of the couch to preserve his back, or he would be in for a world of pain the next day, and complain Feuilly’s ear off. But he looked so comfy, laying like that, a furry pillow held tightly against his chest, that he didn’t feel like…

Wait. A furry pillow ? Since when did they have furry pillows ? Feuilly hated those things, the touch was always off, like something that tried to pass as something alive but wasn’t, an abomination in the shape of a square. So what was one now doing in their flat ? All good will Feuilly could have mustered disappeared in light of this treason, and he poked Bahorel in the leg sharply. This was enough to wake him up. The eyes that landed on Feuilly after a few owlish blinks were softer than usual, probably due to the certainly incredible alcohol quantities drunk during the evening.

- Hello, squirrel, Bahorel managed to say with a huge grin.

Judging by the way his words were just a little slurred, he wasn’t drunk off his ass. Good. As much as he loved him, Feuilly couldn’t have lifted him even an inch off the couch.

- Did you have fun ? he asked instead.

- Yeah ! We went to that pub, y'know the one, the one with the weird key hanging on the wall, they have that awesome beer you like. (Feuilly nodded.) They have trivia night so Jehan wanted to play. A bunch of asses made fun of them, y'know, “girly stuff”, sissy, blah blah blah (he made a mouth gesture with his hand.) Jehan handed the whole of them their asses off at trivia. One of them even accused him to cheat. So they handed them their asses off again, but with fists. Of course, R had to intervene. And I did too.

- That may explain the bruises.

Bahorel lifted his hand to his eye, where the skin was an interesting shade of purple.

- Yeah. But we did good. Could have been better if the owner didn’t throw everyone out.

- So ? You decided to call it a night ?

Bahorel barked a laugh.

- Certainly not ! We found another bar, and since we still had some energy to spend, we got into an arm-wrestling contest. Kicked everyone’s butts. Or arms. Dunno.

Feuilly tried to picture built-as-a-stick Jehan in an arm-wrestling contest, pinning arms right and left. Not hard to believe, in fact. Never trust their frame, they were a powerhouse.

- And so, I won that one, Bahorel annouced, gesturing to the pillow on his stomach.

- You won a furry pillow.

Bahorel frowned, seemingly confused by the distaste in his voice.

- No furry pillow here, squirrel. You hate them.

Feuilly was kind of charmed that Bahorel remembered, even in his inebriated state. But that wouldn’t save him, certainly not ! He crossed his arms, and looked pointedly at the furry not-pillow-but-still-weird-thing on Bahorel’s chest. The man followed his glance. A large grin spread on his face.

- This ? This is not a pillow ! he claimed, poking the thing.

Said thing gave a low groan and… stretched, emitting a strange “mrep” sound. It now had a head, two triangular ears, and large paws that kneaded Bahorel’s shirt. Or rather ripped it to shreds.

- What the…? Feuilly blurted. Is that…?

- It is ! Bahorel announced proudly, like he was giving him the secret of the universe. It is a cat !

Feuilly thought really hard about facepalming. Then he realized that the situation really deserved a facepalm. Count on Bahorel to always manage to spin his expectations on their heads and exceed them in every possible way. He glared at the other man, who was rambling on happily as if someone wasn’t trying to melt him by the sheer force of his look.

- I won him. Dude seemed very happy to get rid of him. Couldn’t free him in the street. Jehan couldn’t take him in because of the Montparnasses, Courf is not a cat person, and R thinks he can’t take one in because he’s not able take care of one.

The cat and Bahorel both looked at Feuilly with huge, pleading eyes, and he could feel his resolve melt. Count on his friend to always know how to sway him ! Of course he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving a defenseless cat outside, alone, in the cold. And Bahorel was very aware of that fact. And of course, he was using it against him.

- Defenseless, really ? he tried, arms crossed and brow furrowed, the perfect imaage of reprobation. That cat could rip you in two.

He wasn’t just grasping at straws. The paws kneading Bahorel’s shirt - and stomach under - were huge, with impressive claws, and the cat was of way more than average built. In fact, it looked more like a small lynx that a cat.

- He’s a Norwegian Forest Cat, Bahorel announced proudly. Well, not a pure breed, or the guy would probably have asked for my liver as payement. But he’s more than half. Did you know that those cats fight bears in their natural habitat ?

- You’re really made for each other. Do you even know how to keep a cat ?

