#combeferre-ish

It took Courfeyrac to really get a complete academic view of music: he added the popular music study to Enjolras’ Western classical history and Combeferre’s traditional world music. Still, Combeferre and Enjolras seemed to complement each other, providing a depth and breadth and completion to the other’s work. Where one lacked, the other could generally make up the difference. Combeferre could pick up virtually any instrument and passibly play it, while Enjolras had a superior eye and ear, and could note problems in pitch or timing whether in a played orchestration or looking at notes on a page.

Although they both were attending the same highly prestigious music program, neither considered performance their end goal either; Combeferre’s interests laid in composing and Enjolras’ in conducting, though both were considering doctorates in the field as well. It was their dream, one day, to have Enjolras conduct Combeferre’s first song cycle. Perhaps while working at the same university, perhaps while travelling together.

In the meantime, they were content to work, play, and study together, creating their own stories through the music and its history.

~~~~~

Talent and a good ear wasn’t to be found within music majors alone; Grantaire and Feuilly were proof enough of that. Both were art majors, and yet music was never far from their dorm.

It was hard to not notice Feuilly’s musical ties; his double bass was prominent within their living space, even when within its case. Out of it, the instrument had clearly seen some wear, but it played beautifully. He was completely self-taught, and never sure if that was a blessing or a curse. It left his hands free to feel the music of his heart and translate it into sound, not bound to the pages of street music he was still learning to decipher.

There was no instrument of Grantaire’s in the dorm. Reams of paper, yes, and perhaps a few pieces of sheet music hidden amongst the many discarded sketches. It would take an evening in the practice rooms to find where he truly shone: the sound of a Brahms melody emanating from one of the building’s grand pianos.

~~~~~

Joly had grown up wanting to be a doctor. He’d also grown up playing the piano since he was four; his parents convinced it would improve his math and fine motor skills along with being aesthetically pleasing. When he’d been the only child in class to throw up at dissections in biology, and even after steeling himself he found it happening again and again every time, he’d come to the conclusion that maybe traditional medicine wasn’t for him. Combining his interest in health with his lifelong devotion to music, however, was still an option.

And so he’d gone to study music psychology, and music therapy in particular, and wound up here, a school with a good performance and theoretical music program that would let him study the psychological aspects in a specifically-focussed double-major.

He’d wound up meeting his best friend a week in, a baritone with the moniker Bossuet who always seemed to have a smile on his face and a song in his heart, both of which were entirely infectious. It was through him in turn that he met Musichetta, a contralto who was as talented as she was beautiful (and with whom both he and Bossuet were head-over-heels in love).

The three sometimes took up residence in a practice room as well, all squeezing to share a bench as best they can as they played their pieces together: one piano, six hands.

~~~~~

Courfeyrac had started his first year without a roommate, and found himself as much disappointed as he was glad. Being alone meant being able to do anything, after all, but it also meant so much time alone, which generally didn’t suit his nature. Thankfully, that didn’t last long, as one of the commuting students ended up deciding to stay on campus after all.

Marius didn’t talk about his home life much, preferring to gush about his crush on a classical harpist with the most beautiful voice instead. Courfeyrac didn’t mind; Marius turned pink when talking about it, and it was adorable. Plus, Marius had never heard most of Courfeyrac’s extensive collection of albums, and it was really fun introducing him to artist after artist and genre after genre as they grew closer as friends.

~~~~~

Most wouldn’t guess that Bahorel’s instrument collection was the second largest within their group. And yet he had several brass instruments, a cello, and an auxiliary percussion collection that was continually expanding as he found new things to add.

Jehan only had a keyboard in comparison, usually played with his headphones plugged in as he worked out the music for his next tone poem, finding words and music both to fit together in an alchemy of art.

Their apartment was as eclectic as the owners’ tastes; there seemed to be a bit of everything everywhere. Still, everything somehow seemed to come together into a unique whole, like pieces to a jigsaw puzzle without a picture from which to work. The couch in their living space was vintage, reupholstered in some historic-looking floral pattern. Posters hung alongside framed paintings, which in turn were equally likely to be classical and post-modern. Bric-a-brack filled what space wasn’t already taken up by books, CDs, papers, movies, games, or auxiliary percussion. Jehan hoped to get a set of uilleann pipes someday, to play and display both as he fell deeper and deeper in love with their forlorn sound. Bahorel shook his head, and suggested seeing what odd things were passing for musical instruments at the town’s dollar store instead.

It was loud, yet understated; poetic, yet blunt. And so was their music, and so were their spirits. And in it they both thrived, finding inspiration in the unique mix that was their home.

~~~~~

Together, there was energy. Together, there was synergy. Together, there was friendship and music to be made. And together they did play, whether improvising with whomever was available, or working towards a concert piece with Enjolras at the baton.