#ficvember 2018

[machihunnicutt]

FIC-VEMBER DAY ONE

Good lord, I’m late on day one. See y’all tomorrow, here’s some Anne.

When You Aren’t Looking

(or read on ao3.)

Anne had been pestering Marilla about her tea party menu all week. Naturally, pestering was Marilla’s word. Anne preferred “diligent reminding” or “dedicated attention to detail.” She couldn’t help it. This was the first tea party since the previous tea party’s fiasco, and Anne was going to get everything right this time.

“I’ve collected the things I need for the finger sandwiches,” she said, Saturday afternoon. She’d already been in the kitchen for hours, unsupervised, apart from Marilla’s frequent checking in, and was proud of her progress thus far. “The cheese and ham and cucumber slices...and oh, there are the scones!”

She rushed to the oven as Marilla watched her from the doorway.

“Now, Anne, don’t get carried away.”

“The scones are lemon and thyme. I think it will be an enchanting combination of flavors, don’t you?”

Marilla frowned. “Why now, I suppose it isn’t the most traditional of combinations, but they seem to have turned out just fine.”

Anne looked down at the golden tops of her steaming baked goods proudly.

“Diana and Cole should be here soon. All I need to do is finish the sandwiches and then move everything to my serving trays.”

Anne had set the table that morning: smooth beige table cloth, pine cones and holly arranged into a centerpiece, Marilla’s nice tea cups and platters with gold trimming that Anne had sworn on her life to protect, and neatly folded napkins. Anne set out her cooled scones and assembled the sandwiches. She laid out the food on the table.

“Well, you’ve done a lovely job Anne,” Marilla said sincerely, and Anne beamed.

“I think a tea party is just what we need,” she said. After the shock of Diana’s near “end of childhood”, the persistent injustices of Cole’s treatment at school, and Anne’s tragic loss of her hair, they needed something to lift their spirits.

Diana and Cole were impressed with the table. Anne took their coats and led them inside with her best impression of elegance and grace. Diana beamed at Anne’s centerpiece and told her the whole table looked like something out of a storybook.

Anne sat them down and did her duty as hostess.

The three of them liked to play adults sometimes, when all it meant was an afternoon of fancy things and mock seriousness. The game didn’t last long. They dissolved into giggles when Anne called Diana the beautiful and distinguished Ms. Barry as she offered her some tea.

Cole smiled one of his small but supremely happy smiles that made Anne feel particularly satisfied when they were directed at her. He took another bite of his scone.

“Show us some of your sketches, why don’t you?” Anne said. “I know you have your sketchbook with you.”

“That’s a great idea,” Diana chimed in. “If you don’t mind sharing, Cole.”

The kinship between the three of them was a relatively new development. Anne remembered the surprise written across Cole’s face when she led Diana and the other girls (save the snobbish Josie Pye) to sit with him at lunchtime. It brought up feelings from not all that long ago, the burning shame of being whispered about and ridiculed, of no one but Diana daring to share lunchtime with the orphan trash. Anne remembered tensing up every muscle in her body, like she was preparing herself for a fight, every time she entered the Avonlea School in the early days. She remembered how exhausting it had been to stay constantly on guard. It was exhausting but necessary, if you didn’t want them to see you cry.

She’d consulted Diana and Ruby before she invited Cole to the clubhouse. When they agreed with her assessment that he was a kindred spirit, she made him pinky swear to protect their fortress of friendship. She could see her own seriousness staring back at her when he agreed.

“They aren’t very good,” Cole was telling Diana. He tugged his sweater sleeves further over his hands as if they were so unskilled that they needed hiding. “I need more time to practice. But if you’d really like...”

“We’d be honored,” Anne cut in. “Wouldn’t we Diana?”

“Deeply honored,” Diana echoed.

Cole smiled. “It’s in my coat pocket. I’ll fetch it.”

Anne and Diana nodded attentively and he stood. When he returned, he handed it over the table to Anne, who took it with extreme care and placed it between her and Diana.

“I like drawing landscapes,” he said, as Anne opened the first page to a lovely drawing of a farmhouse and expansive fields. She and Diana took turns marveling at Cole’s detailed studies of Avonlea places: the schoolhouse’s exterior early in the morning, when deer weren’t scared away by the students and the sunlight created marvelous shadows; the creek in the wood, newley frozen over but still bursting with life in its cracks; and the clubhouse, looking enchanting and mossy as ever.

“Although, lately I’ve been trying portraits.”

Diana turned the page to a lovely sketch of herself. In it she was laughing, and Anne had to stop and really stare at the drawing because it was so close to the real Diana, not entirely in her physical representation, although he’d done a splendid job on that as well, but in the feeling Anne got when Diana laughed. Every bit of joy and fondness and deep pang of friendship was there, on paper. Anne could see as much about the artist as she could about his subject.

“That’s me!” Diana exclaimed, after a moment of held breath. “I’ve never seen myself like that,” she said, quietly.

“What do you think?” Cole replied, nervous  and not meeting their eyes. Anne watched Diana as she gathered the words to answer.

“I think it’s wonderful. Thank you,” she said, smiling at him in the way that brought out her dimples.

“It’s beautiful,” Anne said, and Cole looked up at her briefly. His face was flushed slightly, and Anne realized he wasn’t used to compliments. His art was something to hide: from Mr. Phillips’ ridicule, from Billy Andrews’ bullying, and from everyone in Avonlea who looked at him and thought him strange.

Diana turned the page. There were sketches of the girls at school: Diana, Tillie, Jane, and Ruby gossiping and smiling and huddling together at lunch time. They turned the pages through numerous sketches of their classmates, everyone who wasn’t nasty at least, including a whole page of Anne drawings.

There was Anne keenly focused on her school work. There was Anne telling a story with grand hand gestures. There she was looking determined and brave in front of the class, probably during the spelling competition. He’d drawn her with her braids and her hairstyle with ribbons, and even her short hair. There were more drawings of Anne than anyone else. They spanned several pages of poses and expressions, and Anne was about to say something when she turned the page again and was caught off guard.

Cole had drawn Gilbert Blythe. The sketch of him was beside the last of the group of Anne sketches. Gilbert was sitting at his desk at school, elbow on the table. His chin was leaning gently in his palm and his mouth was curled into a small smile. Cole had captured him effortlessly, from the dark tousle of his curls to the slouch of his shoulders. Anne hadn’t seen Gilbert like that though. His expression was so soft and open. He looked distracted, and almost romantic.

“I’ve only done that one of Gilbert,” Cole said, and Anne blinked, realizing she was still staring at the sketch. “I was meaning to draw you again, Anne. But I kept noticing him looking at you, and I hadn’t drawn any of the boys at school yet so I...” Cole hesitated. “You don’t think it’s strange, do you?”

“He was looking at me?” Anne said at the same time as Diana said. “It’s not strange at all.”

Now Diana and Cole were staring at her. They looked at each other briefly as Anne’s face flushed.

“I mean, I don’t care. Why would I care one bit what Gilbert Blythe does with his eyes?”

“I just thought he was an interesting subject. I don’t know why he was looking at you so intently,” Cole said.

“Intently,” Anne repeated, taken aback, though the drawing clearly indicated the careful intent with which Gilbert was looking.

“These really are lovely, Cole. Thank you for showing us,” Diana said, glancing over at the still flushed Anne.

“Yes, thank you,” Anne added.

“You can have one if you want,” Cole said, gesturing to the sketches. His hands had found their way out of the depths of his sleeves.

“Really? We can?” Diana’s face lit up.

