Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Do you know how it feels to love and hate someone at the same time? It is as if you are slowly sinking. Losing the ground beneath your feet. Falling but… excitedly wanting to know where. Bitter but sweet at the same time. Atrocious yet so mesmerizingly beautiful.

LeFou did not wish anybody to ever feel something like that. Not even to his worst enemy.

Still, the walking helped with comprehending those overwhelming thoughts.

As he wandered to the center of the village, the market slowly began to appear in front of him. It was getting bigger and louder as he got closer to it. Like an ocean wave, it encouraged him to dive in, cool off, and relax. It was a tempting offer, perhaps even a much-needed one. All those flaming and quaint market stores, colorful decorations, talented street artists were exceptionally welcoming. Maybe… maybe this was the day when he finally joined them. Is that what he wanted… or, better yet, needed?

He stopped right in front of the entrance. No, not today. Maybe tomorrow. He turned left, entirely ignoring all the laughs and squeals that faded away behind him. He will try again soon. This was not the time.

Instead, LeFou headed towards the remote area of Villeneuve. The perfect hideout for two adventurous little boys. Secluded behind growing, wild lilac bushes. Over time, they have become much more neglected, unspoiled by the human hand. They represented the elegance of true nature. LeFou liked to come here.

Oak. Big, impressive. The first thing he saw after cutting through the thicket. He remembered that tree well. Fifteen years ago, it used to be even more massive to him - but when you are a child, everything feels grander than it really is. Residences, people. Friendship and… love.

“I was able to climb you once,” LeFou touched the falling bark. It felt terribly rough under his work-worn hand. “Now, it is even hard for me to get to the first floor of my own home.”

Even at the age of ten, LeFou had problems with motor coordination. To reach the top of this very oak, he needed someone’s help. Now, though in the prime of his life, he lacked vitality and energy. He looked older than he really was. The misery has left its mark in the form of wrinkles.

LeFou glanced dreamily around. He greedily absorbed all of this beautiful view. The village and the surrounding hills. A forest somewhere in the distance. All fields, meadows, rivers, lakes. An amazing composition. And looking at it hurt and brought joy, every single time. There were so many distant memories connected with this place. One, in particular, was rambling in LeFou’s mind:

God, how his feet hurt. They ran for an hour, maybe two? Maybe even for all eternity? LeFou did not certainly understand the concept of time. Logical thinking was not his forte.

“Have we lost them?” the older boy asked, finally stopping by the little lilac bushes. From the perspective of little LeFou, however, they were enormous.

“I think… I think so,” the younger one had to take a few deep breaths. Unlike him, the older one seemed not fatigued at all. “Do you think… we did something wrong?”

Excitement flashed in Gaston’s cerulean eyes. A snotty smile appeared on his face. That was enough for LeFou to know the answer.

“Maybe we should return it to them?” LeFou pulled the barely obtained silver soldiers from his pockets. An intricate work. They must have cost a fortune.

“Why? They deserved it.”

LeFou began to shuffle nervously from foot to foot. The metal figurine burned his fingers. They called him a fool. An ugly, filthy fool. They were laughing that someone like him should not be friends with Gaston. Because it was a terrible insult to the older boy. LeFou closed his eyes tightly. He could feel they started to get wet, and he did not want someone like Gaston to see him in a moment of vulnerability. Never. He could not let that happen.

“Yes. Yes, you are right.” He stammered, lowering his tone, striving for a confident intonation. It came out as comical. The fake thick voice arising from the mouth of a chubby little boy must have been a funny sight. But Gaston was not laughing. He just smiled at his friend, patting him briskly on the back.

“It is just a little lesson for them. We will give back the soldiers. Tomorrow." Gaston sat under a tree, leaning his head against its trunk. He still kept his happy, comforting look on LeFou. “I promise.”

“You promise?” LeFou lay down next to his friend. He was exhausted.

“Of course. I always keep my promises.”

They sat in silence until sunrise. The bullies did not find them, and this reassured LeFou immensely. Tomorrow they will give them back the figurines… and everything will be fine. They will not hurt him.

LeFou looked at Gaston. The light of the falling sun was exceptionally beneficial for him. His pupils glistened even more. The blue iris covered them beautifully… like a veil woven from tiny pieces of sky. His long black hair moved slightly in the evening wind.

Gaston sat in silence, staring into the distance. He looked like a sculpture made of the most precious metals. So strong, undefeatable.

Yes, certainly. They will not hurt him.

LeFou relished their meetings, plays, banter… but the most in the world, he loved the moments when they did not say anything. When the boy could admire his friend as long as he could. Always then, a pleasant feeling of warmth emerged in his chest. He did not know what to call it, but he knew it felt good. It was innocent… and so natural it could not be something wrong.

But that day, there was something heavy laying on LeFou’s heart, and the blissful feeling was less pleasant than usual. “Gaston-” he timidly interrupted their idyll.

"Oui, mon ami?

“Could you… promise me one more thing?”

