Valentine's Day Fest: Gift for innocent_trees
For: innocent_trees
Story by: niliwen
Title: Each Other's Worlds
Prompt: "Enjolras/Combeferre established relationship, please!"
Each Other’s Worlds
“Combeferre, how do you ever understand those things?”
The bespectacled medical student looked up from the forbidding tome of anatomy diagrams he had on his desk. “With a little bit of effort,” Combeferre replied, glancing at the blond young man who had seemingly materialized near his desk. “I didn’t even hear him come in,” Combeferre thought bemusedly. Then again, this certainly wasn’t the first time that he and Enjolras had to tiptoe around each other’s attempts to pass whatever exams they would be taking in the upcoming week.
He watched as Enjolras found his own seat elsewhere in the room, just right by the window. Now that was one thing Combeferre could never understand about Enjolras. When there were so many places for someone to set down the detritus of the day, to read books, or to simply stare into space, Enjolras always preferred the window, sometimes even resting his books on the sill. He always said that he liked the extra light. “But of course his eyes are better than mine,” Combeferre mused. Perhaps Enjolras preferred to see other things beyond the burdensome law books he often brought up to this room in the hours before the meetings at the Musain.
He looked up again at the sound of chair legs scraping the floor. “Something the matter?” he asked congenially.
Enjolras shook his head as he stood up and crossed the room. “I only need my notes.” His pale brow wrinkled when he caught sight again of Combeferre’s study table.
It was all that the dark-haired student could do to keep a straight face at Enjolras’ perplexed expression. “Anatomy is not as baffling as it seems---especially since it can be related to one’s own experiences,” he said. In his mind, it definitely was a lot less abstract than the statutes and precedents that cluttered Enjolras’ days.
Enjolras merely nodded as he picked up some papers. “I have seen many...unnerving things, but I cannot imagine myself being at operations and procedures the way you medical students do,” he remarked, his tone somewhere between wry amusement and unease.
“Each to his own.” Combeferre rubbed the tops of his spectacles before moving his chair to the side of the desk.
Enjolras nodded before dragging his own chair up so that he and Combeferre were seated next to each other. “So will you be going to the meeting later?”
The older student gestured to his books. “If I can give my father some proof that I am indeed, here in Paris to study.”
“Still the same struggle, I see?” Enjolras asked.
Combeferre nodded bitterly, wishing he could say otherwise. He risked a caress to Enjolras’ hand. “Soon, I will make it up to you and the others. I’ll even help with writing the newsletter again.”
Enjolras’ lips quirked upwards in a smile. “When?”
“As soon as exams are done.”
“I’ll be counting on it.” His hand clasped Combeferre’s so lightly such that if the medical student didn’t know better, he might have thought he imagined it. “I know you’ll keep your promise.”
Combeferre managed a smile. “I will,” he said. It took all he could not to add the words, ‘for you’ as well.
--
Sometimes, on nights when he had nothing but his books for company, Combeferre could not help but wonder how life would be if he and Enjolras had stayed in Aix, like they had originally planned to. It was easy for Combeferre to sketch out the road he had not taken: running his father’s estate, perhaps doing some philanthropy by putting up an orphanage or feeding the hungry in the town. It would have been a comforting, if not safe existence, a manifestation of the peace he hoped to earn someday.
Yet try as he may, he could not imagine Enjolras fitting in this idyll. There seemed to be no place for such radiance other than the foment s and chaos where it was needed the most.
“No wonder it was his father’s idea that we go to Paris, together,” Combeferre thought wryly as he turned another page in his anatomy book. Some people had dismissed this decision as Antoine Enjolras the elder wishing to recapture some of the glories of his youth in Paris, during that year 1789. Others had decried it as folly, warning the aged landowner that this move would bring nothing but ruin to his only child. In the end, it was decided that Francois, the eldest son of the Combeferre clan would accompany young Antoine to Paris, to serve as a ‘tempering sort of influence’, to turn his friend more towards learning something practical and less to pondering social questions.
But of course, Combeferre mused, no one thought that he himself would have leanings towards other things besides looking up every single bird and plant he read about. More importantly, no one knew that Enjolras would have such a hold on him, in fact practically on his heart and soul. “So much now that I cannot declare such love for ideals and Patria the way he would,” he decided. At least he could not say it truthfully. Learning and Medicine were demanding, if not spiteful mistresses, but Combeferre knew that he could set them aside for a moment if he was called to do so.
He rubbed the tops of his spectacles as he went to the window where Enjolras liked to sit at. “What more do you see here?” he wondered silently. Outside were the streets---narrow enough for barricades, yet perhaps not wide enough for what they hoped would follow in the wake of such tumult. “An odd way to cause miasma,” he mused as a hand went to his aching temples.
A knock sounded on the door. “Combeferre, are you still awake? Francois?” Enjolras’ voice asked.
Combeferre looked up on hearing his Christian name. “The door is open.” This time he saw Enjolras clearly as he entered the room. “How was the meeting?”
