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Philippe was meandering towards the reading room when he caught a glimpse of Raoul sitting hunched over on the floor of his room. That in itself was not so unusual- Raoul often sat on the floor. No, it was all of the flowers scattered around him that made Philippe pause and turn around to take a second look.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I am making something,” Raoul’s voice held the slightest touch of annoyance, as though it irked him that his brother couldn’t already tell what he was doing.
Philippe stared at the pile of flowers - daisies, it seemed, probably plucked from some field somewhere - and at how Raoul carefully wove and looped the long stems together.
A flower crown, then.
“For- for a girl?” Philippe asked hopefully.
He’d never forget the day that a 12 year old Raoul had casually waltzed into a very important diplomatic meeting between their father and visiting noble while wearing a crown made of wildflowers - a crown that he had been wearing for a week straight at that point despite the flowers being wilted, having refused to take it off regardless of his family’s pleading and begging. Philippe desperately hoped they weren’t about to have a repeat of that.
Raoul stilled.
“This one is,” he said finally.
Philippe didn’t need to know about the matching daisy crown he had already stowed in the picnic basket that day nearby (he was quite out of practice at making flower crowns, so he had made his own first to get the mistakes out the way - Christine’s was made second because she deserved to have a perfect one).
Philippe let out a sigh of relief and sat in the chair next to Raoul.
“Ah, so who is the lucky girl, then? Have I met her?”
Raoul glanced up at his brother.
“Of course you have, it’s for Christine. We’re going on a picnic later today,” he explained.
Philippe sagged in the chair.
“Christine again?
“Yes,” Raoul replied happily, not catching the tone in his brother’s voice.
“You seem to go out with her quite a lot.”
“Well, I enjoy her company - why wouldn’t I go out with her?”
Philippe almost launched into a well-worn lecture about the dangers of only dating one girl, especially a girl he had no future with, about how he was going to spend so much time infatuated with a woman who could never be more than a mistress that he’d miss out on finding a woman who could actually become a wife - but he stopped himself from saying because he knew from past experience that it would only cause Raoul to start insulting him before he began crying, and Philippe was not in the mood to deal with all of that.
Instead he just shrugged.
“Nothing wrong with enjoying her company,” he said.
Raoul narrowed his eyes, suspicious. It was always a constant struggle between the two of them in regards to Christine, and he was bracing himself for the lecture that was likely coming.
“I’m sure she’s quite enjoyable - those girls from the opera often are,” Philippe continued, waggling his eyebrows.
“Don’t talk about her like that!” Raoul cried. “I won’t stand for it!”
Philippe laughed but quickly quieted when he saw Raoul was serious. He cleared his throat.
“Well- I didn’t mean to be vulgar about the whole thing, but... I mean, surely you two are doing more than going for walks and looking at sunsets?”
Raoul face turned red and he focused on the flower stems with the utmost concentration.
“We are,” he muttered.
He suddenly looked up, afraid his brother would get the wrong idea.
“We’ve kissed, I mean,” he added.
Philippe chuckled.
“Well that’s still enjoyable, isn’t it?”
Raoul was pointedly ignoring him now, frowning as he continued his work.
“Stealing kisses in the streets,” Philippe teased him, watching the redness on his face creep down his neck and over his ears. “Smooching by the Seine. Slipping her the tongue in the park-“
“Slipping what?!” Raoul interrupted.
“Tongue,” Philippe repeated and nodded.
Raoul’s brow furrowed.
“What does that even mean?”
Philippe stared, dumbfounded.
“Tongue-kissing, Raoul.”
Raoul’s frown grew deeper as he tried to picture what exactly that consisted of.
“Do- do people do that?” he stuttered.
“Surely you’ve kissed with tongue before...” Philippe was incredulous.
Raoul leveled a searching look at his brother, trying to figure out if he was being serious or if this was another joke he was playing on him.
“No,” Raoul finally answered and looked away, ashamed but unsure why.
“But surely- surely you knew it was possibility, at least?”
Raoul refused to meet his gaze, and suddenly Philippe was filled with a terrible dread over the concern that perhaps their father had neglected to have a very important conversation with the boy. He scrubbed a hand over his face. His dear, innocent baby brother - his poor, stupid younger brother.
“You just... you just gently slide your tongue in her mouth,” he explained.
That only seemed to raise more questions in Raoul’s mind.
“How does that even work?” he asked, vaguely afraid of the answer.
“What do you mean, how does that work? It just does!” he grew slightly irritated.
“Well I think that’s a terrible explanation!” Raoul cried, embarrassed at his lack of knowledge. “How am I supposed to believe you when that’s all you can say about it?”
Philippe frowned. It was his own fault, surely - he had played tricks on the poor boy so often growing up, of course he’d be skeptical.