Gaston, interested by the unusual question, turned to his companion. He was giving him his full attention now, so much so that LeFou felt uncomfortable under Gaston’s curious gaze.

“Promise me…” the chubby boy gulped. The bullies’ remarks hooted unbearably in his head. “That you will never hurt me.”

Gaston could not even manage to hide his astonishment. He blinked sheepishly, not knowing at first how to react. He did not think he would have to promise his friend something that seemed so obvious to him.

“All right, I can promise that.” Gaston put his hand theatrically on his chest, lifting the other one. “But only if you promise me something in return.”

LeFou nodded happily, still chuckling under his breath over the ridiculous pose Gaston had executed.

“Of course. Anything you want.”

“Promise me that you will always be by my side. No matter what.”

LeFou cocked his head to the side in a gesture of shock. He could not imagine it otherwise.

Parroting Gaston, he put his hand on his heart in an even more dramatic way and lifted the other one. Higher than his friend.

“I promise.”

“Émilien Francis LeFou!” a scream snapped him out of these childish memories.

LeFou turned around to see who it was. Although he knew exactly who that voice belonged to.

“I asked you not to come here again,” Esme said reproachfully. Since LeFou’s incident, she had always found him here and proposed the same thing every time. “How many times will I have to say this. You have to finally say goodbye to the past and start living in the moment, thinking about what will happen next. It will do you good. Really.”

Perhaps Esme was right. Maybe he should actually focus on the future. But what if in his tomorrow there was only… nothingness.

LeFou decided not to dwell on that.

“Maybe… I could help you with your… stuff?” he looked at the two brim-filled wicker baskets. Way too much for two people - him and her. She could barely hold them.

Esme could not hide the hopeful smile that lit up her young face. It was the first time he offered his help. 

“Of course! Thank you, that is very kind of you.”

“I thought it would be nice to walk around the village today. Perhaps in the evening." As usual, Esme guided LeFou through their agenda. “And I thought that maybe…” She lowered her voice slightly. She became softer and sounded more like she was about to ask him for something of a higher value. “We can talk.”

“There is nothing to talk about.”

“LeFou!” Esme stopped abruptly. Now she sounded more like herself. Powerful and demanding. She acted as if she was his mother. Possibly she took the role of a caretaker too much to heart. “You know very well that you can not put off this conversation anymore. This could be suci- dangerous."

LeFou left her unanswered, so Esme stopped pushing too. They walked in silence until they reached the tavern.

After Gaston was accused of trying to kill the prince, villagers demanded that the place have to be closed. However, LeFou pleaded and insisted that they should not do so. He assured them that he would take over the business and take care of the bar. And finally, the townspeople agreed to it.

In the beginning, customers did not come at all. Only when LeFou, at the urging of others, removed all the images and antlers that resembled a once-adored hunter, people began to appear. As if Gaston was defined only by his belongings, not by the memories of him. Human shallowness is terrible. But at the moment, LeFou would rather be superficial as well.

“So… what have you been up to today?” Esme tried again. She sat stiffly on one of the red bar stools.

LeFou perched down next to her, handing her a crumpled envelope.

“I got an invitation to the royal party.” He sighed. “It will be held in a week. If I read it correctly… I could not decipher everything.”

“I guess that is good, isn’t it?” Esme sounded too excited. “I assume you are going.”

LeFou shook his head, meeting Esme’s irritated gaze.

“LeFou-”

“Are you going to say I should go because he would like me to?” the sarcastic remark brought a gentle smile to the woman’s face.

“No… quite the opposite, actually. He would rather you mourn this great loss till your own death. I wanted to say that you should go because you need that.”

LeFou just stood up, not responding to her words. Instead, he poured them two glasses of brandy. It was always better to talk with the company of alcohol.

“Since we are already talking about him,” the nervous hitting of her fingers against the glass created the tense atmosphere around them. “Did you manage to tell him…?”

“Pardon? Tell him what?” LeFou looked at her, genuinely surprised. Esme gave him “the look”, and the man understood what she was referring to. He was not sure how she found out about it, but women (or maybe just Esme) could sense such things. He sighed softly. “And what do you think…?”

He expected a sarcastic response. Consolation, by mocking, as Esme used to do.

“Would you tell him now?”

He would have never seen this coming.

“I… I… do not know. I do not want to talk about it. After all, even if I would, I am not able to do it anymore.”

They spent the rest of the morning in unpleasant silence. The atmosphere was heavy, full of unsaid words… secrets the two kept from each other.

Ding. 12 o’clock.

“I have to go. I lingered over.” Esme stood up abruptly, picked up the larger basket of food, and headed for the door.

“Patient?”

“Patient. I have to give her medicine.”

LeFou nodded.

“I can take your groceries home if you would like.” he proposed.

“It will not be necessary.” Esme smiled nervously. “Till evening. Goodbye, Émilien!”