“Of course. They’re all practice anyway,” he said.

“You should take that one, Anne,” Diana continued, pointing to the page.

“Of Gilbert?” Anne exclaimed.

“Of you,” Diana said, with a smirk. “The sketch of you beside the one of Gilbert.”

“Oh,” Anne said, feeling her face heat up again. “Right, of course.”

“You can take the whole page if you want, Anne,” Cole said. “If you don’t want to split them up,” he added.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to rip the paper down the middle,” Anne said. “It seems an awful shame to do something like that. And since they’re on the same page it’s like they’re a set...so,” she trailed off.

The Gilbert drawing was good, and Gilbert was her friend. It wasn’t strange to be interested in keeping it. There wasn’t any harm in that. It didn’t mean anything worth suspicious, knowing looks.

“Well, I’ll take this one,” Diana said, flipping to the page with the drawing of her laughing. “And I’ll keep it forever.”

Cole laughed and Diana tore the drawing out of the notebook with care.

“Your turn,” Diana said, handing over the sketchbook.

Anne turned to the drawing of her and of Gilbert, tore it out, and tucked it into her dress pocket before they could talk any more about it. The conversation changed, the contents of Cole’s sketchbook fading from their minds as the daylight began to fade from the sky.

She saw them out when they’re party was finished. Cole stopped her in the doorway.

“You won’t show Gilbert, will you?” He asked, hesitantly.

She looked at him with confusion.

“The drawing...” he continued. “I’m not really friends with the other boys at school, but he’s nice to me, at least. Well, really he’s nice to everyone.”

“When he isn’t being arrogant or competitive,” Anne cut in, rolling her eyes.

Cole cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t want him to think I was strange for drawing him. I wouldn’t want him to convince the other boys that I’m always watching them.”

“I don’t think it’s strange,” Anne said.

“I didn’t expect you to, Anne. You’re lovely and understanding. I don’t want to make myself seem more different than I already am.”

Anne wanted to say that Gilbert was different too, and Diana and Marilla and Matthew. All of the most important people in her life were perceived as too strange or sad. They all ignored what the mean-spirited, backward people in Avonlea had to say. Anne would never tell Gilbert that she included him on this list. She would never tell him that when he set off on the steamer to see the world, she thought the world of him. She thought he was special and brave and kind.

“I won’t tell Gilbert,” she said instead.

***

Roughly 15 minutes later, as Anne was clearing the table, Gilbert Blythe showed up on her doorstep.

“I’m sorry,” he said when she opened the door. Since the initial hair pulling fiasco, Gilbert Blythe had become increasingly apt in the art of apology.

“What are you apologizing for? You just got here.” Anne said. Gilbert’s dark hair was dusted in snow and his nose was bright red. He’d evidently forgotten his scarf.

“I’m sorry to be bothering you. Marilla said you were having a party and I...well, Matthew is giving Bash some pointers about farm work and I had to show him the way to Green Gables so I’m here. Marilla told me to go in because of the cold. Am I interrupting your party?” She detected a hint of hurt feelings in the way his voice tilted and shoulders tensed.

“No, my  honored guests have departed already. Come in,” she said. “It was a tea party,” she added. “With Diana and Cole.” She thought to add that she didn’t think he’d be interested, and had therefore elected not to extend an invitation, not that she didn’t want him there.

Gilbert’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m sure it was lovely,” he said.

“It was, quite. I pride myself on my hosting capabilities. You may have me beat in arithmetic, but I’m sure I could best you in a competition of elegance and refinery.”

“I’m sure you could,” Gilbert said.

He stepped inside and she took his coat. He stood, tall and shifty in the doorway for a moment before she spoke again.

“I have some scones left over. And I could make tea?”

“Don’t trouble yourself.”

“Nonsense,” she said, turning abruptly to the kitchen and assuring he was following as she set to work preparing a kettle. “The scones are just there,” she said, pointing to the plate she’d left on the counter. He took one and stood awkwardly by the counter as Anne put on the kettle. The few times he’d been in the house at Green Gables he’d moved through the places she considered most comfortable and inviting as if he were afraid to touch anything.

Anne wished for a Green Gables Gilbert could exist in with ease. She imagined him at the kitchen table across from her, spreading jam on toast and quizzing her for the spelling competition. She imagined Gilbert sinking into the sofa in the living room or perched on the loveseat when the sunlight hit the window just so and everything was golden and languidly happy.

Of course she would never tell Gilbert any of this.

“This is amazing, Anne,” he said of the scone and she smiled.

“I told you I was an excellent hostess. The perfect hostess has the perfect menu.

“I’m sure Diana and Cole were grateful.”

“They were.”

The kettle whistled and she took it off of the stove.

“How is work on the farm going, with Bash?” She asked as she located a clean tea cup.

“It has its challenges,” Gilbert said, running a hand through his hair. “Bash still hasn’t acclimated to the Avonlea climate. And it feels different to be back here without my father. But I’m glad we’re home. I missed Avonlea, and the people.”

“The people,” she repeated. She’d found a tea cup and was in the process of pouring. When she looked up and saw Gilbert looking right at her with the same quiet intensity Cole had captured on paper. The dreamy, far-away look was even more commanding in person, and Anne didn’t realize she’d spilled tea on the counter until Gilbert’s expression shifted to one of concern.

“Anne?”

“Sorry! Distractions, I’ll just--” she looked around frantically for a cloth and then Gilbert was beside her, with the dish rag she’d left on his side of the counter. Their hands brushed as he sopped up the spilled tea and she shifted the saucer out of the way. The both jumped back from the contact and the picture in Anne’s pocket fell out of her pocket and onto the floor.

Of course he was the one to pick it up, and of course it had opened to reveal its contents, because nothing in Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’s life was simple.

He stared at it for a moment too long, and Anne wanted to rip it from his hands but couldn’t, because she was scared of ruining Cole’s work.

“These are beautiful,” he said at last, voice hushed. He didn’t move to hand it back, so Anne just watched him look at the drawings, dark eyes scanning them slowly and brows gradually furrowing. “Did you draw these?” He looked up.

“Cole did,” she said, and then instantly regretted her big, honest mouth. “Don’t tell him I told you. He doesn’t want any of the boys to know he draws people in class.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Gilbert said seriously. He handed the drawing back. “Though I’m flattered.”

“He draws me more than you,” she said, teasingly. “That’s the only one of you.”

“And now you have it,” Gilbert said.

Her grip tightened on the paper. She was looking down at the Gilbert of pencil shadows and sketched lines, but it occurred to her that she missed so many glances and smiles and amused eyebrow raising from the flesh and blood Gilbert. She missed him every time she blinked. She missed him every time her face flushed and she felt on instinct that she had to look away. Anne was tired of looking away. Anne wanted to see what Cole saw. She looked up at him.

“Cole said you were staring at me when he drew it. Do you stare at me, Gilbert?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

The snow had melted into his hair and made it droop over his forehead chaotically. “Sometimes I do,” he said quietly.

“Why?”

“Because you’re my favorite person to look at, Anne,” he said. “And I missed you when I was gone. And I’m making up for lost time.”

They were looking at each other now, really. Anne knew her face was as red as her hair. She knew her freckles would look like pox and her eyes would be big and watery, but she didn’t look away. Neither did Gilbert.

“I missed you too,” she said.

When Marilla came in to tell them that Bash and Matthew were finished and that Anne needed to clean up her mess, they were still staring at each other. Anne made Gilbert take a scone for Bash and promised she’d make him a real cup of tea next time. He nodded, and thanked her for her hospitality.