- Of course I do ! And if I don’t, I can always ask Jehan, or Enjolras, or Bossuet, or Joly. They wil be more than happy to help me dote on that sweet guy here.

Said sweet guy was now sprawled on Bahorel’s stomach, paws in the air, and was purring up a storm. Feuilly came to sit on the couch, or rather on Bahorel’s legs that were on the couch, and offered a hand to the cat, who caught it between his paws, bit lightly on his fingers, then rubbed his head against it. Feuilly could feel his heart melt.

- I’ve always wanted a cat, he mused. Or a dog. A pet. But you know…

Bahorel nodded. Feuilly had filled him and the others on all the details of his life in the orphanage when he spoke on budget cuts for all foster care services, and they had discussed at length later, during the small hours of the morning where alcohol and lack of sleep tend to lower one’s defenses.

- Does this guy has a name, at least ? he asked.

Bahorel caught the cat in his arms, sat up straight and deposited the ball of fur on Feuilly’s lap.

- Squirrel, let me introduce you to Fluffy the Terrible. Third.

Feuilly was torn between laughing and facepalming a second time.

- Don’t you think it lacks something ? he said, playing with the fuzzy tail. I mean, that cat is regal enough, we could add something at the end, like, I don’t know… Doctor ? PhD ?

- Esquire ! Fluffy the Terrible III, Esquire. What do you think ?

Feuilly looked at the cat sprawled on his lap, took one of the large paws in his hand, and shook it.

- Pleased to meet you, Fluffy the Terrible III, Esquire.

The cat batted at his hand playfully, then curled up on himself and promptly went to sleep. Which was honestly very tempting. Feuilly was very aware that he should be sleeping by now, or at least on his way. Instead, he was sitting on the couch, a big beast pinning him in place. A big, plushy, friendly beast. He thought about spending the night there, scratching the cat, letting him keep him warm. Very tempting too. But it pained him to admit, his ass was starting to hurt. And his boss would probably not be very happy to see him crawl to work the next morning.

- Hey dork, he called.

Bahorel, who was patting the ground to find the remote, looked up at him.

- Get your monster back, I need to go to bed.

Bahorel grabbed the cat again. The beast seemed to be quite annoyed at being manhandled like that, and stuck his claws in Feuilly’s leg to keep himself at the right place. When it wasn’t enough, he opted for scratching Bahorel’s arms. His owner didn’t seem to mind, and soon, they were comfortably settled as they were before, despite the red lines now on Bahorel’s arms. Well, they didn’t stand out with the bruises already there.

Feuilly got up, shaking his legs slightly to get his feeling back. He patted Bahorel on the thigh, scratched the cat behind the ears, starting the purring storm again, and retreated to his room for his much needed sleep. Tomorrow, they would have to get everything they needed for Fluffy. Feuilly wasn’t sure they could afford it (well he couldn’t, Bahorel probably could), but it didn’t really matter. He had dreamed of having a cat for so long, he couldn’t blame him. Already, he could see himself sit in the couch and read with Fluffy on his lap. That would certainly better his reading sessions. Maybe he could Bahorel something to thank him ? Maybe something cat-related. He would certainly love that.

(He almost went back on every positive advice he had when Fluffy came to wake him up at five in the morning to be fed. Feuilly was very glad to free him in Bahorel’s room and close the door.)

#les miserables #feuilly #bahorel #the bromos #and fluffy the cat #feuillyrel #kujaku-myoo

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la-vie-dure-blog · 7 years

Text

Pain

With: Éponine ( @thejondrettegirl ) and Grantaire Setting: Grantaire returns home, completely drunk, after the first day of the event. Éponine hearing him return and trying to talk some sense into him. Trigger Warnings: alcohol, depression, suicidal tendencies mention OOC Notes: This took a while to finish because life is busy and all but this is a para that is a follow up to the first day of the event which led to R being stupid and thinking alcohol is going to help to forget his problems. Or: The para in which our kids truly live up to the name of Les Misérables.

Grantaire stumbled into the apartment after he had been barely able to open up the door. He hoped that Gavroche was asleep already - as well as Eponine. Apollo came flouncing over to him and Grantaire just let himself flop to the ground, not bothering to try and walk further into the apartment than necessary. Half heartedly, he tossed the door shut and closed his eyes, leaning against Apollo and hoping that the world would stop turning any time soon. After Marie had cut him off alcohol, he had wandered to the next pub - the one where he knew that they only cared about the money they made and not about making sure their patrons didn't get too drunk.

