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Feuilly answered the phone, quickly stifling a yawn. So much for getting a quick nap in before his next shift at his second job at the bakery. He doesn't even have time to greet whoever is on the other end before a voice starts speaking.
"Oh Feuilly, hi, hello, sorry to disturb you like this." There was a pause, enough for Feuilly to rub his eyes.
"It's okay." he responded, trying to place the voice.
"It's Enjolras. We met the other night." Of course; Feuilly had gone to a pub last week, and had met Enjolras and two of his friends who had seemed very interested in his life. Enjolras was an imposing figure; tall and blonde, commanding even. He'd been sat alone, until Combeferre (glasses, insanely tall, neat style) had respectfully asked if they could join him as there were no other free tables. Feuilly was glad for the company then.
"Oh! Oh hey. How are you?" He hated that his voice sounded groggy; it was three in the afternoon, he didn't want Enjolras to think he was lazy.
"I'm good. I was just, well, I was wondering if you fancied meeting up later. A few friends of ours are meeting us at Cafe l'ABC?" Enjolras sounded hopeful, and Feuilly cursed his work schedule. He explained that he had work, and made sure he was just the right amount of apologetic.
-2 weeks since they met-
Enjolras shivered, and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. He hadn't had the best of days; it seemed he had awoken and since then nothing had gone right for him. He couldn't wait to be in the warmth of his home, with his laptop and a steaming mug of coffee. He was just day dreaming about getting Courfeyrac to come over too, and maybe they could have a study session in which they completely blitz the problem questions they had been set for their module in Tort, when someone crashed into him and knocked him to the ground.
"I'm sorr-- Enjolras!?" Enjolras looked up, and recognized Feuilly from his red hair and freckles towering over him. Feuilly helped him up, apologizing profusely over and over until Enjolras shook him off.
"It's fine- I should've been looking where I was going." He had a mud stain on his jacket, but he couldn't find himself getting angry. He had sent Feuilly a few texts over the weeks since they met, informing him of political gatherings, but the other boy had either ignored them or made excuses not to go so Enjolras had sighed and vowed not to think of him again. And yet here they were! "You're in a rush?" He inquired, starting to build a picture of Feuilly. The guy had mentioned working three jobs when they had first been introduced.
Feuilly looked around guiltily, before shaking his head. "I was just running.. didn't want to miss my bus." He said evasively, and Enjolras wondered if he was lying.
"Then I should let you go." He said, stepping to one side. "But it was nice seeing you." He held out a hand, and Feuilly shook it carefully, as though shaking hands was a foreign concept to him. He left, and Enjolras looked back, watching the back of his ginger head dart through the crowd. He didn't notice Montparnasse also following the red-headed figure with a dangerous glint in his eyes.
-3 weeks since they met-
Enjolras sighed loudly, as his mouse hovered over the "Add as Friend" button once more. Courfeyrac looked over at his screen and grinned at Combeferre, who was pretending to read Plato's 'The Republic' intently. "You should just add him, you know." Combeferre suggested. "And then you won't be so distracted."
"What if he thinks its weird that I've found him on facebook?" Enjolras asks.
"And twitter, and mySpace, and jobs4u, and probably every other thing he's ever signed up for." Courfeyrac listed, holding a finger up for every social media site he listed. "Why on earth would he find that weird?" Combeferre gave Courfeyrac a stern look, so he relented on his sarcasm and patted Enjolras on the back.
"It's not weird to add people on facebook. You kind of know each other!" Combeferre smiled, closing the book after slotting his bookmark in.
"Would it make it easier if we added him too?" Courfeyrac suggested. "Yes." Enjolras nodded, before registering that no, it might not be, what if Feuilly didn't want to be friends with them?
Feuilly rarely had an evening off from working as a waiter in a restaraunt, but tonight was a rare night. He was sat in sweat pants and an old baggy t-shirt, headphones in with the music loud to drown out the sound of his arguing neighbours from the flat below and was surfing the web, when he got a barrage of notifications from facebook. Three friend requests had come in at the same time and he was a little confused when he saw they were from Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Combeferre. He accepted them, of course, before making himself appear offline for fear they would speak to him. He wasn't in the mood for social interaction. He did fine on his own. But curiosity got the best of him and he clicked Courfeyrac's profile.