She hung the drawing up in her room, across from the window so the light would hit it first thing in the morning and she would remember what it felt like to be looked at like that.

She would remember how warm it felt.

[machihunnicutt]

(V LATE) FICVEMBER DAY TWENTY ONE

I’m so sorry but sometimes it be like that. I’m not giving up. Y’all are getting a month’s worth of fic, I promise.

Favorite

He found her laying in the grass, amongst the wildflowers, of course, where she belonged. He was happier to see her than she was to see him.

“Gil-what are you doing here?” She exclaimed, brows furrowing. She didn’t sit up. He stood over her with his hands in his pockets and an amused expression. His curls flopped over his forehead and Anne held her breath. He had no right to look so effortless, to match the creamy white clouds and bright sunshine.

“What are you doing here?” He repeated back to her. “I asked for you at the house and Miss Cuthbert said you were off on one of your adventures.”

“This is an adventure in progress, Gilbert Blythe. Use your imagination. I thought you were Diana,” she said, frowning.

He grinned as she stretched her arms and legs out, making a snow angel shape, though the air was warm.

“Why did you come asking for me? Do you need a spelling lesson? I’ll happily oblige.”

“No, I uh...” He felt his face flush. Anne noticed. She sat up and smoothed fiery strands of hair from her face.

“What is it?”

“I wanted to ask you if you’d accompany me to a party.”

“A party?”

“In Charlottetown. I’ve been working as an apprentice at a medical practice and I’ve been invited to...well it’ll be all doctors and nurses so I understand if you aren’t interested. But I thought...” he stopped, staring down at his feet.

“What did you think, Gilbert?” She asked. Anne didn’t consider herself the perfect party guest, at Miss Barry’s was one thing, but on the arm of Gilbert Blythe? She wouldn’t belong.

“I thought I should bring my favorite person in Avonlea,” he said quietly. “If you don’t mind my saying.”

When they were younger, back when he stared at her from across the school house and once teased her enough for a slate to the head, he wouldn’t have dared to tell her this. Though, from the moment he met Anne he knew, somehow, that she would be immeasurably important to him.

Anne stood, brushing the grass from her dress and stepping into his space. He could feel her warm breath as she collected herself.

“I don’t mind at all,” she said.

[machihunnicutt]

(LATE) FICVEMBER DAY SIXTEEN

Bad Mornings

Courfeyrac had a checklist for Marius’ bad mornings. It included a coffee run to the Musain before Marius woke up (to pick up Marius’ usual hot chocolate and cinnamon coffee cake), tuning the radio to Marius’ favorite oldies station (of which he even found the ads comforting), and texting the les amis group message to see who wanted to go out for laser tag in the evening. He’d just gotten back from the coffee run, shedding his coat and boots, of which he’d tucked the ends of his too long pajama pants, when he discovered that today was an especially bad morning.

Marius was still in bed, but sat up with a worried expression and phone in hand.

“I know,” he said, sounding defeated. He ran a hand through his messy hair and glanced up at Courfeyrac apologetically as he put his hot chocolate and coffee cake on the bedside table. “I know, Grandfather, and I’m flying home as soon as my exams are finished. I would be home sooner but the plane ticket’s expensive and...I know. I wasn’t asking you to...Grandfather, I need to go. I’ll see you on Tuesday. I’m sorry.”

Marius hung up and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “This trip is going to be a nightmare and I still wish you could come with me.”

Courfeyrac slipped into the bed next to him and wrapped his arms around Marius’ shoulders. He’d been borderline forced to spend Thanksgiving with his Grandfather and the rest of the family who’d never had a kind word for him. Courf couldn’t come with him because Marius’ family consistently ignored the fact that he had a fiancé, though they’d lived together for three years. When Marius told his Grandfather about his engagement he’d pretended he hadn’t heard.

“Don’t be sorry,” he muttered into the warmth of his neck. “It’s all going to be okay.”

“I don’t think I can get through a whole week with them,” he said. His voice shook and Courfeyrac felt profoundly angry. “It’s just shit from start to finish. My Grandfather wants me to fly out earlier but I can’t and...god he’s not even helping me pay for the ticket, even though he knows I’m broke most of the time. And he’s still pissed that I want to be a public defender and he’s acting like that makes all of law school worthless. It doesn’t matter that I’m happier than I’ve ever been and that I’m in love and that I—“ he stopped and looked over at the hot chocolate on the bedside table. “Why are you always so nice to me? I don’t deserve it.” He breathed.

When Courf met him Marius had $30 to his name, a face full of stress acne, and an anxious laugh that sounded like he was choking. He’d grown so much that Courfeyrac forgot that scared, hopeless Marius existed. Back them his family hadn’t helped him, the amis had.

Courfeyrac took Marius’ face in his hands gently and kissed him. They pulled apart and he kissed him again. Marius looked soft and surprised and like the panic was melting from his tired eyes and tense shoulders.

“Because it’s easy. And I love you,” Courfeyrac said. “I’m sorry your family made you feel like you don’t deserve kindness. That’s bullshit. You do.”

Marius leaned into his side and they sat quietly. Marius’ hot chocolate was probably getting cold.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “I love you too.”

[machihunnicutt]

FICVEMBER DAY SEVENTEEN

Surprise

When he really thought about it, Billy becoming a dancer shouldn’t have been a surprise. He was always moving: knee bouncing in class, feet swinging off of Michael’s bed when they listened to music in his room, racing down the streets after boxing with burning lungs and flailing arms.

And Billy was graceful when he wanted to be. Michael had snuck in to watch the dance class once, peeking through the rec center’s windows to watch the girls in the tutus twirl beside his best friend. Billy was deadly serious, his expression scrunched up on his face. And when he got it right he looked effortless, almost like he could fly, and he smiled in a way that made Michael’s insides melt.

It shouldn’t have surprised him but it did, when Billy showed up breathless on his doorstep with his acceptance letter to the ballet school in London. It surprised him when he said they’d raised enough money for him to go. It surprised him when he kissed him on the cheek to say goodbye. It surprised him that goodbye happened so soon.

Michael bought a bus ticket to London for Billy’s first ballet. He got a job at the gas station and worked extra shifts for a month to save up enough to go see him. Billy only had a small role but Michael kept his eyes on him the whole night. And after the ballet Billy walked around with him in the city after dark. He showed him Big Ben. It seemed taller in person, its clock face glowing alongside the stars.

Billy said he was glad he came. He said he missed him. And it was a surprise when he leaned in close and kissed him on the mouth this time, just a peck in the dark. It was over in an instant, but felt like forever. Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Billy twitched, waiting for him to say something, anything. When Billy danced Michael could hear his own heartbeat. Maybe everything Billy Elliot did would be a surprise. Maybe he’d keep Michael on his toes forever.

“Michael, I...” Billy was trying to back track, his face burned red. Michael leaned in and kissed him back before he could say anything else. When they broke apart they were both smiling.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you dancing boy?” Michael said.

[machihunnicutt]

FICVEMBER DAY TWELVE

I might do more letters, we’ll see.

(Not) A Love Letter

Dear Gilbert,

I think it’s unfair that you left without a proper goodbye to everyone at school. Ruby and the others miss you terribly, and I told them every detail you told me. I think they understand. I do, at least.

I also find it painfully unfair that you get to see the world before I do. I suppose I’ve been behind my whole life (in finding a home, in math, in friendship), but I feel we should be equals in all things, if we are to be true friends.

Tell me about the things you see and the people you meet. It will keep me from missing you if you tell me of the grand time you’re having, tasting the salty air, reaching distant ports where no one knows a thing about the likes of Avonlea and you become a new person: a mysterious nomad of the waters.

