Chapter Text
Smoke curled up, unfurling into thin, grey wisps disappearing into the dusk sky, overcome with dark and puffy clouds. Enjolras twisted the cigarette between his fingers, breathing in steadily, in time with his roommate’s deep and relaxed exhales. The birds outside slowly began to quiet, the steady sound of crickets chirping replacing them.
Night was when Enjolras could think independently without anyone grabbing his shoulders, trying to guide him in the direction they wanted him to go in. Night was when there was no more light to distract him or give his homework a nudge, telling him that there was only so much time left to do his schoolwork before he inevitably had to go to bed. Night was when he could ignore the pains in his back and shoulders, shaking out his wings and stretching them as far as they could go, finally letting them fall to his sides in the most relaxed position they had been in all day. Night, for lack of better word, was when Enjolras could truly feel free.
His type could never feel free anymore--forced to obey ridiculous laws placed by those without wings. They had a flying ban, placed so people like him couldn’t spread their wings and feel the wind under them whenever the government couldn’t see them in the sky. A ban placed so people like him couldn’t unwind without the presence of another’s eyes intimately watching him when he didn’t want them too--they had a flying ban because “What about the people who don’t have wings? They shouldn’t be scared to go out at night in case men or women with wings decide to scoop them up!”
Rubbish. Every single idea spewed from the mouth of his corrupted government was rubbish--they were all inevitably going to admit that they were paid off to prohibit legislations involving “avian” humans’ rights. They weren’t allowed to groom in public, they weren’t allowed to fly in public, they weren’t allowed to even have their wings stretched out in public. Their country overruled their basic human rights, making them nothing better than cinder blocks tied to their backs. From health issues caused by not being able to stretch their wings(not being able to use the muscle beneath their pectorals at all unless they paid for a ‘special’ gym membership), to the way people squinted their eyes and spat on the ground before them like they were creatures less than the wingless humans--it was all inexcusable and Enjolras was not going to stand for this treatment any longer
He planned. He spent every night for a month with his head deep in his textbooks, deep in the web, body folded into the most uncomfortable positions while he pushed himself, harder than in high school when he had two APs and Honors classes, every night in the library, searching for some type of answer, some type of group that he could help rise up to the occasion and pursue their goals.
Enjolras glanced over behind him sharply, eyes wandering over the sleeping form of his roommate. The top of his head held dark brown hair that was curly to the point of being kinked, the sides buzzed down to less than ⅕ inch. Currently, the glasses his friend wore were residing on the end table closest to him, though with the way his friend waved his arms about in his sleep, almost desperate to make his own wings comfy, they could fall off at any minute. Enjolras took one last deep drag from his cigarette, putting it out and setting the butt of it onto his ashtray. The window was left open while Enjolras stepped over to the other, grabbing the glasses off of his end table to place them onto the dresser. A light, quiet laugh made his friend stir, but Enjolras was quite certain he was still asleep.
Enjolras quietly maneuvered his way to their bathroom, briefly glancing at the full-body mirror, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub soon after. He started the water, changing the temperature a few times until it was reasonably warm. He added a bit of coconut oil to the water, letting it sit. Enjolras shook his wings once he wet them in the bath, lightly feathering them and giving them both a good stretch, followed by his left wing folding up to his body. It took a couple minutes, but he finally got himself comfortable in the cramped bathroom.
He started at the base of his wing, running his fingers through the feathers gently, carefully, ensuring they were all facing the right direction. A couple feathers fell to the water as he moved along his wing, gently tugging on any loose feathers still stuck in their place. At first he thought it was the stress--but then he realized it was autumn--most people were molting, replacing their old, dead feathers with new ones. Enjolras was no exception, as shown in the small pile of grey and white feathers placed next to the bath.
It took around a half hour, but Enjolras finished grooming his wings and grabbed a towel, placing it on the floor beneath him. He set the bath to drain, eyes glancing over at the closed door towards his and his roommates shared bedroom. There were a few spots that he couldn’t reach by himself, but he’d rather let them fall off by themselves rather than asking his friend to do it for him and creating any unnecessary intimacy between them.
He dressed in soft pajamas, letting himself relax into those as well while he went through his nightly routine, soon crawling into bed at the opposite side of the room as his roommate. His fingers twitched, throat hitching a bit as he looked at the open window, vaguely registering that he hadn’t had a cigarette in over an hour. Quietly clearing his throat, he questioned the toothpaste in his mouth--should he really get rid of the taste just yet?