“I hope you did not miss me too much.” Esme opened the door with her shoulder and walked into the room. It was rather big and expensive - any other nurse would be overwhelmed by the splendor of it.

But Esme was used to it because she knew this place. She knew it very well.

She put the basket on the lavish cupboard. Decorated with gold, it shimmered slightly in the morning sun.

“Well.” Esme walked over to the bed where her patient lay. The owner of this almost-royal residence. She sat down on the edge of the mattress. “How are you feeling today, Gaston?”

Chapter Text

"I... do not know what to do anymore." Esme made another round, walking back and forth. The woman's gaze was directed towards the colorful bottles. They, as if on display, stood in a perfect line on tall shelves. She did not know what properties their contents had, and their small and succinct labels did not make it any easier. “He has less and less time. His medications are no longer effective."

"You know very well that I can not help him." The older woman followed Esme's gaze. She was holding a small flask that she was slowly turning in her fingers.

Esme looked down. She knew it would be hard to convince her. They have not spoken to each other for so long. Esme felt terrible that she came to her when she needed something… but the stakes were too high not to risk it.

"Why? Do you really think Gaston can not change?"

The woman bowed her head. Her face twisted into a sad expression that made Esme shiver. Behind her was a fireplace in which a warm fire sizzled, casting an unusual glow on her. Her shadow spread across the floor, and it seemed to almost grab Esme by her ankles, holding her in a terrible embrace.

"Yes. It is impossible."

"Why don't you give him a chance? Prince Adam was no better than him!" Esme blurted out with silent regret. There was a restless sparkle in her eyes that seemed to radiate searing warmth. More powerful than that of fire in the fireplace.

“If I were to give everyone a second chance, no one would try to be good the first time,” she scoffed. “Besides, Prince Adam was in a different situation. After all, he is the future king. He had to change his attitude to set a good example for his subjects."

Esme opened her mouth as if she wanted to state a counter-argument, to which the woman raised her hand, silencing her.

"I know what you want to say. Gaston had a huge influence on people too, but it does not matter now. If I wanted to curse him, I would have done it before, not now, when his person is not even considered."

"Then why have not you done this before?" Esme frowned.

There was a moment of silence between them. As if the woman did not want to reveal the real reasons for her actions. Esme fixed her with an accusing gaze, under which the interlocutor finally broke and told the truth.

“He was a necessary element in the story. He must have tried to kill the Beast. Otherwise, Belle would not have come back."

"Did you know what would have happened? Can you predict the future?!"

“Not always… it is one of the powers I have not fully mastered. However, when I saw Belle for the first time, I knew how the story would turn out."

"So you sacrificed him to save someone else."

"You have to do that sometimes."

Could she even believe such a thing? Was it possible to understand this behavior in a rational way? Unable to utter a word for a moment, Esme sank helplessly into the chair. Did Agathe really say that?

Not wanting to keep her without a response, Esme stammered hurriedly.

"Do you consider yourself God?" meeting the woman's amused gaze, she continued spitefully. “Do you think you can make that choice? That you have the right to do so?" She raised her voice, smacking her hand on the wooden table. The bottle standing on it staggered and started rolling down the counter. Agathe held out her hand with panic in her eyes. She caught the flask at the last moment, saving it from smashing onto the stone floor. She held the vial to her chest, eyeing Esme keenly. Despite her boiling anger, her voice was calm.

“I did not do anything to help or harm Gaston. You have no reasons to accuse me of this."

"So you think your behavior can be justified?"

“It ended well, did it not? Everyone is happy."

"EVERYBODY?" Esme could not listen to her. She stood up over the older one, staring at her with her darkened gaze.

“The citizens as a group are satisfied. Individuals do not interest me." Her strangely soothing voice annoyed Esme even more. It was as if the woman thought she was innocent, that witches did not make mistakes.

Esme looked around. Desperation. Anger. Distress. Emotions took control over her head. Her eye pupils darted around the room - full of herbs, books, decorative vases… and VIALS - those goddamn significant vials.

In one moment, just a second, Esme lunged at the cupboard. She knocked it to the ground; the sound of crashing glass spread across the room. The stone floor now glowed with colors. Mysterious mixtures merged to create a mesmerizing collage. And suddenly... a scream.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" the owner of the now broken potions threw herself to the floor. She ran her fingers through the glass. She picked up some of the pieces, staring at them in horror. "Are you crazy?" she screamed at Esme. “You have always been so disobedient. That is why they threw you out."

Esme was caught in an enormous wave of anxiety. She went back to the past - to those years when she had her calling. Esme fulfilled it out extremely carefully until the woman had to break the rules. When she had to stand up for her beliefs.

"I was the one who left," she corrected. "They should not have made me do anything that was against my conscience."

"You were just too weak." The other snorted. She was still trying to pick up the shredded pieces. But broken parts can never be put back together.

"Do you think that wanting to help another person is a sign of weakness?" asked Esme. 

“You gave him more time. We should not be doing this."