“It could have been better,” Enjolras replied, tossing something onto Combeferre’s desk. In the dim candlelight, the vivid crimson smears on his knuckles and lower lip seemed to leap out. In addition to this, cravat was somehow missing, and his hat was askew.
Immediately the pounding in Combeferre’s head dissipated. “What happened?” he asked, immediately going to where he kept his supplies for dressing wounds and other minor injuries. “Was the meeting---“
“Broken up? Yes,” Enjolras replied. “Bahorel was pretty sure that someone there had been in the pay of Gisquet. We’re not sure exactly who.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Combeferre said, finding the cleanest cloth to bandage Enjolras’ knuckles with. “Now hold still...”
“I can bandage up my own wounds myself,” Enjolras said in mock protest. Still, he did not move away when Combeferre began his ministrations. “I got you another copy of a newsletter from the Société des Amis du Peuple,” he said after a while.
Combeferre smiled, realizing now what Enjolras had put on his bed. “A copy of their latest manifesto against the latest round of detentions?”
“Of course. One that we must support,” Enjolras said. “I know that some of our members insist that we should have been the authors of it, but despite this, it is not our place to denigrate the efforts of our brothers-in-arms.”
“I imagine you must have bruised a few egos by reminding our friends of this fact,” Combeferre said with a chuckle.
“I was in the very act of it when the police came in and interrupted the proceedings,” Enjolras replied. He hissed as Combeferre wiped away some grime from his wounded knuckles. “I fear that we may have to pay the bail for some of the workingmen who were apprehended....”
“How will---“ Combeferre began, his eyes already going to the drawer where he kept some of his funds for his books.
Enjolras caught the older man’s gaze and shook his head. “You keep your books. I have enough from my allowance,” he said solemnly. “I do not wish for you to compromise your studies.”
“No, let me,” Combeferre said insistently. “It’s the least I could do, after not being able to be of much help lately.”
“There will come a time for that,” Enjolras replied, He ran his long fingers over Combeferre’s hands. “For now, do what you have to do.”
“Lest my father summon me home to Aix,” Combeferre remarked wryly.
“That being something I fear very much,” Enjolras said. “You know that I can hardly spare you, or bear to have you so far away.”
“Especially now when there is so much to be done for the societies and for the people,” Combeferre replied, securing the last turn on the bandage on Enjolras’ knuckles.
Enjolras’ smile reached his eyes as he met Combeferre’s gaze. “You know that this is not my only reason.”
Combeferre returned Enjolras’ smile. “I’m glad to hear it.” It was all he could do not to keep counting down till the day that he could one day rejoin Enjolras in the world they longed so dearly to see.
Story by: niliwen
Title: Each Other's Worlds
Prompt: "Enjolras/Combeferre established relationship, please!"
Each Other’s Worlds
“Combeferre, how do you ever understand those things?”
The bespectacled medical student looked up from the forbidding tome of anatomy diagrams he had on his desk. “With a little bit of effort,” Combeferre replied, glancing at the blond young man who had seemingly materialized near his desk. “I didn’t even hear him come in,” Combeferre thought bemusedly. Then again, this certainly wasn’t the first time that he and Enjolras had to tiptoe around each other’s attempts to pass whatever exams they would be taking in the upcoming week.
He watched as Enjolras found his own seat elsewhere in the room, just right by the window. Now that was one thing Combeferre could never understand about Enjolras. When there were so many places for someone to set down the detritus of the day, to read books, or to simply stare into space, Enjolras always preferred the window, sometimes even resting his books on the sill. He always said that he liked the extra light. “But of course his eyes are better than mine,” Combeferre mused. Perhaps Enjolras preferred to see other things beyond the burdensome law books he often brought up to this room in the hours before the meetings at the Musain.
He looked up again at the sound of chair legs scraping the floor. “Something the matter?” he asked congenially.
Enjolras shook his head as he stood up and crossed the room. “I only need my notes.” His pale brow wrinkled when he caught sight again of Combeferre’s study table.
It was all that the dark-haired student could do to keep a straight face at Enjolras’ perplexed expression. “Anatomy is not as baffling as it seems---especially since it can be related to one’s own experiences,” he said. In his mind, it definitely was a lot less abstract than the statutes and precedents that cluttered Enjolras’ days.
Enjolras merely nodded as he picked up some papers. “I have seen many...unnerving things, but I cannot imagine myself being at operations and procedures the way you medical students do,” he remarked, his tone somewhere between wry amusement and unease.
“Each to his own.” Combeferre rubbed the tops of his spectacles before moving his chair to the side of the desk.
Enjolras nodded before dragging his own chair up so that he and Combeferre were seated next to each other. “So will you be going to the meeting later?”
The older student gestured to his books. “If I can give my father some proof that I am indeed, here in Paris to study.”
“Still the same struggle, I see?” Enjolras asked.
Combeferre nodded bitterly, wishing he could say otherwise. He risked a caress to Enjolras’ hand. “Soon, I will make it up to you and the others. I’ll even help with writing the newsletter again.”
Enjolras’ lips quirked upwards in a smile. “When?”