A couple sips of water washed down two vaguely purple looking pills and he fell asleep a few minutes after his head hit the pillow.
The birds outside were barely even beginning their morning songs when his roommate drew himself out of bed, disappearing into the neighboring room with barely any noise whatsoever. The only reason Enjolras was even able to notice the roommate was due to his own alarm clock blaring a guitar melody half an hour earlier. He knew it wouldn’t be good for his wings in the long run, keeping them tucked around his torso as they were, but it warmed him up when the nippy weather seeped into their apartment. He couldn’t be blamed for not pulling himself out of bed just yet.
He was only drawn out of bed by the vague smell of freshly brewed coffee, bitter and soothing him in just the right ways to lure him out of his warmth. He closed the window at the end of the room, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter on his way to the kitchen.
“G’morning.” The other gave a slight mumble, waving Enjolras over. “I made coffee. Heating up leftovers in the oven.” He gave a shrug. “Feel free to have some when it’s done.”
Enjolras’s stomach growled. “Might take you up on that, Ferre.” He stepped around Ferre, grabbing a cup from the cabinet, immediately filling it almost to the brim with coffee. He took a brief sip, lips twitching a bit, and added creamer. A glance at Combeferre showed he was busy working on... something. What it was, Enjolras had no clue, but it was definitely something that garnered his full attention. He paused, spared a glance in the oven for a moment, and opened the window in the kitchen.
“If you’re going to smoke, can you please go outside? Believe it or not, but some of us would absolutely love keeping our lungs healthy and tar-free.”
His mouth scrunched up, eyes passing over to Combeferre again. “Buy me some nicotine patches and we’ll see where we get.” The window closed, Enjolras remaining with a poorly concealed scowl. He took a sip of his coffee and felt the edges of his lips twitch, leveling the other with a stare. “Ah, you know, my coffee actually tastes pretty great this morning. Strongly bitter, almost unbearably so… reminds me of a certain someone, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Stop reflecting yourself onto your coffee, Enjolras. I thought I told you that it wasn’t good for you.”
His cheeks lit up pink, eyes narrowing as he cast a glare over at the other. He sat at the table, fingers twitching over the pack in his pocket. Combeferre was still typing away at his laptop, fingers clicking the keys as if they were trying to mute Enjolras himself. “What are you working on? Homework or something else?”
Combeferre glanced up from his laptop for a change, taking a sip of his own coffee while he checked the timer on the oven. “Something else. I finished my homework for the weekend on Friday.”
Enjolras ran a hand through his hair, nodding his head as he watched Ferre’s hands. The typing was calming, hypnotizing almost. He refilled his cup, stretching his wings out behind him, knowing that between the two of them, they’d always put their own comfort over any standardized societal rules. Ferre seemed to follow suit, as if being able to detect Enjolras’s uneasiness, subconsciously making an effort to ease the other’s confliction.
They sat like that for a while, in comfortable silence, the faint flutter of wings the only sound in the room besides the ticking of the clock. They both enjoyed the company--it gave them both time to calm down, to relax and prepare for the day’s stress ahead of them. Both of their heads swam with thoughts, but neither of them voiced any--it was far too early in the morning for either of them to bring up anything existential or political.
They were only pulled out of their reveries by the timer on the oven going off, Combeferre pausing for a second.He closed his laptop, nudged the back of Enjolras’s head, and grabbed oven mitts off the rack above the oven. “Grab two plates and refill our coffees.”
Enjolras let out a huff but followed the directions, rolling his eyes only somewhat as he added creamer to his own. He placed the plates next to the tray, stomach grumbling rather loudly once more while the scent of their food wafted through the kitchen. He grabbed two forks and sat down at the table again, folding his wings up so Combeferre had more room to move about. At least he could count on breakfast being the most relaxing point of the day.
“You know,” Combeferre started out, a vague pause to his typing, “you’re going to get a headache if you get yourself another cup.” He raised an eyebrow up at Enjolras when the blond shifted his weight, pushing back from his laptop. “Do you want another caffeine headache?”
“I mean, I have money on me this time of the week, so it’s not like I wouldn’t be able to buy myself another,” he quipped, leveling the other with an even stare. Combeferre crossed his arms and let his eyebrow drop, leaning back in the dining chair.
