#courfiusweek2018

Les Miserables Canon era, feels ahoy! (TW: implied character death, as it is post-barricade)|

I wish you could have met him. He was incredible. As warm as the sun, and yet, never one to burn you with his temper.  He is magnificent. As shy as the moon behind clouds, and yet, so delightfully opinionated once you get to know him. He loved to dance, to sing, to argue. Life. That was what he was best at. Thriving, encouraging, improving lives. Anything he could do to summon a smile, or better yet, laughter, from someone else. He loves. That is what he is best at. Loves, with his whole heart, and his whole mind, summoning every inch of willpower in his being to try to be worthy of that love. Our friends called him the Center, the glue that held us all together. The cause he took up, he carried within his heart, within his smile, and even within his jokes. For one with such a grim destiny ahead, he never once wavered in his hope for the future. Our friends call him... well. You’ve heard what they all say. He is not quite glue, nor our guide, but he is ours, all the same. Our lovelorn fool and dear companion. Until the very end, when we were no longer his, and he was no longer ours. He had a different destiny to fill. There is nothing left of him. No forwarding address,no relations, no mementos I may keep, beyond that coat. Tattered, destroyed, and yet, still his. You ask why I cannot part with it? It is the only proof I had he once lived. There is something of you in him. A certain forwardness, a soft smile so clearly related to your own, in his eyes, a memento of your own. Your own face is so much more worn than his, exhausted, aged. And yet... You ask why I cannot leave you alone? You are the only proof I have that my memories are true. 

By caring for me when I had no one else, he gave me hope, and a new life.  By your courage, and legacy, as well as your blood, you gave him life.

Paris is not the same without him. Even if so few in the end will ever remember him, I feel as if there is less joy, less laughter, in every corner of this ancient city and every night under the stars. I hope someone else misses him too. Is that strange? Heaven is not the same without him. Even with so many of our friends here, there is less warmth, less of his soft chuckle, and his warm words, in every conversation, and every day.  I hope he arrives not too soon, but not too long from now. Is that strange?

I cannot forget him, not as long as I live. I will never forget him, not in an eternity.  I loved him. I only wish I had told him that, before it was too late. I love him. I only wish he had known that, before it was too late. 

Thank you, anon!<3 Also, I’m sorry I this took so long but at least it’s just in time for Courfius week! (Cw for watching a ghost story I guess?)

Fridaynight is movie night at the apartment and even though Marius would be fine withletting Courfeyrac pick the movies, for equality’s sake they take turns. Thisweek it’s Marius’ choice and he’s very proud of his pick. Because Courfeyrac isvery fond of horror movies and for once Marius – who really isn’t that into allthe screaming and the chasing – has managed to bring something that actuallycounts as ‘scary’. Maybe it’s not quite horror, but it’s a proper ghost movieand an old favourite. It’s beautiful. And romantic.

They’re snuggledup on the couch, keeping snug under one of Feuilly’s knitted comforters, butboth with their own bowl of popcorn. Marius prefers salted and Courfeyrac makesa strange, caramelized molten sugar concoction. They settled on making separatebowls long ago. Especially since eating Courfeyrac’s caramel popcorn is arather noisy and sticky affair. Not that Courfeyrac seems to be finishing his,come to think of it.

Mariusglances sideways at him and to his surprise Courfeyrac’s eyes are very roundand rather wet.

On thescreen spectral hands stop just shy of touching their flesh-and-bloodcounterparts and Courfeyrac makes a sorrowful noise at the back of his throat.

“Are youokay?” Marius asks, slightly alarmed.

“Yes,”Courfeyrac swallows. “It’s just… It’s sad.”

Mariusblinks. People die in Courfeyrac’s movies all the time, gratuitously so.

Courfeyracsniffs and says in a voice that sounds dangerously wobbly: “They’ll never getto be together again.”

“But sheknows he didn’t forget her now,” Marius points out cautiously. “That he didn’tleave her on purpose.” He loves the ending of this story. It’s painful, but sobittersweet and beautiful. So very, deeply romantic. Lovers that never get tokiss and will love each other for ever even so…

“He nevereven got to hold her,” Courfeyrac hiccups and there are actual tears rollingdown his cheeks now.

Mariusgives him a helpless look. He never meant to make Courfeyrac cry.  He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Courfeyraccry. Not like this.