"IT WAS ONLY ONE DAY!" she exclaimed in her defense. "And he did change, did he not?"

"One day too much. He had nothing to prove." she snarked back. "He had a predefined time, right? He did not make it. You should not have given him another chance. It is not how it works, Esme." 

“It was one too many. He had nothing more to prove."

Disbelief.

Esme opened her mouth. The first time. The second.

But she could not express herself. 

She could not believe it. 

She could not understand.

Was this really what a witch did? Keeping with the rules down to the letter? Judging other people? Only giving a chance to those who they think deserve it?

For this, her powers were taken away. Her home. Her identity.

She had to start over - a blank sheet of paper and a suitcase. Hit the road, Esme! Conquer the world.

As long as you are away from us.

The woman shook her head; the nostalgia lurked in the tiny tears on her cheeks. The sadness was hiding behind the upturned corner of the mouth. She wanted to show that it did not agitate her.

But it did.

The witch managed to hit the toughest nerve. Crush her heart. Attack right in the middle, with such perfect precision.

And as part of Esme's counterattack, only silence remained.

The witch, however, quickly interrupted it.

"Why?"

Esme raised an eyebrow. "Why…? I do not understand. "

"Why do you want to help him?" faced with no reply, she continued. "Love, higher necessity, sense of duty, ordinary human kindness." A pause. "Guilt?"

Esme was not going to answer that question. Perhaps because she was not quite sure herself where the sudden urge came from.

She found out about the mob's attack very quickly. The story even managed to reach nearby villages. Sometimes the same tale was different each time. In one, the Beast threw Gaston from the roof because of a sudden tantrum, and in others, Gaston, terrified by the sight of the Beast, took one step backward too many. However, Esme was sure about one thing: Gaston was dead.

She had to check it out. She had to see it for herself.

The vision of a decomposing, once beautiful figure disgusted her. The image of a thousand beetles and larvae crawling from the eyes and nostrils, emerging from the inside of the lying body, etching into purple-green skin, destroying the pristine interior… terrified her. It encouraged her to resign. However, Esme's conscience did not allow her to return to her village.

It did not leave her as she struggled through the dark weeds. It did not quit as the night grew darker and the trees grew twisted. It did not withdraw when she got to the castle and did not find the body.

Her conscience occurred to encourage her on walking even louder, as Esme began to ponder over what she had seen, or not seen to be exact. When, despite the rational explanations that had come to mind, the most improbable seemed to be the truest.

And so curiosity became her new guide.

It led her to a completely unknown part of the forest. A few hundred meters away from the castle. Closed under a veil of mystery and fear. Surely no one would come there.

Nobody would find him there.

She located him after an hour of searching the grove. He was hidden under a weeping willow tree; devasted, bent in half, just like the plant. Esme was not surprised by his posture. Nor by his gory, tattered clothes, his bruises, and his scrapes. Not even his pallor, which contrasted beautifully with the bloodiness of his elegant jacket. It did not shock Esme that he was alive, but how much... he had dwindled. Not in a physical sense.

Even in such a state, Gaston tried to look dignified. Raised chin, chest thrust forward… and this fear in his eyes. Despite the brave first impression, inside, Gaston was like a little abandoned puppy.

It was an ironic statement. One that Esme would never have imagined thinking about. Gaston looked like a faded image of himself. A shadow without an owner, a sun without a light… He looked like Gaston should never look.

Why did he survive? Was it a stroke of luck? Divine intervention? Or was it the magic left in the castle? Did it manage to catch him in the air, embracing his body with a soft cloth? Whatever it was, Esme was not going to oppose the power but to follow its plan.

Without saying anything, she took Gaston to her home. There were a lot of unspoken words around them. They fought for a voice, for control; they knocked, rattled, stamped in the minds of two. But Esme had no right to comment or judge, for she was an ordinary nurse. Her only job was to provide care.

They were silent when she gave him the medications. They were silent when she put him in bed. They were silent when she brought him herbal tea.

But right now, Esme shouldn't be silent. 

"Why do you care? Does it really matter?" Esme let out one sharp snort. Sharper than the glass beneath her feet. “You don't care about him. I don't understand. Why are you still delving into this topic? Why are you interested in this?"

The witch's response did not dispel Esme's doubts, but it did answer those questions the nurse did not ask aloud. “Your action will hurt others. A moment ago, you accused me of that. Now you are doing exactly the same thing, Esme."

"Who is going to get hurt? Helping Gaston will only benefit everyone else!" Esme defended herself, even though she knew her arguments weren't powerful enough. They were strong at first glance, but they would crumble when lightly touched by one's hand. Like shortbread cookies, like tree bark. Like Gaston on that fateful night.

The witch stood in front of Esme. She looked her straight in the eye. “LeFou is not ready for this meeting. What you are striving for will not end well." Her eyesight was cold. Esme felt the skin prickle on her back.

"He is not ready now." She stammered out. She wanted to sound more confident. She wanted to believe in what she was saying. “But he will be soon. All he has to do is mourn, and when he moves on, he will be ready for this conversation." She did not believe it.