“You do what you want, just don’t get upset with me when you’re relying on five cups a day to get you through again.”
Enjolras pursed his lips, thumb rubbing over the handle of his mug. Combeferre had a point--the caffeine would do nothing for him if he had it all at once, not to mention he’d get those awful headaches again and barely be able to concentrate on the human rights rally he was halfway through planning. Really, all he had to do now was ensure their speakers and the lighting, courtesy of the tech department, were all set up and ready to go. The rally wasn’t until another two weeks, but they’d been handing out flyers for a solid two months beforehand. Exposure was key--exposure was the reason they’d be able to have a positive turnout for a change.
He shook his head out of his thoughts, grabbing a travel mug from their cabinet instead. “I suppose you have a point. Can you call Courfeyrac and Bossuet later for me? We need to have fifteen speakers total and at least three microphones for everyone to be able to hear us all properly--I don’t want to have to keep switching mics with the next person speaking like we did last time.”
Combeferre nodded his head, raised his hand in a vague, mocking salute as he scooted his chair closer to his laptop once more. “Give me half an hour to finish this up and I will. You have plans today?”
A rustle of Enjolras’s feathers could be heard beneath his groan. “When don’t I have plans? I hardly ever have a free day to myself. Cosette wanted me to relax and take a break from all of-- this .” He opened his arms, hands flicking as a gesture in general. “She said that Papa wanted me to come home and visit some time.” The blond shrugged, folding up his wings behind him.
A sly smile wormed its way onto Combeferre’s face, sorrel eyes narrowing and his hands folding over his knee. “So you’re going home. Isn’t that where--”
“Combeferre, kindly shut the fuck up.”
“I’m just saying! Jog my memory for me, isn’t that where you and--”
“Yes. Don’t even finish that sentence, I don’t even want to be reminded about them right now, alright?” A laugh twisted itself from Combeferre, deep and rumbling as he bent over the table. His wings spread out behind him, shaking with each new wave of laughter. Enjolras smiled at the sight. “Not all of us have the privilege of your selective memory, Ferre. Some of us actually have to live with things like this!”
“Yeah, live with it? I bet you still dream about it.”
“ As if! You just want to live vicariously through the memory, don’t you?” Enjolras bristled, his wings ruffling behind him, folding even tighter to his body than before.
“Live through it? I’m pretty sure no one wanted to be in your shoes, E.”
“Okay, drop it then. If you don’t envy me, I don’t see why you have to keep bringing it up.”
Combeferre wheezed, a hand on his chest as he slowly sat up straight. His wings pulled in closer to his body after a couple moments, eyes closing and his chest heaving in deep breaths. “Alright, alright. Go shower--you smell like body odor and depression.”
A sharp exhale sent Enjolras on his way to the bathroom, ignoring his travel mug for now in exchange for a fresh change of clothes and a nice, warm shower. His wings were freshly groomed already, though he could run his hands through and double check before he got dressed later--no doubt his father would want to see he was taking care of himself correctly.
A steady stream of warm water greeted him when he stepped into the shower and it slowly turned warmer until it left Enjolras’s skin pink. He always preferred hot water over lukewarm or cold, it made him feel comfortable, clean--if the water didn’t make his skin feel some degree of sensation other than the pressure, he was left feeling off and dissatisfied for the rest of the day. Combeferre learned to let Enjolras shower first and to keep his own hygiene products on the left side of the shower--away from anything he might accidentally grab instead.
A brief glance at the body wash had Enjolras lost in thought about whether or not there was some meaning behind the scents he always chose. He tended to go for the citrus smell, made by the brand with the exfoliating beads that felt rough against his skin. He barely even registered how long he was in the shower until the water began to grow cold, his wings instinctively pulling themselves closer to his body. He quickly shut the water off after giving himself one last rinse over, shaking his wings gently. They didn’t really get too wet, the oil covering the feathers prohibited that, but he never got out of the habit of shaking the droplets off of them. Combeferre would tease him endlessly about getting the floor wet like a child, but he almost always made sure to wipe it dry.
