Oh thank you so much! It means so much that you don't want to shoot me!
______________________________________________________5. Write them poemsRoses are red, violets are blue, my poems don't rhyme but I think of you all the time-Courfeyrac
And you're making progress:) -J
Roses are red, violets are blue, I like your butt... -C
More than macademia nut -C
_____________________________________________In the deepest abyss of thine eyes I dare swim until the suffocating darkness encloses me into its wall of deepest shame for the very heart that warms my Polish winters, is the chosen one that touches the limit of the natural enforcement upon the invaded castles of my sorrows. -Feuilly
Feuilly, are you drunk?- Marie Suzette.
Or was that a Harry Potter reference? -M.S.
____________________________________________6. Cook for them
“Oh, girls and
boys adore my cooking. You should definitely try that. It makes them feel so loved and wanted!”
“What do you even cook
“I don’t need to actually cook, you know. Wearing the You Can Kiss the Cook
apron and getting covered in flour and chocolate and shit is always more than enough to do the work!”
Bossuet tries to cook. Pasta.
His ear might
never be the same after the sauce burn.
Joly might or might not
have to be transmitted to the hospital, psychologically traumatized for life.
The fire department might
come to aid as well. And the police.
Revolutionary blood, or tomato, might or might not
eternally stain Musichetta’s curtain.
And the cat might
be in need of therapy sessions every other week.
_____________________________________________________________________7. Drink a little to relax and feel at ease
“It’s been statistically proven that drinking a glass or two to break the tension makes me even more insufferably adorable than I already am, and attracts literally everyone in the bar to my general direction.”
_____________________________________________________________________OMG Corsette you were just like ghosst to mew! -Marius
You weere my Nearly Heasless Nic! -M
Um... thank you? -Cosette
Your hair is beeyoutiful you csn be my Rapynzel and I can be your frog pricne! -M
I'm a fog, kiss me, Closette! -M
Courgette I feel so lonrly, I need to smell your shampoo and an oreo muffin and a huuug -M
I neesd a tissue because the world is such a cruel place foor Dumbo's mum and I can semll your soul in your handjerchief whihch means I CAN'T USE IIIIT -M
There, there -C
Epmty chairs at epmty tables, my Colette is at her home -M
____________________________________________________________________________________8. Study and show how educated you are
“There was that time when I studied poetry for a whole night and kept on talking for Iambic pentameters and hendecasyllables for three and a half hours.”
“I think I’m ecstatic now that you told me.”
“I don’t know about you, but Jehan was. He recited Keats to me after that. And with my little and humble knowledge, let me tell you that Keats isn’t for friends
Éponine rolls her eyes, looking offended. “Of course
I am interested in opera! How can you even look surprised?”
“Oh that’s fascinating,” Combeferre leans forward on his chair, pushing his spectacles back on his nose, as an interested smile lights his face. “Which one is your favorite?”
Éponine shrugs her shoulders. “The flying Dutchman would be fine, -I mean, I liked the ramifications of alarming complexity with which the curse was invested-, if the symbolic significance wasn’t so elitistic for the masses to understand, and if I hadn’t grown sick of the outward trappings of the Gothic towards a depiction of its metaphysics being used as a metaphor for the inner lives of its protagonists. Besides, Wagner was nazi.”
Combeferre nods, looking startled and a little puzzled, “fair enough.”
“But my favorite one would be Carmen.”
“Oh, I am very fond of Carmen!” Combeferre grins enthusiastically.
“Me too, and that’s mostly because the departure from tonality in favor of a chromatic melody line, in Act 1, Scene 2, is the most prominent evidence of an exotic aspect in this piece, which represents the composer’s first venture into the alien and the foreign in this opera. That’s so fuckin’ interesting! Plus did you know that Bizet died in 37 from a heart attack because nobody liked his work? Poor man deserves some love!”
Combeferre nods slowly. “I see. I didn’t know that. And what is your favorite part in Carmen?”
