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Grantaire opens the door to a slightly apprehensive looking Bahorel.
“Hi…” Grantaire frowns, certainly it’s not unusual for Bahorel to come round unannounced, but never looking so nervous, shifting on his feet without a smile of greeting.
“Is Enjolras home?”
“No, he’s still at work…”
“Is that why you have paint in your hair?”
“Huh?” Grantaire’s hand goes to his hair, it’s damp and sticky, strands sticking together between his fingers. “Oh that’s not paint… It’s baby food.” He gestures for Bahorel to come in. “Though if her sweet potato finger painting is anything to go on Alexis is going to be quite the artist…” Bahorel smiles a little as they go back into the kitchen, waving at her and getting a grin in return. Grantaire settles back again, to try and feed her a little more lunch. “If you don’t mind me saying, you seem a little tense…”
“I’m in love with Feuilly.” He blurts. Grantaire pauses, spoon part way to Alexis, just long enough for her to bat it and splash more puree over his shirt.
“You..?”
“I think I’m in love with Feuilly, but I don’t know how or what but I think I do.” Bahorel mumbles, sitting down on the chair opposite looking mopey.
“Go on…” Grantaire begins trying to dab himself and Alexis down, and she giggles. “How do you love them?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s romantic. I don’t want to have sex with them, I don’t think…” He pauses, and Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “No, no I don’t.”
“Did you just imagine them naked?”
“A little.” Bahorel admits. “I just don’t know.” He puts bluntly. “I don’t know what kind of love it is but it is love. I’m pretty sure of that, I’ve never felt like this about anyone else.” He pauses. “But I’ve also felt different things about other people. Oh god why is this complicated!”
“Because life is complicated. Hang on hold her a moment.” He hands Alexis to Bahorel, who pulls a slight face at how covered in baby food she is. He vanishes a moment to get a new Babygro for her. “Alright, let’s sit down and think about this.” He takes Alexis back, efficiently stripping her of the dirty clothes and pulling on the new ones. “What do you want out of the relationship?”
“Hmm… Well I guess just… Being able to treat them more, do those sort of couple-y friend things, more than just friends but not actually in a proper romantic relationship. Like I’m not sure I want to kiss them, but I want to be able to do other things. It’s hard to explain.”
“So you want a… Queerplatonic relationship?”
“That might be the right word.” He sighs, tickling Alexis’s stomach. “I don’t know what to tell them. How do you even tell someone you want a not-relationship with them?”
“It’s still a relationship, just not so traditional. You know, you guys have always been closer than most. You talk to them, you figure it out. You know, like people do. Enjolras and I had to.”
“Because yours is the perfect example on how to make a platonic relationship work.” Bahorel raises an eyebrow. Grantaire pouts, though he can’t find it in him to actually be annoyed with how well their relationship gamble is going.
“Hey, I was willing to try, I was perfectly happy being platonic. But…. Well things happen.”
“Like undying love you mean?”
“You shush.” Grantaire pokes him in the ribs. “Talk to them, explain, let them know and I’m sure things will work out. Because it’s you two, I mean you already own a cat.”
Feuilly comes back from work to find Bahorel waiting almost expectantly by the door, wearing an apron and a nervous grin. If they didn’t know better they’d say he looks like a puppy who’s done something wrong but is wearing a soppy look in the hope you’ll forget and just stroke them instead. They pause, hand still on the door handle as they frown.
‘Evening…’ They say, releasing the door behind him.
“Hey! You’re on time.” Bahorel always signs what he speaks, though Feuilly can mostly hear him when they’re alone, without the hustle and bustle of life interfering with their hearing aid.
‘Well I do try sometimes.’ Feuilly points out, with a raise of their eyebrow, crouching to take of their shoes. ‘Are you lurking for a reason?’
“No.” Bahorel says hurriedly, then elaborates. “Well I just made dinner and it’s nearly ready so I was hoping you’d be back soon in case it burnt.”
‘And you thought staring at the door would achieve that?’ They chuckle, nudging him with their elbow. He twists his lips into a slight pout, following them into the small living area.
