Work Text:
The fancy gatherings would get boring or even, in some cases, tiresome. But Enjolras’ dear friends would make them all slightly more bearable than they were. Among the dim lightning, the chattering people, maids walking around, the sound of his friend Courfeyrac’s voice teasing Marius would draw a slight smirk across his face. Enjolras would notice how Marius would always grow tomato red whenever Courfeyrac teased him and that would be enough to turn the smirk into a full smile, sometimes even a laugh. It was a set routine they had once a month.
On an evening like this, Courfeyrac had been running weirdly late, leaving Marius and Enjolras alone at their resident ‘teenagers table’. It was awkward, to say the least. Usually Courfeyrac would be the one to start a conversation. He was the more sociable one out of the two. So when the two unsociable ones were left together, silence was guaranteed. Marius was fidgeting with his fingers, cracking them even though no sound was actually coming. Enjolras, who was sitting across Marius, had his arms crossed. A few minutes went by as such, Enjolras noticed that whenever their gazes met Marius would quickly look elsewhere. The last thing the blonde boy wanted was to make Marius feel uncomfortable, so he said the first thing he could think of.
“Have you ever read The Last Letters of Jacopo Ortis, Marius?”
Marius, who was looking down on his lap, suddenly shot up and responded with a slight smile.
“Pardon?”
“The Last Letters of Jacopo Ortis. Have you read it?”
“Ah… I-I don’t think I have. What is it about?”
“It is the tale of a young Venetian patriot, this Jacopo Ortis, collected in what are, as the title suggests, his last letters, collected in a novel within the story by his friend, Lorenzo Alderani. In fact, it is he who writes the introduction to the novel. The first letter was written in the Euganean Hills, on October 11th, 1797, the last one, on March 25th, 1799. However, the novel itself was written in 1802, at least the first original edition, though it was finished by a collaborator, as the author, Ugo Foscolo, could not finish it in time. In fact, in the second version, he removed and replaced everything that did not fit truly with the story; its third and last edition was published in 1817. There is a French translation, I believe, published in 1819, and I suggest it to you, Marius, sincerely. You see, Marius, the novel starts with a missive written a few days before the Treaty of Campoformio, in which Buonaparte sold Veneto back to Austria, after the latter lost it during the emperor’s First Italian Campaign, as you may know already.”
Enjolras paused to take a long sip of his drink. Now, Marius would always get irritated when anyone called the Emperor “Buonaparte”. It was a mockery to all the good he has done. However, for reasons he couldn’t name himself, he never took offense when the blonde boy called him by that name. The boy licked his lips and continued;
“Ortis is a political enemy, openly against Austria, which is why he left his land, after his mother begged him to flee, even though, as he himself states in the first letter, he is awaiting imprisonment or death. He talks of hatred towards both Austria and France, the former because it bought back territory it had lost in a battle, the latter because it sold Veneto back to Austria, and for, as he states, ‘exploiting liberty the way Popes exploited faith to justify the Crusades’. It is quite an interesting novel, I must say, its main theme is, in fact, love; love for his defeated, prostituted land, and love for an unfortunate lady, Teresa, her hand arranged in marriage to a wealthy man she does not love, to sustain her family financially. Quite moving, is it not? Of course, it is not the tragic love story that is bringing me to suggest and talk about this book. You see, the author merely expressed his feelings at the disappointment he felt for that treaty, as he admired Buonaparte fervently; one can notice it by Foscolo’s ode A Bonaparte Liberatore, ‘To Bonaparte, the liberator’, written and published in, I believe, May 1797. Of course, Foscolo was a Venetian patriot as well, exiled by the Austrians, and of course, he quickly began bearing disdain for the French Empire as well. And, quite frankly, can you blame him? Would you not disdain a man who liberated your land, only to use it as merch, not long later? He expresses it in his novel, under Jacopo’s conscience, his disappointment to see two powerful nations which are sworn enemies seemingly uniting only to throw him and his brothers and sisters into chains, one deceiving them with enthusiasm for liberty, the other with religious fanaticism. I cannot blame him, and you should not, either.”
Marius nodded through every word Enjolras spoke, listening intently. You simply could not get distracted while he was speaking with his deep blue eyes staring straight at you. Even when what he said contradicted what you believe in.
“Well, It seems I’ll have to get a copy of it myself.”
“I would be more than happy to lend you my copy, Marius.”
Soon enough, Courfeyrac could be seen speed walking to the table, fixing his hair simultaneously. He took his usual seat next to Marius and threw an arm over him. And before the two were about to ask him where he’d been or how he was doing, he leaned into the table and began talking to the two.
“I have two tickets to the opera Il turco in Italia. I had planned to bring a beautiful maiden along with me. You two should see her; her dark, doe-like eyes and luscious blonde hair would have men go to war! But you see, we had a little… quarrel. And she has left me broken hearted. You see, I already saw this opera before, I only bought tickets to spend time with the girl! But alas, all good things must come to an end. These tickets now belong to you two.”