Enjolras finished drying up and went through the rest of his morning routine without a hitch.. He dressed in black leggings and a scuffed up pair of Tim’s, a nude binder, and some graphic tee with a slogan about equality that Courfeyrac or Jehan had bought for him a few years ago. He covered it mostly with a red and black flannel he draped over it anyways. It was always tricky to make sure his wings stayed out of harm’s way, but he managed. Stuffing his messenger bag with his laptop, its charger, and a few school notebooks, he slung it over his back. A little bit of mousse in his hair to keep his curls bouncy ended his preening session and he went out to the kitchen.
Combeferre was no longer in there, but the dishes were all neatly stacked in the sink--probably for Enjolras to do while Ferre helped prepare with the rally. He rinsed them and placed them in the dishwasher, leaving it be until dinner that night to run it. To his delight, the travel mug on the counter already had cream and sugar in it.
Sometimes, he thought to himself, Combeferre could literally be the sweetest person alive.
He filled the mug the rest of the way with a fresh brew of coffee, working hard on downing half of it before he was ready to leave. A deep breath, accompanied by footsteps down the hall, had him refilling his mug one last time before snapping the cover on. He tipped it to the side to ensure it wouldn’t leak, glancing up at his roommate when Combeferre entered.
“You off then?” His hair was still wet, his kinked curls dripping a bit onto the sides of his face and forehead. Enjolras swallowed a bit and made a pointed effort to stare at Combeferre in the face.
“Sometimes, I swear you do this just to tease me.” Combeferre smiled coyly, wrapping the towel in his hand over his hair. Enjolras let out another breath, rubbing at his eyes. “Yes, I’m heading out. Don’t burn down the apartment, make sure you use condoms, all that. If you’re inviting Courf over to ‘talk’ about the tech issues, please make sure some talking about the rally does actually get accomplished.”
Combeferre’s smile turned into a grin and he leaned back in his chair. “Go visit your family, Enjolras. They’re probably waiting for you by now.” Enjolras huffed and sent him a glare, closing the door gently behind him. His family, of course, had probably just pulled themselves out of bed. The only early riser was his own father, and even then, that was only on the weekdays.
He tucked his wings closely to his back while he walked down the hallway, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, bouncing with every step. It seemed that no matter how confident he was in his ability to reason out of any situation, he still had to be cautious for anything unexpected. The hate crimes against people like him had been increasing dramatically ever since their new President got elected--something Enjolras was very reserved about, mind you--and he had to keep his guard up. Anything could happen now and the other person would probably get away scot free.
He took a deep breath every step he took, counting down the floors until he reached ground, quickly walking towards his car. He may be the face of the human rights campaign in the city, but even he wasn't safe at all hours.
With a stuttering sigh, he locked the doors around him and sat in his driver’s seat, hands on the wheel as he attempted to calm down. Now that he was actually in a vehicle, he had the pleasure of feeling secure once more. As his heartbeat steadily calmed itself, his head no longer thumping from his increased blood pressure, he pulled the seatbelt firmly over his shoulder. It wasn’t all that comfortable considering the already higher than usual pressure on his torso and the extra appendages on his back, but it was a means of transportation that was actually legal. His body was working by habit now, safely allowing him to shift into reverse and pull out of the apartment complex's parking lot.
It didn’t take Enjolras long to arrive at his father’s house--or, well, it did take him a decent amount of time, but he hadn’t been caught up in traffic on the way there like he had expected to be. Once he was parked in the driveway, he grabbed his keys, and deeply breathed in a few times, attempting to compose himself. His father would no doubt have something to say about his hair. The last time they had seen each other was little more than six months ago, but within that time, Enjolras had vowed not to cut his hair until the time came where he could actually make a statement with it. Six months may not seem like much time, but for Enjolras, it was enough for three inches of growth. With hair so long and such a tendency to move around during his speeches, he found it easier to just put it up in a bun when he wasn’t focusing on a public image.
At the doorstep now, he held his fist in his hand and stared at the print under his feet. When there is love in the home, there is joy in the heart . How much more cliche could a singular person get? He let out a small, dissatisfied noise and opened the door to step inside, shoes promptly being taken off.
There was a faint sizzling noise coming from the kitchen, and the smell of breakfast sausage lingered even in the hallway. He scrunched up his nose, never a true fan of red meat, and began his way to the kitchen. He thought about the big breakfast he already had and felt a small twinge of guilt start to ebb at his gut; there was no reason for him to feel such an emotion, but if his father had been anticipating a family breakfast he would have to turn him down.