Courfeyrac's profile was filled with mundane statuses that seemed to get a barrage of 'likes' and 'comments'; popular boy then, he was tagged in a lot of photos too. Not just the standard Saturday night shots, but there were pictures of him from Law Society of the local university, and there were recent photos of him volunteering at a homeless shelter.
Combeferre's profile was less popular than Courfeyrac's, but he too had as many friends on the page, he 'shared' news articles mainly, and debated with his friends in the comments section. The photos of him, Feuilly noted, were joke ones where he was either pulling faces or people had snapped without his knowlede (either asleep, or reading, or eating) that he hadn't bothered to untag.
Enjolras's profile, Feuilly left until last, simply because this profile would be the deciding factor on whether he messaged the trio or not. Enjolras had a lot of friends, nearly as many as Courfeyrac, but much less pictures. Most of his photos were from his role as President of the Law Society where he's stood on a podium and reciting a speech. There were some videos too that he had uploaded himself of political rallies he had attended. He scrolled downwards, before logging off and going to bed, ready for the hard day ahead.
-3 and a half weeks after they had met-
Enjolras could not understand his obsession with this boy. He was scrolling through his photos (again); there weren't many, a few at a Christmas party, one or two casual photos posted by a friend (also stalked- his name was Jehan Prouvaire) which were breathtaking. They were taken on a woodland walk with a good camera, every freckle on Feuilly's face was highlighted. He debated 'liking' the photo but decided not to. He didn't want Feuilly to think he was a stalker. Courfeyrac wasn't so bashful, he had liked those photos and commented on one of Feuilly looking grumpy with a Christmas Sweater on. Apparently he and Feuilly had been chatting away as well. Enjolras didn't understand why he was so bothered by this.
When suddenly, Enjolras' phone buzzed as he recieved a text.
Feuilly: Hey. Courfeyrac said there was something going on at The Musain tonight?
Enjolras let out a quick breath, as he wondered what to type back.
Enjolras: Yup. We're meeting about 8. Are you going to come?
Feuilly looked at the reply; glad that Enjolras wasn't a fan of the 'xoxox' and smilies like Courfeyrac was.
Feuilly: I might be late. I have work until half nine. Is that okay?
Enjolras: More than okay, if we start something interesting we will catch you up.
Feuilly: ok. see you then.
Enjolras grinned, and 'liked' the woodland photo of Feuilly.
Feuilly decided that turning up had been a mistake. There wasn't a lot of them- apart from Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Combeferre there was a medical student called Joly, his friend Bossuet, and friend of everyone's Bahorel, who also was a student. Feuilly already felt like an odd one out, especially when Joly inquired as to what he studied and he answered he didn't. "So what do you do?" Bossuet had asked.
"Uhm. I work, mainly. I'm a fan maker." He admitted; in his quarter of the city there was still a little business in making fans, and selling them to tourists- it was possibly the most fun of all his jobs, but it reaped the littlest rewards. "I work two other jobs as well. At a bakery and a restaraunt." he added. Enjolras came to them then, sitting himself opposite Feuilly and shooting a smile at the boy.
"How old are you, Feuilly?" Bahorel asked then. He had a loud voice, and looked very intimidating, but Feuilly was quick to judge that the guy was softer than he seemed.
"Eighteen." he admitted. He knew Enjolras and Courfeyrac were twenty from their facebooks, Bossuet was twenty five and lamenting about his baldness. They were all students, and they were all older than him. Was there anything they would have in common?
"The best age to be!" Courfeyrac nodded. "The age where suddenly, everything is allowed!"
Joly beamed and added, "you been to much of the clubs this city has to offer?" he asked the group. Courfeyrac launched into a list of his favourite places wth Bahorel. Bossuet joked about a couple he had fallen over outside of and been denied entry. Feuilly half-listened, feeling lost. He hadn't really been clubbing at all, he didn't have enough friends to invite him out, and besides, it wasn't like he had a penny to spare for nights out. He took a sip of his drink that Courfeyrac had bought for him. The guy had insisted, and had bought a round for everyone, but Feuilly didn't like the feeling of oweing people money. He mentally racked up the list of expenses he owed Montparnasse and Jehan and felt the pit of worry knaw in his stomach before Enjolras' voice took him out of his black pit of doom.