That day had been an awful day. It had started out so well but then... Enjolras. Well. Merde. With a groan, he covered his face, his other hand curling into Apollo's fur. But at least those two pubs had been like an escape. Almost like a place where he belonged. He had seen the same familiar faces. Had drunk the same drinks. But now... now was different. "Apollo, I don't know what to do." He mumbled into his dog's fur.

Eponine had put Gavroche to bed, the concept of giving the tiny human a bedtime still surreal to her, but... it was what a responsible adult did. And she was trying, really trying for him. He deserved that at the very least. Closing her book, she was about to get to sleep herself when she heard commotion in the hallway, and sighed, knowing Grantaire was probably home. She'd seen a change in him the past while, flickers of something before he pretended everything was okay again, and... well, she was worried. Stepping out of her room and hearing his words to Apollo, she decided she had to be right. "I do not believe he can answer your questions, monsieur." She frowned, going into the kitchen for water, and bringing it over to him.

Grantaire sighed when he heard Eponine. "Who is to say that him and I do not have a secret language just between the two of us?" When he was handed the water, he took it, had a sip and set it down on the floor next to him, still not letting go of the dog. "I feel... he might be the, ah, only one right now who might understand me."

Eponine shrugged, sitting on the floor with him and pulling her knees up towards herself. "I believe he would've shared this secret language with Gavroche given the chance, and he has not told me of one." She smiled slightly, it lessening as he continued to talk. "Maybe that is because you will not let the rest of us have the chance to understand you."

Grantaire shook his head and sighed. "There's no need to understand me, 'Ponine. I'm but a mere distraction in the life of everyone's purposes. So what good would it be to try and understand someone like me? Give me wine, let me be and I shall be existing on the sidelines."

Eponine tried to resist rolling her eyes, but she couldn't, the longer he spoke. "That is ridiculous to say, R. You have a life as important as anyone else's. You are your own person. You exist for a reason, and it is not for others."

Grantaire let out a hollow laugh. "'Ponine, my whole reason for my existence is to ensure that others feel better about themselves. May it be through me bein' the constant drunk guy who does nothin' with his life but waste away, making others feel better about their accomplishments in life or may it be me making others laugh and forget about their worries. Who, I may ask, who would want to know more of the cynic who does nothing but disagree with everyone?" Eponine sighed, rubbing her face. "I want to know you. Gavroche wants to know you. And do not make me mention Enjolras as well. Do not make me slap sense into you."

Grantaire found the glass of water a lot more interesting than looking at Eponine. "Enjolras? Ha. All he cares about is beginning another fight for the changes he wants to see in the world. This is his mission, mon chéri. And you know what the worst part about this all is? I'd follow him again, into death. Because this is who I am: I do not exist for myself, I exist for others." A sigh escaped him. "And I don't understand why you even let me be close to Gavroche? I'm a bad influence, 'Ponine. I should not be around him. I should not be around you. I don't belong."

Eponine let out a frustrated huff, and without a second thought, slapped him. "You lecture me to not throw away my second chance, and yet you waste yours drinking yourself into a stupor and talk nonsense that is not true?!" She pushed the water towards his mouth again, wanting to sober him up faster, for him to realise that this was insane talking. "And bad influence? Monsieur, I am a thief! My sister, my father are worst, and you think you are the worst influence in Gavroche's life? Everything he wants to be, he has learnt from you and your friends. I would not have it any other way."

Grantaire had some of the water while throwing a challenging glance towards her. Honestly, he had expected the slap and he had not shown any outward reaction to it - though, not that he would admit it out loud, the slap did sober him up a little. His head was hurting and he shook his head slightly, hoping to clear it a little. "He is lucky to have you in his life, 'Ponine. To have at least one person in the family who loves him." He sighed, leaning his head more heavily against Apollo. Eponine considered apologising, but the slap seemed to have calmed Grantaire's racing thoughts, even if only a little. "You are his family, Grantaire." She sighed, a hand on top of his. "I went to the library to ask about starting him at school... I plan to put your name down as his father. I hope you don't mind. It was easier to explain. When you are at your best, you are the person I want him to grow up to be."