Enjolras poked his head into the archway of the kitchen, glancing towards the stovetop with a vague curiosity. Standing there was Jean Valjean himself, still apparently dressed in his pajamas even though it was half past nine in the morning by now. Enjolras took a tentative step forward, cautious as to not startle the other with his voice.
“Good morning, Papa.”
Valjean glanced behind himself towards his son and sent him a languid smile. His skin still showed faint blotches of red on them from his last outbreak, though he seemed to be in higher spirits himself. Enjolras sent the other his own smile, tucking his hands gently into his pockets when he got there. Valjean cleared his throat and used the tongs in his hands to sear another side of the sausages. “Good morning, ma poulette.” He reached out to touch the younger’s head, giving the hair a gentle ruffle. “You look well! How was traffic? Was Combeferre busy today?”
Enjolras let his smile stretch further and he batted his father’s hand away. “I am well. Traffic was fine, nothing too bad, even in the rain. It’s a little chilly, though, so don’t forget to bring a coat if we go out later.” He hesitated and mused over his friend, wondering if he should even bring up that he hadn’t asked Combeferre to join him. “We have a rally coming up within the month so he’s busy working with the tech people. We really want this one to run smoothly.”
Valjean nodded his head, nudging his child with his shoulder. “I'm positively sure that this one will be successful, Enjolras. The more you stress over it, the more likely it'll be that you'll start flaring up.”
Enjolras felt an itch spread over his skin at just the thought of being bedridden for days on end, shaking his head to rid the thought. The feeling lingered though, and he rubbed his hands over his arms. “Don't worry, I've been staying as stress free as is possible right now. Do you know if Cosette is awake?”
Valjean sighed and pulled the sausages out of their pan, setting them down on a napkin spread across a plate. “She's still in bed.” A pause. “And, Enjolras, you know that smoking can heighten the possibility of another flare, right?” He hesitantly set a hand on his son’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “The medication doesn't stop it as much as you'd like to think it does. It's not perfect. Are you getting enough sleep?”
The blond groaned, setting a hand easily over Valjean’s, “You worry too much, Papa. I'll be fine. I don’t want to be the cause of one of your flare ups. It’d turn into a domino effect and end up giving me a flare either way.” Valjean sighed and turned towards the empty bowl he had set to the side. He grabbed the eggs from the fridge, beginning to crack them one by one into the bowl. Enjolras moved over to the fridge and mindlessly grabbed the cream for his father, setting it down next to him. He opened the cabinet above the cutting board, filing through the ingredients as he came across them. “You know that’s how things would work out, right?”
Valjean let loose yet another sigh and sent a sharper look over to his son. “Yes, Enjolras. I do know that.” He grabbed the whisk next to him and began to beat the eggs, each spin of the bowl made to be precise. “ You know that I can’t help but worry about you. Cosette chose to stay home while she attended university; you decided to go and room with your friend--you’re both still children, you don’t know how cruel the world can be just yet.” He breathed in deeply and paused, grabbing the cream from Enjolras before continuing. “It’s hard to grow up. Trust me. Have I ever told you the story of the man who wanted for nothing but food for his family?”
Enjolras ran a hand through his curls, pausing himself momentarily to stare down at Valjean’s smooth back. There was nothing to be found resembling wings anymore, but he’d seen pictures of his father when he was younger. He’d seen pictures of Valjean with a full head of hair and a strong, thick beard. In the kitchen, above the fridge and in a frame, there was a picture of a young Valjean with his family in France. One of his arms was wrapped around his sister with her arms wrapped around an infant. There were a couple other children in the foreground sitting around, their wings fluffy and not yet fully grown. Next to his sister was another man, smiling and holding a toddler in his arms. They were happy, Valjean used to tell him. He said that they were the happiest couple he had ever seen.
In another picture, one taken just a bit after Valjean was released from prison, his eyes were sunken. He smiled, but it seemed forced. Something Enjolras could never get over was Valjean’s wings--or the lack thereof. Every time he thought about it, Enjolras got shivers up his spine. Imagine having your wings amputated. Imagine having two of your limbs amputated because of a minor crime. If it was a white person who stole food, they would have got a six month or less sentence. His five years of jail time can only be attributed to his poverty and skin color. There was no other feasible explanation for his treatment. Those five years lengthened to a nineteen-year jail sentence for his repeated attempts of escape--which ultimately ended when they decided to amputate his wings as a form of corporal punishment.