The witch turned to the table. She put the last bottle on it. The only one that hasn't been destroyed. She studied it for a moment. Losing that vial would be louder, more noticeable than losing all the rest that fell down earlier. This loss would be more painful. And it would take so little for it to fall to the ground. One movement of the hand and the flask would turn into a million broken pieces.

Agathe smiled sadly, and what she said then made Esme feel sick. It was a statement she thought about herself, but she refused to accept it.

"Esme... he'll never be ready."

Love is everywhere. You can see it at the corner of the street, at school, at the market. It is possible to find in stories, in gestures, in shy smiles. It is in a berry pie, in a gifted hair ribbon, in well-polished shoes.

And when you're in love, you even notice it in chirping birds, in the blue sky, in the ladybug that will fly unexpectedly through the open window and sit on your hand. Was it a harbinger of happiness?

LeFou thought about it as he watched the dotted insect wander through his hand. It kept to the boundaries marked by fingerprints. LeFou learned that love, too, has paths that it must stick to strictly.

There were top-down rules, unwritten laws that governed love. LeFou tried to forget about them at first, but always something reminded him of them. Either it was male-female couples kissing in the hidden alleys of the village. Or his mom, asking when he would finally bring a girl home. Because after all: Boys chase after girls, and girls chase after boys.

LeFou, though he didn't want to, knew he had to stick to those precepts. He tried to talk to the fairer sex, and he tried to court his female friends from the neighborhood. Girls were pretty - that was true. They wore beautiful dresses or fancy skirts. They often collected flowers or lounged on the meadow. But aside from the usual human interest in these creatures, LeFou felt nothing more for them.

At least not the same things that he felt for Gaston.

"LeFou?" Gaston turned his head toward his friend. At the sound of his voice, the ladybug instantly flew out. It vanished as quickly as the mystical happiness it was supposed to bring. "Do I present myself well?" the boy strained in front of the mirror. He did it more often as if he has only just become aware of his own handsomeness. He admired his new scarlet-red cloak. It was elegant. Gold-plated on the edges, with black leather buttons and a high collar.

LeFou nodded vigorously. "Yes, of course. You always present yourself well." He knew that Gaston liked to be confirmed about his greatness. He asked about it often, and LeFou didn't fail to answer. He felt honored that he could be this subjective critic.

Gaston smiled proudly. "So... you think she will like it?"

She. 

"Of course, it couldn't be otherwise."

Gaston was 15 years old, LeFou was 14. 

His friend grew more handsome with age. His hair was longer and more well-groomed. Now it didn't shine from fireflies tangled in its strands or raindrops. Its glow was natural, more sophisticated. Gaston's cheekbones seemed to be prominent and more accentuated. His voice changed too. From a hilarious hoarse voice, it turned into a dark, chocolate baritone. It was as if Gaston was immune to aging and youthful skin problems. I was as if he was created only to evolve, unlike others who lost a little bit of their external beauty every day.

LeFou's perception of Gaston also changed with age. As a child, he noticed his surface charm. The blueness of his eyes, the thickness of his hair - its cascading black strands against his broad shoulders. In his teenage years, he began to pay attention to what could not be noticed at first glance. LeFou started to admire the confidence that Gaston exuded, the courage evident in his proud stride. He was delighted with his passion, determination, and how easily people admired him.

LeFou wanted to be like Gaston.

LeFou wanted others to admire him like they admired Gaston.

LeFou wanted Gaston to look at him in the same way he looked at Gaston.

But it was not possible, and this harsh reality took its toll at that moment.

Gaston was dressing up in front of a mirror for a reason. He was getting ready for his first official date... with Louise. Louise was beautiful. She had long golden hair that would become curly, and when exposed to humidity, it would create a waterfall of curls. Her complexion was slightly tanned because the girl was working on the farm together with her parents. Besides, she had innocent freckles, enormous olive eyes, and, to make matters worse, a small gap between her bright teeth.

LeFou envied her. He envied her candy-like voice. He envied that Gaston's smile widened at the sight of her. He envied that she did not have to hide her feelings.

He hated her because he couldn't stop hating her.

Seeing Gaston dress up for her, carefully arranging his hair, and meticulously adjusting the collar of his shirt... made LeFou feel awful.

He was shattered. He felt like he wouldn't be able to survive when Gaston would have to get married. He knew he wouldn't bear to see him build a house with one of his beautiful female admirers. When he grew up, and LeFou would be forgotten. After all, love will always win over friendship.

LeFou wanted to prevent this at all costs. 

He wanted to run to Louise, say that Gaston would not be able to see her. 

He wanted to destroy what could have happened between them. 

He just wanted to keep Gaston for himself and himself only at any cost and...

"Well, it's perfect now." Gaston clapped. His eyes sparkled with excitement mixed with nervousness that Gaston would certainly not admit to.