“Look, you say you’ve kissed Christine before, yes? How have you kissed her?”
Raoul’s fiddled with a flower stem.
“Well... I’ve kissed her hand.”
Philippe brought his palm up to his face.
“And I’ve kissed her cheek,” he continued. “And- and on the lips, a few times.”
Perhaps the boy wasn’t entirely hopeless, Philippe thought.
“Okay, so when you’re kissing her on the lips, you just kind of... keep going,” he made a vague hand motion.
“Keep going?” he repeated faintly.
“Yes,” he paused. “Women love it, trust me.”
Raoul had the brief thought that perhaps women didn’t love it and that Philippe was merely trying to get him to offend Christine somehow so he wouldn’t have to worry about his little brother tarnishing the family reputation. But still, Philippe could be quite good with advice when he wanted to, and perhaps this one of those times.
“What if I do it wrong, though?” he fretted.
Philippe waved a hand dismissively.
“Then practice until you get it right.”
“But won’t she be put off by having to deal with that?”
Philippe raised an eyebrow.
“Then practice with someone else,” he said. “I can find you any number of girls you can practice with, I’m sure Christine will be quite pleased with the end result-“
“No!” Raoul’s cried, his cheeks turning red again. “I don’t want to kiss any other girl, I only want to kiss Christine!”
Philippe sighed deeply.
“Practice on your hand, then.”
Raoul gave him a look of contempt.
“This is a serious matter, you know,” he stated. “I don’t appreciate your jokes right now.”
“I’m not joking, I swear! Look-!”
And thus proceeded several of the worst, most horrifying moments of Raoul’s life as he watched his brother pretend his own hand was a mouth and pantomimed putting his tongue through the lips formed by his thumb and forefinger - to the point where if anything it nearly convinced him that the whole thing really was an elaborate joke he was playing on him.
“Alright, enough already!” Raoul finally couldn’t take anymore.
“It’s a real thing, Raoul!” Philippe insisted.
“I believe you, just stop!”
They sat in awkward silence for a few moments.
Raoul stared down at the flower crown in his hands, thinking of Christine. Did women truly love kissing like that? Would Christine love it, even if he wasn’t the best at it right away?
“She won’t be too unhappy if I’m not good at it, will she?” he asked in a small voice.
“She’ll get used to it,” he told him. “You’re overthinking it, little brother. She probably hasn’t kissed anyone like that either, so it’s not like she’ll be comparing you to someone else.”
Being compared to someone else hadn’t even crossed his mind, but now it was suddenly all he could think of. What if she had kissed with tongues before? What if she had kissed with tongues a lot, and she was very good at it, and he was very bad at it? Perhaps that hand idea wasn’t so silly after all...
Besides, he didn’t want her to have to get used to it - that sounded awful! Like she would have to tolerate his unpleasant, fumbling mouth, even if she’d rather not. But- Philippe did know very many women... And presumably (if he were telling Raoul the truth) he would most certainly know what women loved or didn’t love, or else he wouldn’t have such a wide array of women who thought so fondly of him. What if by not kissing Christine in such a manner he was depriving her something she’d enjoy? He swallowed hard. All he wanted was for Christine to be happy...
Later that afternoon Raoul met Christine in the park for their picnic. She squealed with delight when he pulled out the daisy crown for her and placed it on her head. Her smile only grew and she threw her head back and laughed when he placed his own daisy crown on his head.
“Oh Raoul, this is perfect!”
The two sat there by the lake till the sun was nearly setting, eating the sandwiches and fruits he had packed into the wicker basket, feeding small morsels to the ducks who approached them, discussing anything and everything that popped into their heads.
Finally it was time to return to their homes, and they packed up the basket and stood stiffly off of the ground.
“It was a wonderful afternoon, Raoul, thank you so much,” she beamed at him, her crown still on.
“Anything for you, Lottie,” he said tenderly.
They paused for a moment, and Raoul recalled everything Philippe had told him. His eyes darted between her lips and her eyes, and she smiled encouragingly, giving a little nod. He leaned in, but suddenly had the vivid image of Philippe’s hand and the vulgar motions he had made with his tongue, and the concept lost all appeal. He quickly turned his head and kissed her on the cheek instead. Perhaps one day he would try it, but it would not be today. Christine seemed to not mind, giving a small huff of a laugh as he kissed her.
She pulled back and looked adoringly at him, placing her hand on his cheek, a small, lingering caress.
“I will see you next week, Raoul,” she told him as they parted.
He sighed happily as he began the walk back to the de Chagny mansion. He reached a hand up and touched the flower crown that was still there, deciding to leave it on a while longer and to only take it off once there was a danger of Philippe seeing him in it.