I don’t miss you all too terribly, I mean. I’m not pained by your absence so don’t flatter yourself, Gilbert Blythe.

I wish I knew where you were at this instant. I wish I knew you were safe and well and coming home soon. But I don’t even know where to send this letter.

So I won’t send it. I’ll just fold it up and keep it in my desk for the drama of it. I can let you read it when you’re home again.

Please come home again.

Yours faithfully,

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

[machihunnicutt]

FICVEMBER NINETEEN AND TWENTY

Ahhh I’m super late and I’m sorry, but here’s a longer fic that I’m gonna say counts for two days. 🙃

(Or read on ao3.)

Bad Coffee

“That guy you like is at table six,” Jerry announced, waltzing into the kitchen and setting a tub of dirty dishes beside Anne, who was already up to her elbows in the current batch of plates and utensils and soup stained bowls.

“Shut up, Jerry,” Anne shot back.

“Diana said she’d switch sections with you if you want to take his order.”

“Thank you, Jerry,” Anne said, thrusting her sponge and dish towel at him and combing through her mess of red hair with her fingers.

He laughed as she ducked out of the kitchen doors and into the front of the house at Green Gables Diner, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’s place of work for the past two years.

“Take the coffee pot,” Anne’s best friend and most trusted companion Diana Barry said. “He looks like he needs coffee. And I can’t give you a ride tonight, sorry. I’ve got a film screening for French cinema right after. I’d skip, but attendance is required...even though Jerry’s seen the movie we’re watching a million times and offered to help me with translations and…”

“I’ll be fine, Diana. I like the walk anyway,” Anne said, scooping up the coffee pot.

“Good luck, Anne,” Diana said, with a cheeky smirk and flip of her ponytail over her shoulder.

“We’re just friends, Diana. Not even, really. We’re friendly acquaintances.” Anne replied, but she felt heat rise to her freckled cheeks. She passed over the dirt smudged tile, her work flats clicking, and arrived at table six.

“Welcome to Green Gables Diner. Our soup and pie of the day are minestrone and lemon meringue...respectively. Can I get you started with something to drink?”

“Are you required to give the speech every time?” Gilbert Blythe said, smiling at her with tired eyes. The table was covered with notes and books and chewed up pens (an unfortunate habit born of nervousness).

“Yes, I am,” Anne replied crisply. “Would you like some coffee, Gilbert?”

“Yes please, Anne,” he said, flipping over the coffee cup on his table. “Thank you,” he said, as she poured.

“Is the pre-med track really as back breaking as you make it look?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Is waitressing as easy as you make it look?”

“No,” she deadpanned, recalling the many times she’d dropped entire trays of food, tripped over her own feet, and spilled ice water in people’s laps. “You’re evading the question, Gilbert.”

Gilbert sighed exaggeratedly. “I’m sure it’s easier when you aren’t working night shifts and behind in everything, thus utterly unprepared for exams.”

Anne had met Gilbert Blythe two months ago, when he started occupying corners of the diner for the entirety of her shift, subsisting on a cup of soup or slice of pie and cups upon cups of watered down coffee.

Anne felt a twinge of sympathy. She knew the challenges of paying your own way through school while trying to maintain good grades. Matthew and Marilla had done all they could for her, but money at Green Gables had always been tight and it was only natural that she’d spend her weekends working double shifts to cover expenses.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That sounds tough, having to do all that on your own.”

Gilbert looked at her intently. “It’s okay.”

“I just know what that’s like, to be on your own. Before I got adopted I was by myself a lot of the time. And now I’m here and I miss my adoptive parents more than anything. It’s hard when you realize that your success or your failure is entirely up to you.” Anne realized she’d been ranting at him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “And I’m sure you’re a success and not a failure.”

Anne fumbled with her apron. “Well then, what can I get for you?”

“A slice of the pie, please.”

“Coming right up.”

***

Gilbert Blythe noticed Anne the first time he came in the diner. She was scrubbing tables and humming off key. She scarcely looked up when he came in, though it was her job to seat new customers.

She spoke with such confidence and lofty imagination. He’d heard her call the diner’s mashed potatoes the clouds of angels and their root beer floats fit for royalty. He’d found she was a student too, of English education. She told him once, while he was lurking in a booth as she cleared tables, that she wanted to teach middle school to catch all the kids at their nastiest but in the most need of a kindred spirit.

Sometimes she distracted him from his work. The letters on the pages of his heavy chemistry and biology textbooks would begin to swim and he’d look up to find her gliding from table to table, red hair tied into unruly braids and smile bright. If he was being entirely honest with himself (which, admittedly, he rarely was) he had a bit of a crush.

Of course he’d never considered telling Anne this. He didn’t even see her outside of the diner. In his daydreams he’d show up to the diner with roses or wildflowers, and spill his heart out under the florescent lights.

Now, Gilbert sat and took tiny bites of his pie. He didn’t have the money to spare for a real meal. Most of his meals came from the 7-11 where he worked. Late at night, during his graveyard shifts, he’d gnaw on pieces of beef jerky and sip lukewarm coffee. The diner’s coffee was only fractionally better, but Anne had been refilling it so Gilbert had been drinking it. It was near closing time. He’d gotten through a sizable portion of the material for his anatomy exam, and his ears were ringing with details of organ function and bone development.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own?” Diana was saying to Anne. “Walking all that way?”

“It’s not as far as you’re making it out to be.”

“But the cold...and it gets dark so early now. I could ask Jerry to—“

“Don’t ask Jerry anything,” Anne said firmly, hand on her hip. “I’m fine.”

She refilled Gilbert’s coffee a little while later.

“I heard Diana say you were walking home in the dark,” he began, tone cautious.

“Aren’t you the clever eavesdropper?”

Gilbert flushed. “I could give you a ride, if you’d like?”

“I’m quite alright, thank you. Check?”

“Yes, please. You’re sure?”

Anne nodded. “I can take care of myself Gilbert,” she said.

“Of course you can.”

By chance, he and Anne exited the building at the same time. The moon was a pale sliver above them and there was a chill.

“Are you sure?” He muttered, as she pulled her thin coat around her. Her uniform fell just above her knees and didn’t look terribly warm.

“Alright,” she relented, exhaling an irritated sigh. “My place is close by.”

They stared at the stars as he drove.

“They make you feel small, don’t they?” Anne said. Gilbert felt self-conscious about the pitiful air freshener and receipt covered floors of his piece of junk car.

“They do,” he echoed.

“You know I get the feeling that I’m completely insignificant from time to time? Usually when I’m taking back eggs that Jerry cooked the wrong way, but looking at the stars I do too. I feel like none of it matters. All this hard work is going to be for nothing.”

“It isn’t Anne,” he said.

“Well I’m sure you’ll be a lovely doctor. And you can talk to people so they like you. You’re always focused.”

“I’m not,” he said. They had pulled up to the address she’d given him. He wondered if this was his first and last chance to talk to her outside of the diner. “And I think you wildly underestimate yourself.”

She smiled, just slightly. “Maybe I do. Thank you for the ride.”

“Anne?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think I could see you somewhere you don’t have to read me the specials before you talk?”

She considered the question and Gilbert held his breath.

“I think I’d like that,” she said at last. And she smiled. And it was worth a million cups of bad coffee.

[machihunnicutt]

FICVEMBER DAY THREE

(I’ll post longer stuff next week I promise.)