Seeing the glow in his piercing eyes made all the worries and anger disappear from LeFou's heart. LeFou was able to sacrifice his own peace of mind for his friend's happiness. For his cheeky smile and his blushy from adrenaline cheeks.

"Of course it is, Gaston." LeFou nodded. "You'll knock her off her feet."

Gaston shrugged and snorted conceitedly. "Sure, I will."

Gaston looked at LeFou. His companion was sitting as if he was glued to his bed with his hands firmly grasping its frame as if it gave him some sense of security. The boy frowned. "And you, LeFou? Weren't you supposed to go to the market? "

"I... Oh... right, yes, yes." LeFou sighed. While he usually loved to go to the market and admire the new goods and street musicians... now he felt as if the mere thought of it was causing him to slowly drown. When his mom found out that Gaston was going to meet with a girl, she suggested that LeFou should meet someone, as well. Perhaps on his daily trip to the market. LeFou didn't want to disappoint her. He couldn't do that. For his mom couldn't find out the truth. 

"Why aren't you getting ready, then? Don't you want to make a good first impression?" Gaston asked curiously.

LeFou laughed dryly. "No, I don't want to be your competition."

Gaston looked at him questioningly from under his bushy eyebrows. "You should rather take advantage of it." He lifted the corner of his mouth. "If I was around, you wouldn't have a chance." He patted him vigorously on the back.

"Certainly, Gaston." LeFou smiled. After all, his friend was right. LeFou unquestionably wouldn't stand a chance if Gaston was around.

For how could he concentrate on the task his mother had given him when he wouldn't have been able to take his eyes off his friend?

LeFou straightened his collar. His tousled hair covered his flushed face. Dark circles asked for more sleep, and dry lips asked for a glass of water. LeFou didn't care. For some time, he hasn't cared for anything. He didn't even know what he looked like because the mirrors were covered with various fabrics. The one he was standing in front of with concern revealed a part of its glass. It was lurking at him from beneath a brownish material with a faded red pipette.

A sigh. That was the only thing left for LeFou to do now. It was like buttoning the last button of a shirt. Necessary.

With a wretched step, he left, remembering the time he had dressed up with his friend. Always for such special occasions. He advised him which shade of red would better accentuate his eyes, and his friend let LeFou try on his hair ribbons. Those were the times. 

He didn't close the door behind him. He didn't care. For some time, he hasn't cared about anything. A pale gray ribbon waved in the breeze.

Littleness. Overwhelming awareness of one's own fragility against the vast universe. Nature has every inch of power to overcome man. It can crush, smash... even kill. Man has no force over it. One believes they can control what was created millions of years before them, but these are only illusory hopes. They would end up devastated and consumed because they thought they knew it well.

LeFou felt small not only because of the galaxy but due to everything around him. The broken blade of grass was more powerful than he was. It didn't have to struggle with existential thoughts and desire dilemmas. It died, so it couldn't die for love.

Materialism saved man from littleness. The palace he had just entered was gilded and decorated with stucco. Oriental tapestries framed the walls carved in marble. Huge windows let plenty of sunlight into the great hall, giving it even more prestige. The ceiling was reflected in the polished floor. LeFou looked up. The plafond showed plump cherubs holding olive branches in their chubby hands. They seemed to smile at the dancing guests and even "step out" of their painting. Perhaps they wanted to give some fortunate person this olive branch for happiness? If LeFou had received it, it would have been a ridiculous, brutal joke.

But marble and diamonds were only plausible shields against littleness. The universe will find a way anyway, and gold will not ease the fall. Someone's nature or this earthly one would soon lead one to their ultimate demise.

LeFou's bit was also gone forever, and no stained glass or crystal chandeliers would fill the void.

Undeniably, however, despite this moral contradiction, the castle was beautiful. Now decorated with cascades of flowers and white garlands of pearls. Huge, filled to the brim with elegantly dressed guests.

LeFou felt overwhelmed by its size and the smiling crowd. He was so small, tiny… that even littleness could not define it.

He paced between men in frock coats and women in puffy dresses. He moved as if he was sleepwalking. Without a purpose, he turned around in the crowd, searching for that goal - with absent eyes, he stared at the faces, at the singing lips, and the shining eyes. But he couldn't remember anyone's features, nor could he recognize anyone. His thoughts were elsewhere. Still in the castle, but at a different time. He returned to the past, and flying plates and piano keys flew over his head.

He was lying under the stairs, which, at that time, were not covered with a white silk carpet. Crumpled under a grand harpsichord. A heavy instrument crushed his bones and made it impossible to inhale air. He barely stretched out his little hand towards his old friend. Gaston was standing on the third step. Blue eyes watched LeFou indulgently. They were empty - that beloved glow had vanished from them.

"Gaston, help..." he stammered with all the strength he still had. However, it was not him who needed help. LeFou hadn't been in a hopeless situation for the first time. Nailed to the floor, he coped by himself. He never asked Gaston for help. He would never dare to even try. Only now, just this once, he did it. Not in his mind, but out loud. To save him, not himself.