“I’m sorry,”he flounders, thinking of the right thing to say. “We can turn it off if—”

“No!” Courfeyrac protests. “I want to see howit ends, I just- Marius, she can’t even kiss him goodbye.” He wipes at his eyeswith his sleeves.

“You reallydon’t have to finish watching it if you don’t like it, I can tell you how itends,” Marius offers.

“Are youkidding!” Courfeyrac gasps. “It’s beautiful.”He sniffs loudly and Marius is relieved that he at least didn’t make a badchoice. He really does love this movie.

Lightfloods the screen, the string section of the music picks up again and tearswash down Courfeyrac’s face before either of the characters has even said aword. But apparently Courfeyrac doesn’t mind crying, so Marius supposes it’salright. It’s still hard to see though and it feels very strange to not do somethingabout it.

Courfius week 2018 day 2: Soulmates

AU where the last words your soulmate will ever say to you are written on the palm of your hand. He didn’t realise til it was too late...

“Marius” Courfeyrac drawled in the middle of the night. His roommate had the perfect name to be drawled in a mixture of disbelieving and frustration, seasoned with a little more fondness than the dandy Courfeyrac would ever admit. So he said it again, as he lay, blinking at the light of the candles, which had suddenly materialized in the small apartment. Indeed, it seemed every bit of wax with the smallest semblance of a wick he’d ever had had reappeared on the trunk which served as dresser and table. They burned like little stars, and their glow threw rather sensual shadows onto Marius’s form, as he came to bed.

Which was truly a rather impressive gift the candles offered, as one did not often think of the darling little potato of a fool that Marius was as sensual. But tonight, in a stark white shirt, borrowed from Courfeyrac, and loose linen trousers that were thankfully not borrowed, as Marius, being shorter, always got the cuffs of his borrowed trousers scuffed, and with his dark curls all tousled from the cold October air outside, Marius Pontmercy did look quite sensual.

And also very foolish.

 “I know that money, in all its glittering glory both confounds and terrifies you, but surely even you, lord of bubble-land, must realize that sleeping while candles are lit is terribly dangerous, expensive, and frankly rather gauche.”

Marius, on his side of the mattress, mumbled something.

“What was that? I can’t hear you over the sounds of my father’s fortune disappearing as candles melt to wax.”

A slightly louder mumble.

“Hmm? I’ll have you know my father did not affix that damn particle to his name for his money to be spend upon little scraps of wax. Why, if it is a fire you want, we should have a grand one! A bonfire of the very vanities of the government! We could--”

“Scared.”

“Of politics? Yes, we all know that.”

“nuhh...” the noise was a little like a no, if a no was said when one’s face was smushed against a Courfeyrac’s shoulder. 

“you have a very cold nose, Monsieur.” Courfeyrac gave in to temptation, and let his hand ruffle through the inky dark curls, the only part of Marius above the line of the scratchy green wool blanket they both shared. “Is your cold nose the reason you wanted candles? For I’ll have you know, there’s a wonderful invention called a hearth, in which a fire far larger than a candle might burn, and provide us with delightful warmth. Say the word and I shall re-acquire the supplies needed to keep us toastier than chestnuts. Or, even better, let us go out and acquire chestnuts, roasted fresh in one of those darling carts.”

“Not cold. ‘Fraid.”

“Fraid of what?”

“Ghosts.” he finally mumbled.

“What?”

Marius had the blanket back over his head and the words muffled into incorrent rumbles. Sighing, Courfeyrac moved to hold him a little closer. “Speak, or I shall start tickling you.”

When that was met with silence, Courfeyrac let his fingers twich over Marius’s ribs. The dark-haired young man let out a soft laugh.  It was that sound that did him in, every time. The sort of laugh that made one put up with things like listening to lectures on Napoleon, and terrible fashion sense, and a general fear of every woman over the age of thirteen and under eighty. The sort of laugh that was bright like a star in it’s sudden appearance.

The sort of laugh that was all the sweeter, and to the listener, sadder, because it was apparent it had not occured often.

It was a mystery Courfeyrac tried not to ponder, how one could grow up so devoid of joy, and still laugh like that.

So, instead of pondering, he got to tickling, and only after Marius was laughing hard enough that tears of humor sparkled in eyes as dark as the night sky, did Courfeyrac blow out the candle.

Silence.

And then.

A creak of a floorboard. A whistle of the wind.