Flowers

Anne filled the apartment with flowers when Gilbert wasn’t looking. There were vases of lilies and roses on the coffee table and in the window sill and nestled between the coffee maker and toaster in their tiny kitchenette.

Gilbert loved the apartment. He loved that they’d paid for it together, pooling his money left over from odd jobs once he’d paid his med school bills for the semester and hers from her teaching salary. It wasn’t much but it was theirs, and Anne had a way of making everything beautiful.

She made them both coffee in the morning, and insisted that they each slow down enough to sit across from each other at the table and give a brief rundown of the day ahead. Before he left she would kiss him and on particularly exciting mornings she’d make them toast and babble on eagerly as the morning sun shown though the thin curtains.

Today Anne was asleep on the couch with a book in her hand. He’d just come in from class and had stopped in the doorway to look at her. She looked so peaceful with her bright hair in a halo around her freckled forehead. Her face was flushed like the day when he asked her to move in with him. He’d tallied up all the ways he was responsible and could demonstrate his ability to support them (his job at the clinic between classes, his savings from years at the hardware store in Avonlea, the circled apartment listings in his paper), but all Anne cared about was that he loved her. It was written all over his face and in the way he held his breath before she agreed.

The flowers made the living room smell sweet and warm. On weekends when it rained they’d slow dance in the living room with only Anne’s flowers as their audience.

Every day wasn’t perfect. Sometimes Anne woke in the middle of the night mid-gasp, afraid of something Gilbert couldn’t see. Sometimes they fought about dirty dishes or missed calls when they were both exhausted. But someone would always apologize and life would go back to comfortable and normal.

Gilbert Blythe was lucky. Anne shifted on the couch and her eyes fluttered open. She looked up at him and smiled in the tired but open way that was distinctly hers. Gilbert’s chest felt full.

Anne sat up. The setting sun was turning her whole form a deep orange. He wanted to look at her like that forever. She said what she always said, but it felt important every time she said it.

“Welcome home,” Anne said.

[machihunnicutt]

(LATE) FICVEMBER DAY FIFTEEN

I’m still behind y’all...I catch up eventually ://

For Granted

Mike Wheeler wasn’t in the habit of taking things for granted anymore. Weekends in the basement, trying out a new campaign with the party or watching movies rented from the video store where Will worked now.

Will, in particular wasn’t someone Mike took for granted. He’d nearly lost him too many times. He saved every drawing Will gave him and every smile from across the room when everyone else was distracted or arguing. He saved the feeling of Will’s shoulder pressed to his all afternoon on a hay bale ride that October. The hay had smelled earthy and Will had been so warm beside him.

Now it was snowing. Mike biked to the video store anyway because he told Will he’d meet him and he’d been looking forward to it all day. The cold made his face flush. He breathed in the chilly air and peddled furiously, like when they were younger and needed to get everywhere fast.

“Mike, you’re here,” Will said, once Mike had shaken the snow off of his shoulders and wiped his boots on the carpet. He glanced around the shop. Will was the only one working. “It looks pretty bad out there.” His expression was clouded with worry and for a moment Mike felt guilty.

“It’s not too bad,” he said. “Slow day?”

Will leaned his elbows on the counter and sighed exaggeratedly. “The store’s been empty for hours. I even got bored of drawing and started walking around guessing the plots of movies based on their titles.”

Mike laughed. “That sounds like a game show.”

Will grinned. Mike had been happy when he’d gotten the job here. He was saving his paychecks for art school.

“Are you ready to close up?”

Will nodded. “I’ll get my coat. I’ve got my car so you can throw your bike in the trunk.”

The snow still hadn’t let up when they stepped outside. Mike glanced over at Will. He worried sometimes, about the winter. The cold brought up memories of the Upside Down, memories that made his jaw tighten and heart pound. And he hadn’t been the one trapped there.

“We should let the car warm up before we go anywhere,” Will said, once they’d met the sanctuary of the car. The windshield was clouded and icy.

“Okay, Mike said, shifting in his seat. The moment stretched.

“Hey,” Will said.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you come meet me after work so often? No one else does.”

Mike’s fingertips tingled. It was the same reason he gave Will half of his fries in the cafeteria and the best controller for games.

“I...um I guess I like spending time with you alone. To, you know, make up for time I missed.”

“Time you missed?” Will repeated, confused.

“When you were gone,” he muttered.

“That was years ago, Mike.”

“I know.”

Will sucked in a breath. They both watched his windshield wipers make their best effort at the snow.

“Thanks,” Will said at last.

“Of course.”

[machihunnicutt]

(LATE) FICVEMBER DAY TEN

This is my first time writing for A Separate Peace...so blame @coffee-rack :)))

First Snow at Devon

Gene woke to light steaming in their bedroom. Finny, being Finny, had scarcely thought of his roommate when he flung open the curtains and let the day in.

Gene rolled over to face him, blinking in the brilliant white of the snow outside. Finny’s hair was a mess, Gene could see as much even though he was in shadow. His outline was hunched with his crutches.

“Gene, it’s snowing,” Finny said, voice hushed with wonder.

“I noticed,” Gene groaned.

“Let’s go outside.”

“Finny, it’ll be freezing,” Gene said, but Finny was hobbling over to him and his insides were squirming and he knew he was powerless. He’d do anything Phineas asked.

Finny’s head poked out from his bulky scarf like a wildflower out of the grass. He gripped his crutches with gloved hands and maneuvered down the hallway with impressive stealth and speed. Then again, it was Finny. Finny, always the athlete. Finny, who still got excited about the snow.

The field before the Devon School was empty at sunrise. The snow was a clean sheet of white and it glinted in the light. They hovered in the frozen mist, feet on pavement, neither daring to disrupt. The snow made Finny shine too. Snowflakes caught in his eyelashes and his face flushed a brilliant red. He must have been freezing, in only his pajamas and hastily thrown on coat and scarf. Gene had tried to convince him to change, but of course he was buzzing with too much excitement to do so. And then there was his leg.

The cast wasn’t as big as the first he’d been outfitted with, but it still made Gene nauseous to look at. He hoped the cold would freeze his brain and he wouldn’t have to think anymore, not about the tree, not about the trusting way Finny looked at him, not about any of it.

“I love winter,” Finny said.

“I know you do,” Gene said.

“Help me make a snow angel,” he said, turning to Gene with an urgent expression.

“Finny...”

“Just hold these,” he thrust his crutches into Gene’s arms and swayed, off balance for a second before gripping Gene’s shoulder.

“Your cast will—“

“Be fine, just help me lie down.”

If anyone deserved to become a part of the spotless blanket of snow, it was Finny. Finny grabbed Gene’s hands and let him lower him to the ground. Gene set his crutches beside him and watched Phineas wave his arms and good leg in the snow. He grinned up at him.

“Join me, Gene,” he said. “Quick, before I freeze.”

“Okay,” Gene said. His mouth was dry. Finny’s cast blended in with the snow.

He lied down beside him. When he looked up the snow swirled above them. It stung on his face.

Gene didn’t love the winter. Winter meant an ending. And endings were too scary to think about.

“I love winter,” Finny repeated, his voice criminally soft. “It reminds me of you.”

[machihunnicutt]

FICVEMBER DAY FIVE

Here’s part one of my very self indulgent les mis fic. (Chapter two will probably be next week sometime tbh.)

(Or read on ao3.)