“It worked didn’t it, I’ve only been there a couple of minutes.”
‘You’re a puppy.’ They state, then pause as they turn their attention back to the living area. What they’d thought was a normal dinner clearly isn’t. The table is laid up with what Bahorel, somewhat ironically, refers to as the ‘nice’ plates, and a bottle of wine to the side. There’s a candle in the centre, perfuming the room with a smell other than cooking, and by god that better be a stew in the pot because it smells divine. ‘Is this supposed to look like a romantic dinner or is it just an excuse for you to burn your new candle?’ Bahorel’s a bit of a connoisseur, the fragrances changing with the seasons or his whims – lately they’ve been baked goods, lemon cake, icing, and most oddly a perfect replica of fresh baked bread. The latest one was a deep perfume, Bahorel had called argan oil, though what that was supposed to smell like Feuilly had no idea.
“A little. To both.” He admits, and at this Feuilly frowns properly, looking around to face him in question. Certainly they’ve always known that despite Bahorel’s preference for women he’s most certainly not straight, but Bahorel’s also the first person they told that they were ace, and very, very aromantic, preferring to form strong friendships over relationships. So the idea of a romantic meal, beyond their occasional meals out or special occasion nights in, is more than a little alien. “Uh… Sit down and I’ll explain things a bit.”
Feuilly drops their bag by the sofa and settles on the chair offered as Bahorel pours them both a glass of wine. He takes a rather long drink, while Feuilly sips theirs, watching their housemates body language – how Bahorel shifts nervously, glancing across to the oven, to his hands, occasionally his eyes flicker up to Feuilly and eventually they settle there.
“Okay.” He places down his glass, mostly empty with a hint of red staining the bottom. “Okay.” He repeats. “Here’s the thing. I like you, rather a lot. And before you say that you’re not into that kind of thing just hear me out. I don’t think I like you romantically, or sexually, but I do like you. In some way. Not completely platonic perhaps but maybe platonic- I don’t know. It’s confusing and complicated and I just… Wanted to tell you but I should’ve thought it through more- Like more than a day and one conversation because now I’m lost and feel… Well, like I should have had a plan.”
‘No, I’m glad you told me.’ Feuilly tells him, then reaches out to gently touch his hand. Bahorel glances down briefly, and when he looks back up his eyes are perhaps not so fearful. Feuilly withdraws a little to continue signing. ‘Are you asking for a platonic partnership?’
“I think so.”
‘You know…’ Feuilly chuckles. ‘I’m pretty sure we’re basically in one.’ At this Bahorel frowns, looking so much like a confused puppy that Feuilly loves him a little more. ‘Why do you think people keep joking about us settling down with the cat and everything else?’
“They’re friends, they joke!”
‘Not usually unfounded.’
“Is this a yes or are you deflecting?”
‘Yes it’s a yes. That was my entire point, we’re basically in one. So I would love to, well, make that official.’
“Seriously?”
‘No, that’s why I said yes.’ Feuilly raises an eyebrow. ‘Come on Bahorel you know I love you.’
“No I did not know that.” Bahorel says after a pause, and Feuilly has to laugh, even though Bahorel looks pouty as they do so. “Oh shhh.”
‘I thought you knew you idiot. You’re my closest friend, hell we live together, we adopted a cat together so this is obviously more long term than just roommates. Sure it’s not conventional but, it’s us.’
“It’s that simple?”
‘I think so.” Feuilly smiles, then pauses a moment as a dry sizzle reaches their ears. ‘Wasn’t there food on the hob?’
“Shit!” Bahorel swears.
The actual ‘making it official’ changes little between them, bar the fact that Bahorel is marginally more affectionate in a more physical way, which basically means he occasionally holds Feuilly’s hand in the street and hugs them a fraction more. They’d already fallen asleep on each other on the sofa, done more coffees and dinners and drinks than Feuilly can count and numerous other ‘couple’ things before, so in reality it was never going to change much. The little touches are still platonic, Bahorel doesn’t expect any more of them.