While saying all of this, the curly haired boy had been using his exaggerated hand movements and facial expressions. Yes, as mentioned before they were exaggerated but it also added a certain charm to him. He slammed the tickets on the table and suddenly stood up before letting the other two even mutter a word.
“Now! I have urgent matters to attend to. I promised Combeferre I’d help organize his space. The show is at seven thirty. You two have fun, alright?”
And just like that he bolted off. Little did Enjolras and Marius know this entire story was made up. Well, except for the helping Combeferre part. There was no maiden and there was no quarrel. In fact, he had bought those tickets for Enjolras and Marius specifically. Courfeyrac’s observant self hadn’t missed the way the two boys would look at each other, smile more fondly to each other than they would to others, or how Enjolras’ cheeks would get a red tint at the mention of Marius and vice versa. He had decided that if his friends weren’t going to take action, he would for them.
Marius and Enjolras stared at the tickets in a slight state of shock. Courfeyrac hadn’t given them a single second to process. After a moment of silence, Marius looked up at the blonde boy nervously and parted his lips.
“Well, If you’d like to go feel free to do so… I don’t think my grandfather would let me leave and I wouldn’t want to… anger him.”
His voice fell slightly quieter at the last part. Enjolras darted his eyes away from the tickets and began thinking.
“Marius, have you ever snuck out?”
“... No?”
“In that case,” he leaned closer to the other, whispering so the adults wouldn’t hear them “would you like to sneak out to go to the opera with me?”
Marius paused. Truthfully, he would love to take the offer. But his grandfather's wrath filled him with fear. Even though he was not the small child he once was, the thought of him leaning to grab his cane was still enough to make Marius shudder.
“You know how my grandfather is—”
“And you know how my father is. There’s a reason that they are good friends with each other. If your grandfather tries to do anything, you’ve got me behind you.”
Marius paused once again. He did trust Enjolras wholeheartedly and by how confident he sounds, he has done this many times before. Though, Enjolras was always confident no matter the circumstance. He wasn’t like Marius in the slightest. It was one of the many things the boy adored about Enjolras. No matter the obstacle put in front of him, Enjolras would find a way to rise up and—
“Marius?”
Marius hesitantly nodded and Enjolras was quick to grab his wrist with a smile on his face.
-
Soon enough, the two were out of the building. Somehow they had managed to leave without being seen by Gillenormand or Enjolras’ father, the Inspector. Enjolras truly seemed to have mastered this. His grip on Marius’ wrist was tight as he guided Marius through the less crowded parts of the place and, though he tried to hide it, the brunette couldn’t help but get flustered.
And now, they were sitting next to each other in the prestigious Palais Garnier. Marius, with a strong interest in opera, had begun his infodumping whilst waiting for the show to start;
“Did you know that this opera house was built at the behest of the Emperor? It used to be called le nouvel Opéra de Paris. But they later changed it to Palais Garnier to honor the architect Charles Garnier. Somewhere in this building is also Bibliothéque-Musée de l’Opéra de Paris and—”
Marius paused and steadied himself and looked straight ahead, almost robotically. Enjolras tilted his head at the sudden halt.
“Marius? Is everything alright?”
The brunette suddenly turned to Enjolras, looking a little shocked.
“Oh,” he hesitated. “I didn’t think you were listening. I thought you got annoyed and…”
His sentences trailed off at last. It was what he was used to when he would go on long tangents as such. After someone got bored or annoyed of him, they would simply stop listening and Marius had learned to quiet himself at times like these. Enjolras looked at him in shock and leaned slightly closer to the boy next to him.
“Marius. I would never get bored or annoyed of what you have to say.”
Marius, feeling his cheeks grow red, looked to his lap with a slight smile painted on his lips. Enjolras was still staring, stern yet soft in his own way.
“You are… awfully kind.”
Soon after, the lights dimmed and the show started. Problem being that Marius could not focus on the show in the slightest. He could only focus his attention on the boy next to him. He seemed almost engulfed in the story. He seemed to be focused, his eyebrows slightly furrowed and his hands at his sides, unlike Marius who kept catching sneaky glances at him.
Marius looked at Enjolras’s hand sitting next to his. Truth be told, he wished nothing more than to hold his hand right now, but they were in public. Anyone who knew his grandfather or the Inspector could be near. It wasn’t a risk worth taking. Instead, Marius thought, maybe their fingers could touch slightly together. So, bold as it is, Marius made the move to touch their pinkies together.
Immediately after, Marius stood like a piece of wood and looked straight ahead cartoonishly, his cheeks flushing red. Enjolras noticed, of course, and couldn’t help but silently chuckle to himself as he took the risk to hold Marius’ hand fully.