“As soon as exams are done.”
“I’ll be counting on it.” His hand clasped Combeferre’s so lightly such that if the medical student didn’t know better, he might have thought he imagined it. “I know you’ll keep your promise.”
Combeferre managed a smile. “I will,” he said. It took all he could not to add the words, ‘for you’ as well.
--
Sometimes, on nights when he had nothing but his books for company, Combeferre could not help but wonder how life would be if he and Enjolras had stayed in Aix, like they had originally planned to. It was easy for Combeferre to sketch out the road he had not taken: running his father’s estate, perhaps doing some philanthropy by putting up an orphanage or feeding the hungry in the town. It would have been a comforting, if not safe existence, a manifestation of the peace he hoped to earn someday.
Yet try as he may, he could not imagine Enjolras fitting in this idyll. There seemed to be no place for such radiance other than the foment s and chaos where it was needed the most.
“No wonder it was his father’s idea that we go to Paris, together,” Combeferre thought wryly as he turned another page in his anatomy book. Some people had dismissed this decision as Antoine Enjolras the elder wishing to recapture some of the glories of his youth in Paris, during that year 1789. Others had decried it as folly, warning the aged landowner that this move would bring nothing but ruin to his only child. In the end, it was decided that Francois, the eldest son of the Combeferre clan would accompany young Antoine to Paris, to serve as a ‘tempering sort of influence’, to turn his friend more towards learning something practical and less to pondering social questions.
But of course, Combeferre mused, no one thought that he himself would have leanings towards other things besides looking up every single bird and plant he read about. More importantly, no one knew that Enjolras would have such a hold on him, in fact practically on his heart and soul. “So much now that I cannot declare such love for ideals and Patria the way he would,” he decided. At least he could not say it truthfully. Learning and Medicine were demanding, if not spiteful mistresses, but Combeferre knew that he could set them aside for a moment if he was called to do so.
He rubbed the tops of his spectacles as he went to the window where Enjolras liked to sit at. “What more do you see here?” he wondered silently. Outside were the streets---narrow enough for barricades, yet perhaps not wide enough for what they hoped would follow in the wake of such tumult. “An odd way to cause miasma,” he mused as a hand went to his aching temples.
A knock sounded on the door. “Combeferre, are you still awake? Francois?” Enjolras’ voice asked.
Combeferre looked up on hearing his Christian name. “The door is open.” This time he saw Enjolras clearly as he entered the room. “How was the meeting?”
“It could have been better,” Enjolras replied, tossing something onto Combeferre’s desk. In the dim candlelight, the vivid crimson smears on his knuckles and lower lip seemed to leap out. In addition to this, cravat was somehow missing, and his hat was askew.
Immediately the pounding in Combeferre’s head dissipated. “What happened?” he asked, immediately going to where he kept his supplies for dressing wounds and other minor injuries. “Was the meeting---“
“Broken up? Yes,” Enjolras replied. “Bahorel was pretty sure that someone there had been in the pay of Gisquet. We’re not sure exactly who.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Combeferre said, finding the cleanest cloth to bandage Enjolras’ knuckles with. “Now hold still...”
“I can bandage up my own wounds myself,” Enjolras said in mock protest. Still, he did not move away when Combeferre began his ministrations. “I got you another copy of a newsletter from the Société des Amis du Peuple,” he said after a while.
Combeferre smiled, realizing now what Enjolras had put on his bed. “A copy of their latest manifesto against the latest round of detentions?”
“Of course. One that we must support,” Enjolras said. “I know that some of our members insist that we should have been the authors of it, but despite this, it is not our place to denigrate the efforts of our brothers-in-arms.”
“I imagine you must have bruised a few egos by reminding our friends of this fact,” Combeferre said with a chuckle.
“I was in the very act of it when the police came in and interrupted the proceedings,” Enjolras replied. He hissed as Combeferre wiped away some grime from his wounded knuckles. “I fear that we may have to pay the bail for some of the workingmen who were apprehended....”
“How will---“ Combeferre began, his eyes already going to the drawer where he kept some of his funds for his books.
Enjolras caught the older man’s gaze and shook his head. “You keep your books. I have enough from my allowance,” he said solemnly. “I do not wish for you to compromise your studies.”
“No, let me,” Combeferre said insistently. “It’s the least I could do, after not being able to be of much help lately.”
“There will come a time for that,” Enjolras replied, He ran his long fingers over Combeferre’s hands. “For now, do what you have to do.”
“Lest my father summon me home to Aix,” Combeferre remarked wryly.
“That being something I fear very much,” Enjolras said. “You know that I can hardly spare you, or bear to have you so far away.”
“Especially now when there is so much to be done for the societies and for the people,” Combeferre replied, securing the last turn on the bandage on Enjolras’ knuckles.
Enjolras’ smile reached his eyes as he met Combeferre’s gaze. “You know that this is not my only reason.”
Combeferre returned Enjolras’ smile. “I’m glad to hear it.” It was all he could do not to keep counting down till the day that he could one day rejoin Enjolras in the world they longed so dearly to see.