How to Define a Sandwich

There was a line. Of course there was a line just when he’d worked up the courage to leave the mountain of books in his room for a coffee break...downstairs. Marius Pontmercy didn’t know he’d chosen the artsy dorm. He’d picked the most centrally located of the three housing options his scholarship provided. Marius didn’t believe in things like fate, but maybe it was. Maybe he was always destined to end up in places where he didn’t belong. Like in edgy, student-run coffee shops that were only open at night and had free refills for the weary eyed college kids who lived upstairs.

Marius had spent most of Welcome Week hiding from friendly but intimidating people down the hall and across the hall and in the room beside him (so, everyone.) He’d spent the first four weeks of classes taking aggressively detailed lecture notes in his panic handwriting and pretending to be better adjusted than he was when he Skyped Cosette. He hadn’t made any friends. He’d aced all his first exams but his insomnia was getting bad and sometimes he went full days without talking to anyone. So far college was quiet.

The Musain wasn’t quiet. The line stretched out the door and buzzed with laughter and conversation. He took a place at the back awkwardly and juggled the coffee mug in his hands. He’d been told he would get a discount if he brought his own.

“Look, I see where you’re coming from, but if you turn a hot dog on its side how is it different from any other meat sandwich? You have a top and bottom piece of bread with a filling. Those are the basic components of a sandwich.”

The girl in line in front of him shook her head aggressively, mussing the already messy bangs that covered most of her forehead. The line inched forward and the guy making the hot dog argument punctuated his sentence with a wave of his mug. It had a science olympiad logo on it.

“Holy shit Ferre, it is in no way that simple. A hot dog bun is one piece of bread--connected, unified, you get where I’m going here right? A sandwich has a distinct top and bottom layer and…”

“Layer, Eponine why are you…?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to include a hot dog but exclude an ice cream sandwich because it doesn’t have bread? You need to open your mind a little, pal.”

“Don’t passive aggressively pal me, just because it has sandwich in the name doesn’t mean it’s intrinsically a sandwich,” The guy said calmly, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “What does Enjolras always say? We must question the powers that be. I’m not going to change my definition of a sandwich because the man tells me something.”

“Don’t give me that shit in the same breath as your hot dog argument. You probably put dijon mustard on your bougie ass hot dog sandwich,” she shot back, but she was grinning. “What do you think?”

Marius blinked. She had turned to look at him and was waiting expectantly, eyes more intense with winged liner and a brilliant red eyeshadow.

“Me?” He said dumbly, regretting every step down the stairs from the fourth floor it took to get to the end of this line.

“Yeah, you. Where do you draw the proverbial sandwich line?”

“Don’t feel compelled to take her side just because she’s confrontational,” the guy cut in.

“I...uh, haven’t given it much thought,” Marius spluttered, feeling his face go pink.

The girl’s gaze softened and her dark brows furrowed together. “Understandable, understandable. We won’t interrogate you.”

“But we would appreciate your thoughts once you’ve gathered them,” the guy said good naturedly. “I’m Combeferre.” He stuck out his hand and Marius tried not to be self-conscious about his sweaty palms when he took it.

“Marius,” Marius replied.

“I’m Eponine and I greet with fist bumps not handshakes.” She extended a fist and Marius cautiously returned a fist bump.

The line inched forward again and now Marius was in the doorway. A gentle hum of something indie with soft vocals mixed with the muddled conversation, loud screeching of the machine that steamed the milk, and the enthusiastic greetings of the dark haired barista who was...distracting. The nervousness that had thus far kept Marius’ hands clenched so tightly on his coffee mug that he thought he might break it now made his shoulders tighten and teeth bite the inside of his mouth.

“Oh shit!” Eponine leaned out from behind Marius and grinned. “Courf’s working. I forgot!”

The barista, Courf evidently, looked up when he heard his name and for a second after he waved to Eponine made eye contact with Marius, just a quick, friendly sort of glance like maybe he thought Marius and Eponine were friends, making them mutual friends (which made Marius worry that he was somehow lying to this beautiful stranger who was now stirring a hot chocolate at a harried pace, making conversation as he went and reaching over to open the fridge door and grab whipped cream.)

“That’s our friend Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said, because apparently he’d been adopted by the fascinating sandwich arguers after five minutes in line. He felt lightheaded and like he should’ve just stayed in his room and tried to Skype Cosette again but also like he was on the precipice of something important and since this was the only social interaction he’d likely have all week (it was Thursday) he nodded, and repeated the name.

“Courfeyrac,” Marius Pontmercy said. And then they were at the front of the line.

“Dude, you owe me a playlist,” Eponine said, thrusting her coffee mug across the counter. “The usual.”

“I know, I know,” the barista said, snatching up the mug and tossing it between his hands. He looked even more animated up close and fumbled around the extensive collection of syrups along the back wall of the cafe as he spoke. “I’m almost done and then I’ll send it your way. To be fair, ‘Songs to Annoy My Shithead Parents that Won’t Corrupt Gav More than He Already has been’ is a challenging and specific request Ep. Also, vegan chai?

“Eponine is an occasional vegan,” Combeferre said, clarifying once more for Marius’ benefit. He nodded and the barista’s attention turned to him.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said, grinning. He slicked some hair out of his face and extended a hand across the counter, which Marius took after painfully detaching his hand from its death grip around the mug. “Courfeyrac.”

“Marius.”

“We met Marius five minutes ago. Riddle me this: is a hot dog a sandwich if you turn it sideways?

“Absolutely not,” Courfeyrac said without missing a beat.

“Thank you! Finally someone I can trust.”

“It’s nice to meet you Marius. Do you know what you’d like?”

Your friendship, immediately, Marius thought but didn’t say. “Um...what I’d...I don’t know. He looked desperately to the menu board but it was too long and he was acutely aware that he was being watched and suddenly the question seemed much too big to answer.

“May I interest you in something from the specials selection?” Courfeyrac asked, gesturing to the messy handwriting on the chalkboard to his right. Marius blinked at it:

Songs that would be greatly improved by a banjo solo

(a specials board by Couf)

Wonderwall by Oasis

Earl grey tea with steamed milk - $1.50

All Star by Smash Mouth

Random soda, random shot - $0.75

Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler

Hot chocolate with tiramisu syrup - $2.00

Baby by Justin Bieber

Vanilla milkshake with cheesecake syrup - $2.50

In the Hall of the Mountain King by Grieg

Affogato with caramel - $2.25

“I’m a firm believer that everything is improved by the banjo,” Courfeyrac said seriously.

“Um...Wonderwall then please.” Marius said.

“For here or to go?”

Eponine laughed. “He brought his mug Courf, you don’t need to ask.”

Marius glanced at the stack of paper to go cups and stiffened. He had planned to retreat discreetly to his room, coffee mug be damned.

“Maybe I’m just curious as to whether or not I’ll be enjoying Marius’ company any longer.”

“Touche,” Eponine said, leaning her elbows on the counter and accepting the latte Courfeyrac had finished. “You can sit with us if you want Marius,” she finished.

“Unless he has to go,” Combeferre put in helpfully.

They looked at him and Marius looked at them. He looked at the witty, significantly cooler than him people who’d offered him more friendly energy in the past 5 minutes than anyone else on campus had all semester. He looked at the languid line of talking, laughing, casually happy people behind them. He looked at the ridiculous specials board and multicolored string lights on the deep purple walls and nodded vigorously.

“For here, here would be great.”

***

The thing about college was that there was too much to do. Courfeyrac had only been campus a month and he already had a endless laundry list of things to accomplish. He’d swiped an application from the Musain the second time he’d come in, and they were desperate enough to hire an overly enthusiastic freshman for his first semester. There were a few weeks of spilling drinks and stumbling over orders. There were a few weeks where he wasn’t completely comfortable in his skin, where his smile felt too stiff and his classes felt too long. But then he figured it out. He learned how to make lattes without burning himself or dropping things. He joined the ultimate frisbee team. He joined Enjolras’ club again.