Grantaire just stared at Eponine. All of the thoughts in his mind had suddenly gone quiet. Him? Father? Of Gavroche? "Me?" He repeated, not believing what he heard. "'Ponine, there are better choices out there, I'm not one that anyone would want as their father. I... Are you sure? Have you thought this through? Because if you like me at my ... best... you have to know that my best isn't what I'm going to be most of the time. I won't change, 'Ponine. I'm set in my ways and... I want what's best for the little garçon and I doubt it is me." But, dieu, being put down as the father of Gavroche? Now that was something he had never thought he'd actually want.

Eponine had expected a reaction like that, but she nodded. "I admit, I do not like you around him when you are too drunk to make sense, and when you speak the way that you have been tonight... I do not want him to have reason to worry about you, or copy you in that way. But you are a good man. You are friendly, and loyal, and charming, and all the things that I would want him to be. And you care about him, Grantaire. I.... know that it is hard for you. His being here. I am not blind to that. But you have not let him know that, and that is what matters to me."

Grantaire couldn't fight the tears that were threatening to spill while Eponine was talking. This day had been a whirlwind of emotions. He had drowned the feelings of guilt over the almost-fight-definitely-argument with Enjolras in alcohol, trying to numb his emotions and now here he was, sobbing on the floor because... why? Because he was feeling? Guilty? Happy? Emotions were hard. And confusing. "I always try to be on my best around Gavroche. I do not want for him to see me like this." He hated, how much his voice was breaking - he was wondering if Eponine would even understand a word at this point. "Him being here, it's hard because... because I'm worried that it all will happen again." He paused for a short moment. "I still have terrors at night about what happened. And all I hear sometimes are the gun shots in my mind and all I see is the blood, all the blood of the amis. And sometimes I worry that this will all happen again and all I want for Gavroche is to be as far away from it as possible. I want him to be safe." Grantaire tried to reach for his water but his hand was shaking too much to actually get a hold on the glass. Hot tears were running down his cheeks.

Eponine squeezed in beside Grantaire, the other side of Apollo, a hand on top of his own. "We are a long long way from home, Grantaire. These things won't happen again, especially to Gavroche." She saw his hand shaking, and carefully put her own over his, helping him to grip the glass. Taking a deep breath, she stared at the floor. "... He remembers some things. Blood. My body. The bodies he looted... He does not remember the moment it happened, but he knows that it did." She swallowed, wondering if she needed her own drink. "But he also talked about you carrying him. And trying to make him leave. And giving him a drink for being such a clever boy. He remembers the happy with the sad, and he focuses on the happy. I... know that he is a child and so was able to find joy in the simplest of things, but... maybe you can take something from that." She wiped at his cheek, looking up at him. "This place is safe for him. For us. You will not let me waste that, so I will not let you, either."

Grantaire took a careful sip of the water with Eponine's help. When she continued talking, Grantaire tried to take deep, slow breaths and fought for the tears to stop. Shaking his head he tried to inch away from Eponine, not sure if he welcomed the closeness at the moment or not - half of him wanted for her to leave him alone while the other half did not want to be left alone. He let out a heavy sigh, pressing his eyes shut to try and avoid more tears from spilling. Letting his emotions burst out of him like this was not what he had planned. He had wanted to keep them all in. "If," he started, his voice cracking, "if you think I'm good for him then... yes, I... I would be honored to be put down as his father."

Eponine nodded, reaching up to stroke at his hair, an attempt to be comforting. "It is one of the few things I am certain of in this strange place, yes." She reassured. "You are good for him, and for others. I wish you were as good to yourself, though."

Grantaire let out a quiet huff while leaning slightly against her hand. "I have no reason to." He replied with a shrug. "But I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Eponine raised her eyebrows at him, shaking her head. "Do not make me be the optimist of the house, or we will all be doomed."

Grantaire glanced at her. "Please, are you saying I currently am the optimist in this house? Because then we certainly are doomed."

Eponine chuckled, ruffling his hair this time. "Perhaps we will have to put all our hope into Gavroche's optimism, instead. He has enough to power an entire city."

Grantaire let out a small, wet chuckle himself. "Possibly."

Eponine smiled faintly, patting his shoulder. "What caused this sadness today?"