He reached his hand forward even more, silently pleading for Gaston to show some mercy and grab it. That would mean he had come back to him; the old Gaston, full of life, mired in crude jokes and alcoholic excesses. Then everything would get back to normal. They would forget what happened here. Just… just for him to take his hand. It was all it took. So much and so little at the same time.

"Sorry, old friend." Gaston apologized to him. But he wasn't really sorry at all. "It's hero time."

It was the last sentence he heard from him.

There was no turning back; it had gone too far. LeFou failed to save his friend. The hunter ran up the stairs, leaving behind only the sound of echoing, chunky boots hitting the marble floor of the steps.

LeFou had promised to always be by his side. Gaston would not let him keep his word - after all, he had broken his first.

The hand dropped by itself effortlessly. The heart broke quickly, imperceptibly. It turned into tiny pieces that sparkled, reflected in teardrops.

LeFou turned his head away from the stairs, looking towards the main point of the event - Adam and Belle. The future king and queen.

He couldn't recall Gaston like that. Not when his friend wasn't thinking for himself. Not when something possessed him, and he lost all his mind.

This was not how he should remember him.

It wasn't Gaston.

It wasn't his  Gaston.

Really, he believed it.

Instead, he clung to the memories from his childhood. He built the idealized image of his former friend on their basis. 

The reminiscences of a fallen hero turned into a monster. A bloodthirsty beast. But not in the eyes of LeFou.

It was easier.

Everyone was invited to dance. It was a ball, after all. LeFou wanted to avoid all entertaining distractions and remain unnoticed. However, the banquet was organized by Belle. LeFou knew her well enough to acknowledge that she made sure everyone had a pair. LeFou, despite his apathy, did not want to upset his female partner. Though he felt that if he hadn't danced with her, she wouldn't have lost anything.

Turn left, turn right, a bow, and switch. The waltz was quite repetitive, and although LeFou could not dance, he quickly learned the few simple steps. His partners changed quickly, with every pirouette. LeFou initially tried to remember their faces. He admired all 'imperfections'. From his perspective, they were a unique element of each of the women. After a while, however, they began to blend into one disfigured face...

His mind focused on Gaston - what else? As if LeFou were subconsciously laughing at himself. At his weakness and stupid affection for a man who, on top of that, was dead. Gaston had been for many years what LeFou lived and breathed with. The foundation of his existence had disappeared... it was tough to build something as sure and stable on the rubble.

He felt a man's hand on his shoulder. The scent of hair gel, flowers, and cologne… have LeFou gone mad? His fantasies became extremely real. LeFou must have lost his mind. In fact, it was only a matter of time - it was surprising that he hadn't started to imagine Gaston alive earlier.

He looked up. Slowly and shakily. His mind pleaded that the man before him would be anyone else, not an imaginary old friend. Heart begged that his mind wrong.

There was a man in front of him, quite alive and realistic. LeFou must have seen him before. A name was floating around the lobes of his brain; all LeFou had to do was grab it.

Gaston was definitely friends with him - LeFou has seen them together many times. He seldom exchanged words with him. Maybe they talked once or twice.

LeFou understood that he should like him. As if Gaston was telling who his friends could be and who could not.

He wanted to say something. Introduce himself... maybe suggest a joint meeting in the tavern? Wouldn't that be too bold and quick? It was enough that they danced together. Two men. LeFou was afraid others would laugh at them both, but luckily they all seemed to be busy with the royal couple. LeFou thanked his fate for never being made to be the center of attention.

Before he could say something, however, they made one final pirouette. LeFou found himself in the arms of the blonde girl.

But LeFou couldn't focus on her. He thought of a handsome partner with beautifully combed-back hair and a friendly smile. As he looked at LeFou, his eyes shone with a glow that the man knew well from personal experience. He recognized what that buttery gaze meant. He sighed softly, losing the mysterious man in the crowd of the dancing people.

Stanley.

That was his name. At least, that was what Gaston referred to him. While he wasn't very good at remembering names (of which LeFou was a walking example), the little man had nothing else to rely on. 

He remembered him from the tavern. He often sat with Gaston's other musketeers; sometimes, he glanced at his two friends. LeFou always thought his eyes were directed towards Gaston. Now he knew he was wrong.

He was standing at the counter. He watched Stanley sitting outside from a distance. The night breeze was flowing through his hair. 

The rest of the guests wandered around the castle. Some stayed on the dance floor, and others fled home. Each of them, however, had a goal, the ability to make independent decisions. LeFou couldn't do that. He had long since stopped practicing the art of independence

Now there were two options before him. One was stupid, indeed, terribly silly… the other, though safer, wasn't as exciting as the first. However, he did not know which one to choose. When in doubt, he let his friend make the decisions for himself. Now, however, he was alone on the battlefield.

The wisest thing to do was to go back to the haven of his home. Hide under the covers and continue his ritual of self-pity.