“Who’s that?” Enjolras asked, putting his mug on the counter for a refill. He looked tired. He was wearing his all nighter headband and spare glasses.“With Combeferre and Eponine,” he clarified, when Courf just stared at him.

“That’s Marius, they’ve adopted him. Are you okay? You look kind of…”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Kind of what, Courf?”

“Exhausted. The semester just started, how do you already look like that?”

“Well aren’t you supportive?” Enjolras scowled at him before taking a sip of his refilled black coffee. At least it wasn’t an espresso kind of night. “I’m finishing up my project about my summer service learning. We give our presentations next week. It wouldn’t be a lot if I wasn’t already taking too many credit hours and working on ABC stuff.”

“Stuff?” Courf replied, eyebrow quirking up. Enjolras was typically more verbose about the goings on of the ABC, often excessively so.

“The anti-rape culture rally, the fundraiser for the ACLU, Eponine’s crisis hotline volunteer group, your very important suggestion that we partner with the campus environmental club on their greener campus initiative. It’s a lot of stuff, Courf, and I want to be done with the summer so I can properly devote my time to all of the fall’s stuff .”

“Right,” Courfeyrac said slowly. Enjolras had spent the summer in Cape Town working with a human rights advocacy organization to promote health education and citizen empowerment. He’d been gone for 2 months, which would’ve been fine if he’d straightened everything out at home before he left. But he was Enjolras, so he hadn’t. “Have you seen R today?”

Enjolras gritted his teeth. “I haven’t seen him since the meeting. He doesn’t hang around the Musain as much now that he has a boyfriend.”

Courf frowned. He thought Grantaire’s absences during his shifts had more to do with Enjolras’ lurking by the counter or in his no nonsense study corner than R’s boyfriend of 3 weeks now. They didn’t talk much about what happened the week before Enjolras left for South Africa. The short version, Jehan had informed him, was that Enjolras and R had kissed at their Medieval poetry themed end of the year party. (Jehan was still salty that the majority of their invitees hadn’t respected the theme.) Courf hadn’t been told who kissed who (there were varying accounts), how much alcohol was involved (given Grantaire as a person and Jehan’s party menu), or what conversation (if any) followed, but Enjolras didn’t call or send R any postcards over the summer, and when school started up they didn’t talk about it and R showed up to the first amis meeting with Pierre, the new boyfriend.

It was a little jarring, given how long R had been interested in Enjolras and only Enjolras, and the look on Enjolras’ face when R introduced him. (Bossuet had compared this look to Joly’s when Bossuet had shown him the t-shirt he’d salvaged after he’d dropped it, sopping wet from the washer, behind the dorm laundry machines and forgotten about until the next time he did his laundry and fished it out with a yardstick.)

“Don’t stay up too late, alright? Knowing you, your presentation’s going to go just fine,” Courfeyrac said, glancing down at his watch. It was 11:30; he had a half an hour before closing.

“You’re the freshman, I should be the one lecturing you,” Enjolras said, but he was smiling, just a little, in the way that wasn’t fake. He retreated back to his table with his half empty coffee cup.

Courfeyrac had known Enjolras, Combeferre, R, and Eponine since middle school. He was a year behind them, but they were united by Enjolras’ social justice and advocacy club The Friends of the ABC. Enjolras had taken the amis with him to college, quickly establishing himself as the leader of the university’s most active, if not largest, advocacy organization.

He loved the friends he’d made through the ABC and he loved that at college they were tackling bigger issues and rallying more people. People, perhaps, like Combeferre and Eponine’s adoptee. Courfeyrac turned his attention to the skittish looking Marius who was seated between his friends.

“What’s your major?” Eponine asked him, as Marius sipped his tea nervously.

“History,” he replied. “I’m...um, I’m interested in attending law school.”

“No kidding, you should meet our friend Bahorel. He’s on his way to law school too,” Combeferre said.

“If he doesn’t drop kick a political science professor first,” Eponine laughed.

Marius smiled. “And what about you two?” he asked. “Your majors, I mean.”

“Biology,” Combeferre said. “I want to be a doctor.” Ferre adjusted his glasses in the way that made him look studious and quick-witted, a move he’d perfected years ago. He had disclosed to Couf at a high school football game that it was his signature technique when trying to make a good impression (although back then he was trying to use it on the JV kicker, who he had a crush on.)

“And I’m in social work,” Eponine said.

“Really?” Marius brightened. “So is my friend Cosette. She doesn’t go here though. She’s at a small college three hours from here.”

“You two must be very close,” Eponine replied, and Marius looked momentarily panicked.

“What gave you that impression?”

Eponine leaned in closer. “You didn’t say the school or the town, just how long it would take to get there. And I’m good at listening.”

“Oh,” Marius said, he was turning a rosy shade of pink that made his freckles stand out further. “I mean, you’re right, I miss her quite a bit.”

“Did you say she was your girlfriend?” Courfeyrac blurted from the counter. He nearly dropped the mug he was drying as the three of them turned to look at him. Great, perfect, now he thinks you’re an eavesdropping creep .

“No, she’s just my friend,” Marius said, meeting his eyes for a moment.

In a lot of ways college was the way Courfeyrac had expected it to be. He’d been to a couple of parties in Bahorel’s basement where the lights were dim and every drink he was handed had too much vodka. He’d swayed, light-headed and distant as his friends and their friends danced and talked and laughed in high, joyous outbursts. But sometimes college felt like sensory overload. Sometimes he needed to catch his breath outside before the party swallowed him whole. Sometimes he showed up to class a minute too late and the whole lecture hall stared at him like he didn’t belong. Sometimes he just went through the motions.

“Well, we’ve gotta take off now, don’t we Ferre?” Eponine said suddenly and Combeferre gave her a confused head tilt. “Laundry, remember?” She pressed.

“Right, laundry,” he repeated.

“Oh,” Marius began. His hands were fumbling around his mug. “I guess I’ll go too, then.”

“Don’t leave. Go sit at the bar and keep Courf company,” she said, shooting Courfeyrac a sly look.

Marius said okay.

“Do you pick the music?” Marius asked as he slid gingerly into the seat closest to the cash register.

“Yep,” he replied, grabbing a cloth to wipe down the counter. It was a strange mix of 80s pop, indie songs with strange lyrics and unorthodox beats, and a few tracks from Ep’s punk phase that she rolled her eyes at whenever she heard now. His music taste could be off-puttingly eclectic. “What do you think?”

“I like it,” he replied, head bobbing up and down with vigor. His messy hair flopped dizzyingly and adorably.

“What kind of music do you listen to?” He asked, and Marius flushed again.

“Whatever’s on the radio, I guess. I don’t know a lot of cool music.”

“Cool music,” Courf repeated, setting down his dish towel. “If you like it then it’s cool.” He leaned his elbows on the bar beside Marius.

Marius laughed. “Okay, I guess.”

“I’ll make you a playlist.”

“Aren’t you already making Eponine one?”

“New potential friends have priority access,” Courf said, and then kicked himself for being too honest.

“Okay then,” Marius said. “How do you pick the songs?

“Sometimes a song just feels right for a particular moment, I guess.” If he had to pick a song for Marius in the current moment he’d go with something sappy and too much given they’d only met a couple of hours ago. Something like REO Speedwagon’s “Can’t Fight This Feeling.”

Marius nodded as if Courf was a music expert. “Well, thank you in advance.”