"We do get started on the politics soon." his voice was soft and quiet, but there was a steely determination underlying it, as though he was preparing to take command of the conversation at any moment. "We're just waiting for Grantaire."
"Who's Grantaire?" he murmered, trying for conversation. It wasn't that he was a people person, but most of the time Feuilly dealt with old ladies who thought he was adorable. It was difficult trying to find something to discuss with people closer to his own age.
"Oh." Enjolras frowned as he tried to find a way to describe the guy. "He's... well, you'll see." He stood up and went to Combeferre at the bar. Feuilly wondered if he'd said something wrong. Grantaire came in then, black hair standing up in all directions, large trench coat, big nose, red cheeks and watery eyes. He gave a roar and greeted Joly and Bossuet with hugs, punched Bahorel's arm and made his way to the back of the room, and dropped down in a seat one away from Feuilly.
"Hi." He said, eyeing the ginger boy up and down.
"Hello." He said. "I'm Feuilly." He offered a smile.
"Your first time?" Grantaire sait up and offered his hand to shake. "You'll have fun here, kid." Feuilly wondered why Grantaire didn't sound like he meant the words.
Enjolras stood, and a hush fell over the group as he opened up the subject. They were going to talk about poverty, he said, and Feuilly felt a coil of pressure inside his chest. He wasn't much of a politician but if there was anything he understood, it was poverty. Grantaire drank his way through Enjolras' words, and Feuilly watched him from the corner of his eye, impressed and frightened. He called it Alcoholic-foster-father syndrome, he was nervous around heavy drinkers because of his past. He quietly shuffled his chair further away.
"So, you're saying that charities like Children in Need don't help?" Courfeyrac asked, eyebrows furrowed, frowning at Combeferre who had raised a point. Well, Feuilly considered, they never helped me.. but he didn't say anything.
"I'm saying all that money goes into renting the BBC Studios, the acts, the food and drink for the night, the heating, the royalties, and when all that's deducted there's still the issue of who it's going to."
"What do you mean?" Enjolras asked Combeferre, looking interested. "I mean, I always donate ten pounds but I suppose that yes, it's important to know where the money is going to.."
Feuilly frowned. This wasn't as active as he would have liked. They were just rich kids who didn't understand. It was admirable that they wanted to help, but they didn't know the first thing about who or what they were trying to help out in the first place.
When the meeting ended, Grantaire offered Feuilly a cigarette and took him outside. "It's tough, isn't it?" he slurred, struggling to light up.
"What is?" He took the lighter from Grantaire and lit both their cigarettes before handing it back to him. He had watched Grantaire roll them up, his hands were steady then as he focused, but now they weren't.
"Sitting in there, listening to them when theyre wrong." Grantaire shrugged. Feuilly didn't agree that they were wrong. Just misguided.
"So why do you sit there?" He didn't want to argue, so he refrained from uttering his opinion.
"Because sometimes they're right. But they think they can change things." he sounded bitter, Feuilly exhaled, watching the smoke rise and disappear.
"They could. You never know." He shrugged non-comittally.
Grantaire looked at him disbelievingly. "You're not like them. You've experienced it all first-hand." Feuilly opened his mouth to ask how he knew but Grantaire carried on speaking, "they are but Alices, watching a world through the looking glass. But you are the rabbit. Make them follow you and get them lost in Wonderland, and then make them come back and tell me they can change the world with faith trust and pixie dust." He sneered, and Feuilly couldn't help but smile, deciding that Grantaire was secretly funny, and would fit in well with his own friend Jean Prouvaire.
"Did you just reference Lewis Caroll and Peter Pan in one sentence?" he grinned.