LeFou, however, was charmingly inconsiderate - with no control over his own body, he allowed his legs to stroll towards the garden. Outside. To the peach tree.

To Stanley.

"Stanley...?" he hesitantly asked as he stopped beside him. The man smiled and nodded. LeFou breathed a sigh of relief. "So I haven't got dementia yet." He joked. He raised his crossed fingers and looked up thankfully.

Stanley laughed in response. He had a delightful laugh. Resembling warm sand underfoot and sweet candies. It was refreshing… gentle. LeFou had to admit it was a pleasant sound.

He crouched next to him, keeping a safe distance.

"Émillien." LeFou had to think for a moment before realizing he was referring to him. Except for Esme, no one else spoke to him like that.

Gaston would never call him that.

LeFou laughed devastatingly at the thought. Even now, he couldn't stop comparing others to him. As if it still mattered.

"I thought you wouldn’t come," Stanley continued.

LeFou didn't even have to ask why he thought that.

"I still don't know why I'm here," he stated.

They rested in silence. Stanley watched the sky. Shining stars and the moon, watching over them. LeFou paid no attention to his surroundings. His eyes were fixed on Stanley. He had never looked at him that closely. Previously, he felt no need to do so.

Now he noticed the softness of his perfectly styled hair. The delicacy of his cheekbones. Little freckles around his plump mouth and nose. LeFou thought he might love him for it.

He could love him for his laugh. For the friendly smile, he threw at him when their hands lightly touched.  Gaston would never do that.

He could love him for how nice his name sounded in his mouth.  Gaston would never even utter it.

He could love him for being brave enough to approach him and dance with him.  Gaston wouldn't even think about it.

He could love him for many other things. Write them all down (if only he could) and hang them on the wall. He would look at them every day and learn that that was why he had those feelings for him. But he wouldn't do that.

After all, it was probably wrong if one had to explain to oneself why they loved someone.

"You're not gonna hate me for that, are you?" Stanley leaned closer to him. He narrowed the distance between them. The wind grew colder than it had been before. He put a hand on LeFou's flushed cheek.  Gaston would never-

LeFou was running - escaping those feelings. 

He left Stanley. 

He did not explain himself. 

He didn't think he had to.

"I should be mad at you, shouldn't I?" he spoke against the wind. His eyes grew misty. Clumps of moss protruded from under the feet. “A normal person would be. But I don't think I've ever been normal." He laughed to himself. It was bitter and sharp.

He was in the woods by the castle. Despite the darkness, he was not afraid of strange sounds coming from behind bushes. Not scared of shadows that were formed by twisted trees. Or the moon, peeking out from behind their leaves. 

He was standing where he fell. At least he thought so. He didn't find the body. It probably disappeared because of the larvae or the hungry wolves.

He imagined it - bent and twisted. It was lying in a pool of crimson blood. In the sunlit, it glistened with saliva and tiny raindrops that tangled in the jet-black mane. Strands of hair framed his cheeks. They waved around his shoulders, inharmonious and unbalanced. And his face... his beautiful face, always brave and audacious, was now full of weakness. The last tears in which terror hid soaked into pale skin.

LeFou felt dirty because it made him feel relieved. Knowing that, at least at the time of his death, Gaston had shown a long-hidden vulnerability. A gentle innocence. Human cowardice.

He didn't want to think about it that way. Feast on Gaston's image as he pleaded for mercy. Telling himself that he was not an idealized vision... but something alive and rough - something that was beyond the realm of external beauty. He wanted to believe that Gaston was the authentic, delicate, ugly, and fragile part of his life.

That there was something more to him.

But then he would also have to accept that he left him behind.

He bit his tongue, forgetting his previous intrusive thoughts. He wished he hadn't considered them to be any consolation at all.

"I'd like to hate you more than I love you, do you understand?" he whispered into the abyss. “Or just don't feel anything. It would be easier, but it is more difficult to achieve."

He stared at the ground; he didn't see the piece of blue cloth sticking to the sharp bush. Strands of his hair fluttered along with the delicate fabric.

“I don't want to forgive you, but I think I already did. I don't know if it's a mistake or not." There was no answer. “I would like to come to terms with your absence in my life. Do you think it's possible?" he inquired the nobody lying in front of him.

He felt that by asking this, he was merely distancing himself further from that goal.

Esme adjusted her blue apron. It was torn at the hems, dirty with ointment on the edges.

Yesterday's conversation with Gaston was not the best. But she had to tell him that his condition was severe. 

He didn't react to her. He stared at the white wall; he was silent. Only after a while, he told her to leave. His voice was impassive. Esme wished he had yelled at her instead.

She prepared medications for him and put them on a silver tray. Gaston was like a child. He would eat even the most hideous slush, only if it was presented in a beautiful crystal bowl.

She opened the door. She stopped. The rays of the morning sun illuminated her pale face. The sound of a tray hitting the floor filled the room.