He had heard stories from his aunt of his father's younger days, but nothing compared to when Valjean himself relayed them. He remembers hearing the low, quiet rumbles of his father’s voice, blankets up to his chin with his sister curled at his side, and being completely mesmerized by the stories. They were watered down at first, careful not to let Enjolras or Cosette have a taste of anything too sour or bitter at such a young age, but years later, when they were grown, he told them the full story.
He told the story of the young criminal who had the thing that makes him unique physically ripped off of his body. He told the story of a man who only wanted to protect those closest to him and keep them alive. A man who sacrificed everything he had and owned after his mother passed, just to keep his last living family healthy when their income came in short. He told the story of a healthy, happy man incriminated by a singular loaf of bread to fill the starving mouths of his nieces and nephews.
He told the story of a man who once longed for nothing other than to outstretch his wings and feel the wind under his plumage. He was instead forced to keep his wings folded, practically glued to his back in shape and form. He would sleep every night on those hollow bones, the black film playing over and over again as he dreamt of cerulean skies with no clouds in sight..
He told the story of a man who broke free and attempted to fly away, but his feathers were so old and dirty that they were too heavy to properly pick up flight. He told the story of a man who, no matter how often his dreams were crushed or his spirit beaten down, always seemed to try harder the next time.
He told the story of the man who was forced to give up when his dirty, matted plumage was stripped from his wings, and the appendages themselves cut off at the base. He mourned for days, the phantom pain consuming him every second he was conscious. The idea that medication may sooth the pain seemed laughable.
He told the story of a man who moved far away and decided to make a new name for himself. He was an illegal immigrant for years, struggling to be able to successfully keep a job but it was so much easier to say up money, so he stuck around. He told the story of a man who saw a new beginning and took his chance at it.
Enjolras felt guilt well deep in his gut once more as he stared at his father’s back, hands settling themselves onto the counter rather than his pockets where they’d normally rest. He stepped forward, wrapping a gentle arm around his father’s shoulder, his cheek cautiously leaning over onto the other.
Valjean chuckled to himself, pouring the egg mixture onto a heated, buttered pan while turning the heat down slightly. “With that look on your face, I’m going to assume I don’t need to tell it again.” He reached over, ruffling his son’s hair once more. “I think it’s about time for Cosette to wake up, don’t you?” Enjolras let out a heavy sigh, nuzzling his head further onto his father’s shoulder.
“Can’t we just appreciate the quiet we have right now?” Enjolras lifted his head, pecking his father’s cheek. He stepped to the side and grabbed a few slices of bread, setting them into the toaster and pushing them down. “Once she wakes up, it’s goodbye to our peace.”
The elder rolled his eyes, sending Enjolras a sharp look. “Go wake her up and tell her to come down soon. The food will get cold and we need to eat soon if we want to make it to the strip mall before eleven.” He cleared his throat and used the spatula in his hand to wave his son away. “You know where everything is. A few months doesn’t get rid of years of memories.”
The blond huffed and tucked his arms into his pockets, his eyes narrowing as he walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway. He steeled himself, a few breaths shaking themselves out as he reached forward and knocked on the door. He’s seen Cosette a lot more recently than he’d seen his father. It wasn’t easy to avoid her--they go to the same college. They have mutual friends and even some teachers for different classes; he couldn’t be rid of her even if he wanted to.
A grumble from within was his response, and he took it as confirmation that he could open the door.. He poked his head through the crack and squinted, forgetting just how loudly his sister’s room screamed privileged . Enjolras opened the door a tad more and stepped through, footsteps quiet and gentle as he made his way towards the bed. There was a slight dip as he rested his weight on the edge, placing a hand on Cosette’s pastel hair. Her white wings were spread unevenly along the bed, stretched out in a manner that he could never accomplish in his small apartment. He said nothing, but gave the blue strands of her hair a tender stroke, twining his fingers in the locks. A light, airy noise came from the lady next to him, but he paid no mind and let out a deep breath. A couple seconds of silence passed, giving her a chance to get up herself, before he continued with his plan. He stiffened his fingers in her hair, and ruffled.