-5 weeks after they met-
Enjolras hadn't heard from Feuilly since the meeting, and neither had anyone else. He was a little worried that he had scared him off somehow; perhaps he didn't enjoy himself at all? Perhaps he didn't care about the socio-economic inequality within the city- in the world!? He felt a little disappointed, he had seen something in Feuilly, a path to possible friendship, but maybe that wasn't meant to be. He said as much to Courfeyrac as they sat in the local park with a latte in hand and law textbooks in the other.
"If he doesn't want to be out friend then its his loss." Courfeyrac said. "but Enjolras, don't forget, the kid is busy. He said so himself. You can't expect him to work three jobs and balance whatever social life he already has and join the Avengers Initiative for Social Justice."
"I already told you, we are not calling our group that." Enjolras huffed.
"I just think... " Courfeyrac hesitated, before launching his words. "Well, do you think you're so bothered by his lack of communication is because you think he'd be a perfect addition to the band?"
"Courf, what do you mean? When you start sounding like 'Ferre I know you're trying to say something." He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.
"Fine. Why are you so obsessed with getting him to come to the meetings?" Courfeyrac shot, raising his own eyebrows in response.
Enjolras shrugged, because he knew that Courfeyrac probably already knew his thoughts on the matter. His friend was good like that, and he knew Enjolras well enough to guess at his thought processes. "I think.. he knows what it's like out there. What do we know? Sure, we see the injustice, but we've never really felt it, have we? At least, you and I haven't, the others are all fairly well to do. Apart from Grantaire, but he's as much help as a flea on a donkey."
Courfeyrac giggled. "A flea on a donkey?"
"You know what I mean."
"Irritating."
"So very irritating."
"I happen to like him." Courfeyrac smiled and nudged Enjolras until his friend was smiling again. They sat for a while, reciting cases to each other before Courfeyrac got distracted. "Is that Feuilly, over there?" he pointed at a jogger with red hair.
Enjolras didn't look up from the textbook that he was testing Courfeyrac on. "No, and don't think you can distract me and read the answer yourself."
"No, no Enjolras it is! He's coming over!" Courfeyrac poked Enjolras until he looked up, and there was Feuilly jogging up to them, waving his hand shyly. Courfeyrac waved back, Enjolras just smiled, aware his brain had stopped working.
"Hello." Feuilly said.
"Feuilly! We were just talking about you!" Courfeyrac grinned, ignoring Enjolras's glare as his turned his head face him so fast he was shocked his neck didn't snap.
"Good things, I hope?"
"Of course." Enjolras butted in, before Courfeyrac could say anything. "We were just wondering if you'd be coming to the next meeting." He couldn't help but sound hopeful.
Feuilly bit his lip and shook his head. "I don't know... I have more shifts now.." he shuffled his feet. Courfeyac nodded understandingly.
"Well, when you can make it, we'd love to see you. You're like, a breath of fresh air in there."
Feuilly looked confused, so Enjolras interpreted for him. "We would quite like to have someone who.. knows what we're talking about. Who can call us out on our privalige, if we abuse it, for example."
"..Oh. Well. I could maybe make it." he smiled, freckled face looking much warmer than it had a few moments ago.
"Hooray!" cheered Courfeyrac, before checking his watch. "Well actually, I have to run, I have that Thing I have to get to." He looked to Enjolras with wide eyes. "You know, the Thing?"
"No?"
"Yes you do! My Thing.. at the.. the Place!" Courfeyrac picked up his books, saluted Feuilly, before running off. There was a slight awkward silence as Enjolras looked on after his friend in confusion, and Feuilly watched Enjolras.
"I worry about him sometimes." Enjolras shook his head.
"How long have you known each other?" Feuilly asked curiosly. Enjolras shuffled to the side slightly as if inviting Feuilly to sit down, and he accepted.
"Too long." he joked. "About nine years now. He and Combeferre knew each other for even longer than that."
Feuilly didn't say anything. He couldn't imagine knowing someone for that long. They sat in a comfortable silence for a bit.
"So you jog?" Enjolras asked.