Grantaire sighed and avoided to look at Eponine. "It is a combination of many things," he admitted. "Some having built up for a while and one more recent one." Knowing that Eponine would enquire about what the 'things' were, he took a deep breath before continuing. "I've been feeling like I have no real place to call my own," that was the first admission and it was spoken quietly, "I know, I know that I have a home here and I'm not saying that you make me feel foreign or anything of the sort, it is just... how I feel. I can not explain. And I know I can stay at Enjolras' place whenever I like but it also does not feel like it is mine, you know?" Another sigh escaped him. "And... I think we had an argument today. Enjolras and I. But I'm sure you don't want to hear about this."

Eponine bit her lip, looking down at her hands. "If it troubles you, me and Gavroche can see about moving. So that you may have your own space, monsieur." She offered, shrugging her shoulder. "What could the two of you possibly have to fight about?"

Grantaire shook his head. "Non, non, non. This is not what I want. I like you being here. Both of you. I know it may sound weird because you and I never really had the chance to get to know each other, back then." With a deep breath, he continued, "I have been looking into the possibility of acquiring a studio where I can do my art. I could use this space as my own, I suppose. Unless you want me out of here." He really needed another wine if he was to continue the conversation. "Politics."

Eponine shook her head. "We have had time to get to know each other, it is not weird. And no, I do not want you to go, that was not why I said it. But if a studio for art will give you freedom and give you your own place, I can only encourage it." Hearing the subject of the argument though, she rolled her eyes. "I wish I could be surprised by that."

Grantaire huffed at that. "If you're not surprised about that then why did you ask?" His question wasn't asked in a harsh but rather curious way. "And I am willing to try and see if an art studio would help," he admitted quietly. "It is something I have been thinking of for a while now but have not spoken to anyone about yet."

Eponine shrugged. "I was curious, that is all. Enjolras is still the same person he was before, if there is politics to involve himself in, he'll do it, even when people do not ask him to."

Grantaire sighed. "I know. We already said we were not going to change who we are but... I had foolishly hoped that maybe we would be able to get on one mutual ground in which we would not argue with each other. So far, it worked mainly because we avoided the topic."

Eponine laughed sadly. "Just because you do not talk about something, doesn't make it go away. You think because I don't speak of Monsieur Pontmercy, I do not feel the same about him?" She paused, biting her lip. "Would he... do the same as before for a cause? Is that the problem?"

Grantaire sighed and really wished for another wine. "He would," he replied. "And I would follow him again." An empty chuckle escaped him. "I won't let him do this alone. Not if I can be there to try and be a buffer between him and another bullet."

Eponine rubbed her face, blinking. "Then it is a suicide wish of both of you." She sighed, pulling back slightly. "If you back a lost cause alone, of course you will lose. All you both do is set yourselves up for failure."

Grantaire shrugged and sighed. "I know this," he replied, "Though I am sure that if Enjolras were to try something again, that he would go about it differently this time but... I also do not want to hope that the end result would be any different because that would mean I would just set myself up for disappointment." He stayed silent for a short moment. "And don't get me wrong, I do not wish to die. But I also do not want to live in a world that does not have him in it."

Eponine shrugged as well. "You would have needed to if he were not here. The man I died for is not around, after all. It is not easy, but I believe you would be able to bear it."

Grantaire sent her a small smile that did not reach his eyes. "You are a lot stronger than you believe, 'Ponine. Myself though? I am not. Not in that regard."

Eponine laughed humorlessly. "I am not strong, Grantaire, I have just done things and seen things worse than you can imagine."

Grantaire shook his head softly. "It is no competition," he replied, not wanting to delve into what he had seen in his lifetime, not wanting to get into the reasons of why he became the cynic he was. "And accept this compliment for what it is. You can say what you want but I believe you are strong. It is a good thing. I'm proud of you for handling everything the way you are."

Eponine shook her head, rolling her eyes. "My whole life has been about survival. That is all this is. It isn't brave, or strong. You do not need to be proud of that, or worry about me in any way. Focus on you and Enjolras."

Grantaire rolled his eyes at that. "I feel like we have been through this before. I will worry about you. Just like I worry about Gavroche. Or Enjolras. You not wanting me to is not going to change that."

Eponine motioned to the water that she had been forcing him to drink. "Then I am allowed to return the favour of worrying about you. Just don't make it public knowledge that I care about too much."

Grantaire chuckled softly at that, taking another sip of the water to appease her. "Promise."

#eponine #para #alcohol tw #suicidal tendencies tw #depression tw

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