Cosette screeched and writhed in her bed, arms shooting forward to push Enjolras away with all the strength she had. Considering adrenaline was batting ninety in her bloodstream right now, it came as no surprise that he fell to the floor, hand still knotted in her hair. This caused even more screeching, and soon, they both found themselves on the floor with their hands in each other’s hair and murderous intent in each other’s eyes. Laughter rang out as soon as they both realized they were trapped, and with a steady hand, Enjolras untangled his fingers from her bed head, Cosette doing the same soon after.
“Papa is waiting for you in the kitchen, sleeping beauty,” he teased, “he said that you’re supposed to be up by now and that it’s really quite rude that you decided sleeping in was more important than seeing your loving brother.”
Cosette let out a frustrated grumble and gave Enjolras a light smack upside the head, steadying herself on her feet. “I’m not sleeping in, you just came here early like you always do.” She huffed and headed over towards her dresser, grabbing a shirt and pulling it on over her underwear.
“If I’m always early, doesn’t that mean that technically, I’m always at my usual time and if I were to come here any earlier than that , I’d be early then?”
Cosette thought it over for a moment, perturbed by his ability to think so early in the morning, but attributed it to his superhuman ability to never appear exhausted. She waved her hand at him, letting a yawn loose before going digging in her drawers once more. “Tell Papa I’ll meet him out there soon.”
Enjolras nodded his head and was with his father once more within a minute, helping him finish up the breakfast he’d been preparing since before he got there. The blond set their dining table with plates at their usual spots. A memory stirred of he and Cosette’s friends gathering around the very same table just a few months before their graduation, talking about their future as if any of them had a clue. There were dents and scrapes, even a few stains at the edges of the table. Enjolras had once offered to pay for someone to fix it, but Valjean had refused. It gave the table character, he had said; the table could finally feel like the relic of time that it is.
Food was dished out, steam rising from the hot plates at the center of their dining table. Enjolras ensured that there was tea brewing in the kitchen, and after checking that it had steeped long enough, he brought it into the dining room as well.
The blond was about to go back to his sister’s room when ten minutes had passed, everything all set except for her presence, when her door opened. She was all dressed and ready for the day, which came off as a surprise to Enjolras. Normally, a few minutes of preening hardly did anything for her, especially when the seasons were changing. She tended to take more time shaking out any loose feathers than the rest of them, often followed by her putting on makeup and spending a while to pick out an outfit. Enjolras gave little thought to what she was actually wearing and rolled his eyes at her, beckoning her over.
They all sat down at the table and served themselves the amount of food they wanted. Enjolras, unsurprisingly, ended up with the least. He had already eaten breakfast at home with Combeferre, after all. Grabbing an egg and a couple pieces of toast for himself, he stirred cream into his tea. He watched Cosette pile her own plate high with the food in front of her, grabbing a bit of everything and not stopping until her plate looked like she had entered a buffet. Valjean grabbed only what he was certain he would eat, a stark contrast to his daughter.
Enjolras listened to those around him eat in a comfortable silence, slowly working his way through his own small portions. They were raised correctly--as in, they didn’t chew obnoxiously loud or with their mouths open, which was always a bit of a pet peeve for him.
Cosette broke the silence while she refilled her second cup of tea, looking up towards Enjolras from her side of the table. “Ah,” she began, “have you given any thought to what we’re doing today?”
“I didn’t know I was going to be the one deciding,” he responded, pulling a piece of toast apart in his hands. “Last I knew, you told me that you and Papa had everything planned for today.”
“Well, we did, but then it started to rain . We can’t exactly go to the strip mall in the rain. Do you realize how drenched we’d get?”
“Maybe you should have thought twice about that, then,” he chided, taking a sip of his tea to hide his smirk. The siblings loved to tease each other, no matter the situation.
Valjean cleared his throat, shoulders gently shaking with mirth as he set his cup down. “We can just go to a different mall--perhaps one with a roof might be our best bet, yeah?”
Enjolras huffed and rolled his eyes, picking at the food on his place a bit half-heartedly. The conversation was thoroughly killed and they were just procrastinating their departure now.
A half hour later had them all dressed, umbrellas in hand. Valjean herded them both into his van, ensuring that everyone was buckled before starting on their way to the mall, the twins’ bickering starting up almost immediately after they pulled onto the street, leaving Valjean with a steadily increasing headache and a fond smile.