He can notice something going wrong with Éponine, he can notice her biting her lower lip and then her nails, and chewing on her hair. “Uh, the part where everyone dies!”
“Wait, everyone always dies in the opera, right?”
_____________________________________________________________________9. Sing to them. Ladies love singing. And gentlemen, for that matter.
“I always sing the first lyric of Bohemian Rhapsody. If the object of my affection catches up and continues, then he or she is worthy.”
“And do they? Catch up, I mean.”
“Always. I’m irresistible.”
“Mamaaaaa, I just killed a maaan!”
Enjolras freezes at his place. “What? What did you do, ruthless cynic?”
“Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he’s deaaaad!”
Enjolras drops his pamphlets and turns to face Grantaire, rather shocked. “Do you even own a gun? What… what did you do? Murderer!”
“Mamaaaaa, life had just beguuun!”
“Was it for the sake of equality, at least? Was your purpose to defend the poor and the tormented?”
The other night, they drag Enjolras to a karaoke bar.
Grantaire drinks. More than should be allowed. He drinks the whole Seine, or something.
He sings Eros and Apollo
When he wakes up with a horrible hangover the next morning, he seriously considers suicide.
That, until he learns that his friends also let him sing to the blond man I wanna have your babies.
It is then, that he starts considering mass murder.
_____________________________________________________________________ 10. Pay them unique compliments
“You know, original compliments. On the little things. I know that girls love hearing how awesome it is when they have matched their nail polish with the strap of their sandals, or when you compliment their voice, and all the everyday accomplishments, like their cooking, or their dancing at a club, or the shape of their hands. I know that Jehan loves it when they compliment him on a rhyme, because he does rhymes so rarely, or on how much his flower in the pot on his desk has grown, or even on tidying his room, which believe me, is a rare occurrence.”
Unique. The compliments must be unique. And original. For something small. Oh, and subtle.
But what can Enjolras compliment Grantaire on? He used to despise the man until… until he realized that his palms went clammy around him and that he licked his lips after every argument and that his heart…
Oh sod it. Enjolras hates what is happening to him. He hates the distraction, he hates the confusion, he hates everything Grantaire does and he hates the way he makes him feel…
What to compliment him on? On his lack of belief? On his glorious bum? That certainly is out of the question for a mature man such as Enjolras who most definitely does not check the drunkard’s bottom out. On his knowledge on classics? So what? Enjolras was always good with mythology and Ancient Greek but no one told him well done! On his artistic skills? Then he’d have to confess for breaking into his apartment, in a rather stalkerish manner he deeply regrets, and peeked into his notebooks full of his own face, in chalk, in oil brushes, in every fuckin’ thing!
Oh shit. Here he comes. Shit, shit!
Remember. Unique. Different.
“I… I like your eyebrows!”
_____________________________________________________________________11. Dress for them
“Sometimes when Jehan is sad, and you know that when Jehan is sad is even more heart wretching than lost Doree having amnesia and The Prince’s Tale in the Deathly Hallows…”
“Yes, we get it, seeing Jehan sad is sad!
“Right. At those times, I wear flowers. Like, many flowers! And a floral bowtie. And my daisy shaped sunglasses.”
“Courf, your fashion sense had always been questionable. And Jehan has more things in his mind other than flowers.”
“For your information, it makes Jehan smile.”
“Jehan always smiles when you’re around, Courf.”
“Oh yes, you’re right, I had forgotten that part!”
“Because he’s polite
“NO, IT’S BECAUSE I’M DA BOMB!”
Combeferre knows that he’s acting like a teenage boy instead of a mature medical student, but there are flowers in his stomach, and he is sure that his pulse is rather increased, but he can do nothing about it, he has waited for so long for that, for Éponine to get over Marius and to show feelings towards him and he likes her, oh sod it, he loves her so much, because she’s always herself and she swears and she wears those huge sweaters and her wrists might be bony and her hair tangled and there might be dark circles under her eyes, but it’s because she’s strong and brave and she manages it all on her own, raising her brother and keeping a job and studying at night, and he would change nothing about her.