Feuilly let out a nervous laugh, "Ehehehe- erm, not really. Well, a woman where I work- the bakery where I work, she has a degeneterive disease and can't afford to renovate her house to help her get about- stairlift, that sort of thing, so, er, we're organising a marathon to raise money for her. I'm meant to be getting sponsors." He nearly asked Enjolras to sponsor him, but he couldn't being himself to do it. He didn't have to, because offered to do so himself.
It was only when he got home that he noticed Enjolras had signed to sponsor him for £100. He shook his head, but was grateful.
-6 weeks since they met-
"Nice to see you back." Combeferre smiled at Feuilly as he came through the door at the top of the stairs. He wasn't sure how this group of students had managed to get the top room of the pub all to themselves week in week out but he was glad that they didn't have to discuss politics in public.
"I guess I just can't stay away." He muttered, not being able to stop his gaze flickering to Enjolras for a second. Combeferre gave him a knowing smile.
"I know just how you mean. Sit down, Courf's getting the drinks in all night. He lost a bet against Bahorel against my advice, so I hope you drink him dry to teach the fool a lesson."
Feuilly laughed and got his drink, smiling at the barmaid who was vaguely familiar, before sitting next to Grantaire, who was there early. Joly leaned over the table to stage-whisper, "we've been here since lunch time."
"Really living up to the student stereotype, aren't you?" Feuilly joked, feeling a little more at home than last time. Enjolras cleared his throat and stood, his blonde hair was tied back today, in the smallest of ponytails, which reminded Feuilly that he needed to get his own hair cut, it was beginning to fall into his eyes.
"... and can we also take a moment to give what we can towards Feuilly's marathon- it's for a super cause!" Feuilly balked at the mention of his name, and flushed as Bahorel loudly asked if a fiver was an okay amount to sponsor ("I'd do more but I'm a little tight right now" Feuilly assured him that it was more than enough and he didn't have to give any money, to which Bahorel chuckled and patted Feuilly's back- almost winding him).
"When is your marathon?" Asked Bosseut.
"Saturday, at 2."
"Saturday's going to be a cold one. Make sure you wear thermals!" Joly instructed, and Feuilly flushed at being told what to do before realising that that was Joly's way of showing affection.
"I will." He promised, despite not owning any thermals. Maybe two pairs of socks would do the same job.
"We'll come watch." Courfeyrac said, and Feuilly blushed. He'd never really had a big group of people cheering him on. He'd lways been a good runner, at all the schools he'd been to he always made it to the track team- it was his one gift, but every sports day he'd never really had a family to shout for him, to tell him he'd done well, to take him out for celebrations afterwards.
"Oh, er, you don't have to. I mean, it'll be cold and--"
"-- we wouldn't miss it." Enjolras smiled, and his word was final.
- 9 weeks since they met-
Enjolras was worried. He and Feuilly had been getting along very well ever since the marathon. He'd opened up a little more to Enjolras, telling him terrible tales of his childhood. An orphan, raised in homes of strangers and never getting adopted, troubled kid at school, hand me down clothes, free school dinners but he got picked on at school so he never went, left at sixteen to make his own way. Enjolras had got him council forms to help him apply for benefits. He looked to Feuilly like a beacon, he was the cause, the reason the world the world needed to be changed. So there would be less struggles for good people like himself. Feuilly was beuatiful because he was the revolution personified. But in the last week, he'd heard nothing. He hadn't even turned up to the protest they had planned outside the factories demanding better rates of pay for the workers.
Combeferre shrugged and said that Feuilly probably was worried about losing his job if he had been seen there, but Enjolras couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. After the meeting he kept Grantaire behind.
"Have you heard from Feuilly?" he asked, not hiding the urgency in his voice.
"I saw him two weeks ago, why?" Grantaire shrugged, not meeting Enjolras' eyes. Grantaire wondered if Enjolras would worry about him the way he was about Feuilly, and nearly laughed at the thought. No-one would miss him if he disappeared.
"I just.. haven't heard from him."
Grantaire frowned. "He seemed upset when he came to see me." He didn't know why he was telling Enjolras this. "Agitated even. Let him sleep on my floor, he painted for a bit then left."
"..He paints?" Enjolras was hit with the realisation he doesn't know much about his friend at all. "I mean, agitated? How so?"
