I've Never Heard Him 'Oooh' and 'Aaah'

Chapter 1

Feuilly had barely just returned to his dorm room from a meeting with his friends and was planning to spend the next half hour or so reading through his book of Polish phrases when his phone vibrated and he saw that Courfeyrac had invited him into a group chat. Courfeyrac, as per usual, was the one to commence the conversation. 

"Well, Grantaire was certainly talkative tonight." 

Combeferre was the first to respond, "Enjolras looked about ready to strangle him." 

Before Feuilly could comment on the events of the night's meeting, Courfeyrac was quick to parry Combeferre's response. 

"Oh, he looked about ready to do something to him. ;)" 

"Give it a rest, Courfeyrac," Feuilly jumped into the fray. "Even if Enjolras did come down from his moral high ground long enough to find himself a mere mortal to satisfy him, Grantaire would be the last person he'd consider." 

"I think it'd be very romantic if he did," Jehan chimed in. 

"Write a poem about it then. The day Grantaire gets Enjolras into bed with him is the day I win the lottery," Bossuet added his two cents to the conversation. 

"You're all idiots," Bahorel said and left. 

"Sorry, Jehan, but I have to agree with Bossuet on this one," Joly had finally decided to take part in the debate taking place. 

"And we're all so surprised to know it," Courfeyrac added, his sarcasm evident even in the context of a text message. "Look, I don't care what you guys think. Enjolras and Grantaire are meant to be and if they need a little shove in the right direction, well call me Cupid." 

"Courfeyrac, I beg you in the name of all that is good in this world, please do not play matchmaker, at least not with Enjolras and Grantaire," Combeferre pleaded on behalf of his poor, unsuspecting friends but Courfeyrac had already left the group chat. 

Flopping unceremoniously onto his bed, Feuilly sent one final text before turning off his phone and falling asleep: 

"We're all screwed." 

Eventually the others all dropped out of the conversation too, in complete agreement that not a word of what was said in this group chat should be so much as whispered to either Enjolras or Grantaire. All except Combeferre, apparently the only one of his friends with a conscience. Usually Combeferre wouldn't bother waiting up for his one-track-minded roommate but tonight was different. Combeferre looked at the digital clock on his nightstand. It read 11:55 p.m.  

"I swear to God, if Courfeyrac gets to him before I do..." Combeferre's train of thought wandered off into the distance as it was accustomed to do after a sixteen hour day of hard work and studious habits. Suddenly, the muffled sound of footsteps and voices became more distinct as they advanced closer and closer to the door to Enjolras and Combeferre's dorm. Identifying one of the two voices as that of his roommate, Combeferre quickly picked up the nearest book, Rousseau's Emile, in order to appear to be reading when Enjolras walked in to find him still awake. Enjolras, however, did not walk in immediately but paused outside the door to continue talking to the other voice. After listening for a few moments, Combeferre recognized the other voice as that of their circle's resident drunk artist, Grantaire, and despite his better judgement, Combeferre continued to listen to what was being said. 

"So, same time next week?" Enjolras asked. 

"If you can still stand me." Grantaire answered, the slight hint of a joke in his voice. 

"Funny," Enjolras said, his choice of wording contrasting starkly with his all too serious tone, "I was just about to say the same to you." 

"Believe it or not, your unbelievable obliviousness doesn't bother me in the slightest." Grantaire replied sarcastic but good-intentioned. Enjolras sighed. 

"Good night, Grantaire." 

"Wait." There was a sound of a hand brushing up against clothing; Combeferre guessed that Grantaire had grabbed Enjolras by the arm. "I'd always make time for you. 

"Thank you." 

"G'night." 

"Good night." Enjolras said one more time as the sound of Grantaire's footsteps faded down the hall. Combeferre had expected the door knob to be turned as soon as the last farewells had been spoken but Enjolras lingered in the hallway for at least another minute before he opened the door. He looked shocked to see Combeferre still up and reading his personally annotated copy of Emile.  

"I didn't expect to find you still awake," Enjolras said, sounding as if he were congratulating his friend on his ability to resist the luxury of sleep. "And reading Rousseau at that. Wouldn't you be better off reading about the proper way to dissect a cadaver?" 

"You know better than anyone that I haven't lost my interest in societal issues, no matter my chosen field of study." Combeferre smiled faintly.  

"If he wants to tell me what happened, he will. If he doesn't, there's no use pushing the matter." Combeferre thought to himself. 

Enjolras smiled but even his smile remained serious. "You remain as constant as ever, my friend. Constant as ever." 

Combeferre thought he detected a trace of guilt in those icy blue eyes but it was gone in flash, leaving Combeferre to attribute it to nothing more than a trick of the light. 

Soon, Enjolras left for the bathroom at the end of the hall on their floor and Combeferre took this opportunity to text Courfeyrac. 

"What the hell did you do?" Combeferre demanded. 

"Did?" Courfeyrac asked. "If you're referring to Operation You Can't Spell Revolution Without L, O, V, E, I'll have you know that none of it has been put into action yet...Jesus, I'm not known for my speed, am I? ;)" 

Wisely choosing not to respond to this, Combeferre put his phone down as Enjolras came back in, wearing only a T-shirt and boxers. 

"Aren't you going to change?" He asked. 

"No, I have an early class tomorrow." Combeferre said. Enjolras nodded, slinking lithely into his bed, parallel to Combeferre's identical twin one. Combeferre laid back on his bed just as Enjolras turned off the lamp on the nightstand that separated their beds. Looking up at the ceiling through the darkness, Combeferre itched to ask just one question about what Enjolras had been doing out with Grantaire. Nothing personal, nothing intimate, just a "So, you don't hate him after all then?" would sufficiently quench Combeferre's curiosity.  

Thinking his roommate to be asleep, the light of Enjolras' phone and Enjolras picking it up almost instantaneously forced Combeferre to immediately feign sleep but through slitted eyes, he saw Enjolras curl up around his phone and smile at the exchange taking place. And it wasn't the serious smile he had given Combeferre earlier but a delighted little smile that almost broke Combeferre's heart because he knew no one else waking would ever see that smile. Except... 

"Perhaps, I should tell Bossuet to buy his lottery tickets. I sense our unlucky friend shall soon find himself laden with good fortune," thought Combeferre. 

And by the light of Enjolras' phone, Combeferre drifted off to sleep.