At first he doesn’t recognize her when she enters the restaurant. But when he sees her making her way to the table, and hears her swear as she missteps on her heels, there is no doubt that it’s her.
She’s into a pencil skirt which admittedly does wonders to her legs, always hidden in baggy jeans, and a tight blazer, and a silk blouse, her makeup is flawless instead of non-existent, and her hair pulled on a chic chignon.
“You look beautiful,” he breathes.
“I look like a fuckin’ school headmistress,” she growls, and a few customers from the nearby tables turn to look at them.
Combeferre must admit that she has a point…
“R, I understand that your father had been an ass during your childhood, and that you are drunk, and that life is hard, and that the world is a cruel place, also I understand that your body might be slightly decent, but on no account is it acceptable to show up in the Musain in nothing but a tricolor flag.”
“It’s or…iganility, man! I dress as I fuckin’ please! It’s equolity
! Fashion relovution
! TO THE BARRICAKES!”
_____________________________________________________________________12. Make them jealous
“Making someone jealous is a gift. I can simply arrange a date over the phone when Jehan is present, and he immediately gets jealous!”
“Courfeyrac, Jehan doesn’t get jealous.”
“He writes poems about storms and dark oceans and 19th century chicks who spit blood in a handkerchief after that. Make your own conclusions.”
Enjolras is ready to start his speech, when he realizes that someone’s missing. He looks around the room suspiciously. Bahorel is here, Pontmercy is here, biting his nails, even Musichetta is here. His heart skips a beat. “Grantaire isn’t here.”
Éponine is examining the shape of her nails thoroughly. “Good observation. You get a balloon.”
“Where is he? Pissed drunk on some pavement again?”
Éponine doesn’t raise her eyes from her nails. “Actually, he’s on a date.”
Enjolras chuckles half heartedly, he surely has misheard. “A what?”
Bahorel looks more than willing to reply. “A date, man. It’s when two people do horrible pretentious shit like eating in the candlelight and staring into each other’s souls and stuff, until they end up shagging’ each other’s brains out in an uncomfortable car.” Each other’s… brains out…
“A date with whom?” his voice comes out like a croak.
Éponine finally stops looking at her fingernails and lazily raises her head, her expression rather sarcastic. “Some guy. Sorry, I didn’t get his ID number.”
The rest of the meeting goes well.
No really, it goes well.
Apart from the moment when he refers to the June Rebellion as the Curl Rebellion.
Or that moment when he refers to them as les Amis de l’A.B.R.
Because the moment when he refers to May ’68 as the Date ’68 totally doesn’t count. May is a Date, isn’t it?
No, it’s a month.
Doesn’t matter, still doesn’t count!
It isn’t easy
to not be pissed off when you learn that such loyal and important members of your activist organization prefer wooing tattooed buffs instead of being dedicated to your cause, okay?
_____________________________________________________________________13. Text them goodnightHey, are you asleep? -Courfeyrac
Not anymore. Did something happen?- Jehan
Yes. I was struck with insufferable guilt when I realized I didn't say goodnight to you after the meeting. -C
Do you text Goodnight to all of your friends when you forget to tell them in person? -J
All the impoant ones. -C
I mean, all my friends are important. -C
Just some of them are super important. -C
________________________________________________________________________I forgot to tell your Goodnight. And thank you for your company. I treasure the moments when we study together, and you seem so interested in moths and Russian literature... You looked very nice today by the way, the color of that Star Wars t-shirt complimented your eyes rather well, I daresay. So goodnight, I hope you'll sleep well. -Combeferre
I did until now. Dude, I like you too, but if you ever text me again at 3AM on a working night, then I swear that I'LL MURDER EVERYTHING YOU LOVE! -Eponine
There is still more. But I promise I'll stop if you tell me to.