"Kid's got a knack for it. Painted us lot, actually." Grantaire kept the canvas. It was a quick paint job, but Feuilly had an eye for detail; he wanted Feuilly to finish it off.
"Agitated, how, Grantaire?" Enjolras' voice was hard. He looked into Grantaire face levelly, despite being shorter. Grantaire swallowed.
"Just.. I shouldn't be telling you this. Just looked like he'd been crying y'know? Didn't think to question him."
Enjolras let out a frustrated noise, and turned away from Grantaire.
"I'm sure he'll be okay!"
Enjolras turned back. "Oh, you're sure, are you? Then where the hell is he?"
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Feuilly jumped at every noise. His phone was gone, as was most of his other worldly possesions inclusing his laptop and his best pair of shoes. It wasn't like he had much to begin with, but Montparnasse had taken everything, including his bed and his dignity. Feuilly pressed against his bruised face, wincing every now and then. He knew it had been a bad idea to get a loan from a gang run by criminals, but it wasn't like a bank would give him one, and he needed a quick fix so that he could at least keep his tiny box of a flat. The thing that was unforgiveable to Feuilly though, was that they had taken his running shoes, which had been given to him by a teacher years and years ago.
There was a loud knocking at the door, and he winced as though expecting another beating. He didn't move to answer it.
"Feuilly? Are you in??" It was Enjolras. Feuilly didn't want his friend to see him this way; not the friend that had strived to find ways to make his life easier, not the friend who stood proud and strong in the face of foes and couldn't be intimdated by anyone. But who else could help him? He didn't have anyone else really, not anyone who would know how to help.
He limped to the door, and opened the door a tiny fraction so that Enjolras could just see his uninjured eye in the half light. "Hey." his voice croaked from lack of use.
"I've been worried about you." He used a tone that Feuilly would imagine a mother used on her way ward teenage son. Concern settled over Enjolras' face. "What's the matter, Feuilly? Why haven't you talked to me in ages?"
Feuilly opened the door, because he didn't know what else to say. He hadn't been to work out of fear, so he was probably fired from everything, he'd lost his phone and his laptop to thugs, and had no money. This was the very definiton of being in a pickle.
Enjolras let out a breath as he took in Feuilly's appearence, and rushed forward. It seemed to Feuilly he was going to hug him, but Enjolras just put a hand on his shoulder softly. "Who... How did this happen?" Feuilly just shook his head and burst into hot tears, angry at showing weakness but knowing that it was okay. Enjolras wasn't ever going to think he was weak. He rested his head on Enjolras' shoulder, and the man took the hint and wrapped his arms around him.
Feuilly then told him the whole story; he'd had a week to settle the debt, he'd gone to Grantaire to try and sell him drugs that Montparnasse had given him but Grantaire had started talking about he had been quitting for a while now (Enjolras exhaled heavily, he hadn't known that small fact about Grantaire), so he couldn't bring himself to try, when he returned the drugs to Montparnasse he'd been furious and threw a few punches. Then, a week later, a gang broke in and took everything Feuilly owned and 'kicked the shit' out of him, and he'd been in this state ever since, only leaving the house once to get a pizza that would last him a week.
Enjolras rang Combeferre and Courfeyrac; Feuilly begged him not to tell them what had happened, so Enjolras simply asked Courfeyrac if Feuilly could take his spare mattress. Courfeyrac naturally said yes, for as long as Feuilly needed it. No worries.
"Thank you." he mumbled, feeling ridiculous. He was better on his own, but now he was being looked after he felt a small relief of being able to relinquish his problems to someone else for a short while. Enjolras stroked his hair.
"It's okay." he murmered. "I'm your friend. And you are, so.." Enjolras searched for the words, a problem he rarely had. "And you are so brave, and strong, and resourceful."
Feuilly snorted in disbelief.
"You are! Look at all you can do on your own. But now you've got us, we can be your new resources, Feuilly. Lean on us a little."
Feuilly leaned his head against Enjolras' chest, feeling, perhaps for the first time in his life, cared for.
fin.