There is one complication, and that’s entirely a misunderstanding. After a month or so Feuilly realises Bahorel hasn’t been on a date in a good couple of months, which is quite unlike him. They question him one night, placing down their sketchbook with its little study of flowers.
‘Do you have any dates lined up then?’ Bahorel frowns, as if there was something inappropriate in their question, as if this was something the pair of them shouldn’t talk about. Which is ridiculous, because they always have before.
“No, not currently… I haven’t thought about any.”
‘You realise you don’t have to be faithful to me, right? That’s not what this is about.’
“Well no, I just thought-“ He pauses, chewing his lip. “I don’t know what I thought, it just felt odd somehow.” Feuilly pulls themself onto the sofa, so their eye to eye.
‘Bahorel, I more than understand that you have needs and wants that differ from my own. So I never expected you to give those up. This isn’t that kind of relationship. You can go on dates and have sex like you used to. It doesn’t change that.’
“I suppose not.” He thinks a moment before continuing. “I’ll tell you first though, and check.”
‘You really don’t have to.’ Feuilly reassures him.
‘But I want to. And you can veto creeps, I mean you do anyway.” He looks so serious and concerned and Feuilly chuckles quietly, patting his hand. They’ve rarely actually told Bahorel not to go on a date with someone, but Bahorel always jokes that they’re his sensible side – Which is more than a little true if you take into account nights out in pubs too. But it’s obvious Bahorel wants to do this ‘properly’, so Feuilly accepts his terms with a smile and a reassurance.
‘Okay, if it makes you more comfortable.’ Bahorel nods, smiling now. ‘Go find yourself a date.’
Feuilly clicks on the coffee machine, it begins to rumble and chug quietly beneath their hand as they contemplate the best course of action. Breakfast, is of course the logical progression. But Bahorel had a date last night, and, though they couldn’t hear them, having long taken out their hearing aid and settling down with a decent book in bed, they know the man stayed over. Bahorel had shown them the picture last night, already slipping back to their normal friend interactions regarding such things as dates and sex. It’s nice, it reassures them that they did the right thing, making this into an official partnership, and that Bahorel isn’t seeing it as restricting – unnecessarily, but it’s new for them both.
They’re still mulling it over when they hear a shuffling footstep behind them, and glance to see the man from the picture. He’s blond, dark brown eyes nervous despite an attempt at a confident demeanour. Feuilly raises a hand in a wave, shooting him a smile as they pick up their coffee cup to sip slowly at the scalding liquid.
“Good morning…” The man says, and Feuilly tries to remember his name. They put down the cup to sign a good morning back and the man startles a little looking even more embarrassed than he had. Feuilly makes a reassuring gesture, then making a motion toward the coffee machine. It’s not that they can’t talk, they’re more than capable of speech, especially with their hearing aid. It’s just that they’ve never liked their voice, the clumsy feeling of the words, rasping and falling from their lips. And it reminds them of their childhood, of the school that tried to force them again and again to be something they were not, and to talk when they did not wish to.
They sort out a second cup of coffee for the man, then dig out the milk and sugar for Bahorel, whose idea of coffee is more of a cup of overly sweet milk to Feuilly – they’re pretty sure it’s been near syrup at least once.
“So…” The man obviously feels awkward with the silence as Feuilly bustles around sorting breakfast. “You’re Bahorel’s roommate?” Feuilly pauses, debates how to answer the question with the magnetic letters on the fridge – a gift from Joly and Bossuet that mostly end up in rude phrases and the occasional poem from Jehan. They hear Bahorel enter behind, so turn to see how he’ll take the question.
“Uh Feuilly’s my…” He begins, then gets as stuck as Feuilly, who holds back a smile. The man turns to face Bahorel, and Feuilly takes the opportunity to spell out their reply on the fridge, Bahorel watching their every move. “Partner…” Bahorel reads, then nods with a grin. “Partner!”
“Partner.” The man repeats, look both baffled and a little hurt, but mostly completely lost.
“Different kind of partner, don’t you worry.” Bahorel pats his shoulder. “They know all about you.”
“I’m not sure that reassures me…”