They couldn’t talk much more because of the steady stream of customers. Marius stayed until closing, into the point of the night where Courfeyrac’s Spotify playlist reached its more questionable songs. Marius had a book out and was reading, his long lashes making shadows on his freckled cheeks. The Musain ran out of Fresca and sugar cookies and Courf had to defend his specials board before a couple of banjo haters. Marius looked up at him every so often, vague smile on his lips whenever Courf was trying to be charming or entertaining with customers to distract from his only moderately skilled barista-ing. At midnight Courfeyrac turned off the music and Marius looked up a final time.

“Closing time,” Courf said.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was the only one still here,” Marius said. He jumped up too quickly and nearly knocked over his chair.

“It’s okay,” Courf said. “It’s nice not to be alone,” he laughed and Marius’ face fell.

“Yeah,” he said, dejectedly. “It really is.”

Shit, what did I say?

“You’ll come back though, and hang out? If you want to,” he added.

Marius looked surprised. “I didn’t bug you? I know I don’t talk a lot,” he muttered.

“You don’t need to talk a lot if you don’t want to,” Courf said.

Marius looked down at his tennis shoes. “Okay,” he said.

“My shifts are every Thursday. You should come back, man.” He said, trying to sound casual. “You can see more of my amazing specials boards.”

Marius nodded. “Alright,” he said. “It was a really good board.”

He said it so sincerely that for a second Courfeyrac felt entirely present and at home in the moment. He wanted more moments like this.

[machihunnicutt]

FICVEMBER DAY TWO

(Here’s a tiny Les Mis Buzzfeed Unsolved AU bc I’m tired.)

The Spooky Pals Investigate

“Alright guys, today we’re going to the infamous Wesley House. It’s known for its particularly active bedroom where Mary Westley was brutally murdered by her husband Thomas and uh...crap we should just cut there I completely lost my place,” Marius’ leg was bouncing up and down in the sound booth and Courf had an uneasy feeling.

“What’s up?” He asked him, as they were packing up supplies for the shoot in the Westley House. Combeferre was going to be filming, but right now he was calling the estate to make sure they were okay to look around unsupervised. In season one of The Spooky Pals Investigate they’d been run off a property. (Marius, of course, thought the angry security guard was a ghost and had screamed.)

“Nothing’s up,” he said, scanning the yellow legal pad he used for notes. He was wearing his glasses because he’d run out of contacts. Courf thought the glasses made him look more official. This morning when Marius had woken up (drool covered, barely coherent, bedhead prominent) he’d rolled over and groaned about the shoot. Courfeyrac had thought it was his usual fear of encountering a ghost.

“If you’re worried about the episode, don’t. It’s going to be great. This whole season has been amazing because of you,” he said, because it was true. Their last video just hit 5 million views and the new merch Jehan designed was already sold out. They’d been at this for 2 years and had amassed a frankly insane following in that time. Marius’ nervous but meticulous narration and unbridled fear in anyplace slightly spooky, coupled with Courfeyrac’s good natured sarcasm and general skepticism had made them a good team.

“I’m not worried about the episode I’m worried about the comments.” Marius said. “I think some people have figured out that we’re dating.”

“Okay,” Courfeyrac said, smile curling on his lips. “And?”

“And it’s going to be a whole thing. You know people are going to ask in the Q & A and then what?”

“Mari they watch for the comedy and that damn spirit box, not for our personal lives.”

Marius bit his lip. “You’re right I just...I don’t want anything to get complicated.”

“It’s okay,” Courf said. “Just don’t get possessed and everything will be okay.”

“Don’t joke about that. I’m bringing holy water.”

Marius thought he heard a ghost in every room of the Westley House. Courf laughed when one of the ghosts turned out to be some drunk college kids yelling in the next block over. Courfeyrac knew Marius would have a field day interpreting the garbled voices they got from the spirit box, though the only thing he’d heard it say was sausage acreage, which didn’t mean anything but sounded funny as hell.

When they got home Marius lied down on the bed and scrolled through the comments on their last video.

“Look at some of these,” he muttered. “‘Courfeyrac’s shirt looks like the 80s vomited on it.’ I love that shirt. ‘There’s an orb in the background at 12:38’ whoa, check this out.” Marius held up the blurry screen and Courf grinned.

“Any speculation about your relationship status down there?” He asked.

“‘Wouldn’t the boys be so cute together?’ and uh...’we stan ghost hunting bfs’ that one has 80 likes.”

“Oh does it now? That doesn’t seem complicated to me.”

Marius dropped his phone. “I love you. I love you more than I believe in ghosts.”

“And I love you more than I’m sure you’re wrong about ghosts.”

[machihunnicutt]

FICVEMBER DAY EIGHTEEN

Stay Cool

Cosette was in love with a pop punk guitarist. Well, maybe love was too strong a word. She’d followed her gigs for the past month and had spent most of her weekends in dark basements under flashing lights and among crowds of warm, drunk, happy people.

The guitarist had streaks in her dark hair, purple one week, blue the next, and most recently a lime green Cosette liked the best. When she really got going she flipped her bangs this way and that to keep them out of her eyes and she grinned breathlessly at her band mates like there was only that moment. On stage, she’d said her name was Eponine.

Cosette was getting better at pushing her way to the front of the crowd. It was easier when Courfeyrac came with her because he was so loud and charismatic anyone would move for him.

“You should go talk to her,” Courf said once, as they hovered at the edge of the crowd.

“I can’t just...I mean she wouldn’t want to talk to me,” Cosette muttered as the lights flashed above them.

“Why wouldn’t she want to talk to you?”

Because I’m not cool, Cosette thought, but didn’t say. Cosette didn’t look the part. She felt uncomfortable in the majority of the crowd’s attire: fishnets, combat boots, ripped jeans, and dark eye makeup. She stuck out in her pastel dresses and cardigans, but she couldn’t help it.

Tonight the crowd was louder than ever. There were lights strung from the ceiling in yet another basement for the show. They blinked off and on every so often, so Eponine and her band mates flickered in and out of Cosette’s vision. Every song brought the crowd to deafening cheers. Cosette watched Eponine’s fingers, each nail adorned with chipped black polish, glide across the strings. They sounded phenomenal.

“Cosette?” Halfway through the set someone tapped on her shoulder and she turned around to see Marius, smiling at her nervously with a red solo cup in hand.

“Marius! What are you doing here?” She asked.

“My friend’s in the band,” he said, as the band warmed up for the next song. The lead singer was saying something about it being the last of the night.

“Oh,” Cosette said, taken aback. Marius spent a good number of his evenings watching game show reruns and going to bed at 9:30; she hadn’t expected him to know anyone in a band. “Who do you know?”

“Eponine, the guitarist,” he said, and Cosette nearly fainted.

“Do you think you could introduce me?” She blurted, before she could stop herself.

“Really?” Marius said, face lighting up. “I’d be happy to. I’m actually trying to get her to come to an amis meeting and...”

Cosette nodded but her brain was a mile away. Oh god, what was she even going to say? I like your guitar? No, that sounded dumb.

After the song, when the cheering had died down and the crowd dissipated, Marius brought Cosette to her rock star dream girl.

“Ep, this is my friend Cosette. Cosette this is Eponine,” he said.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Eponine said. Her hair was plastered to her face with sweat but she grinned at her and stuck out a hand for Cosette to shake.

“I’ll get you some water,” Marius said, darting away before Cosette could cling to him.

“Have you known Marius long?” Eponine asked, her green streaks matched her eyes. Cosette could tell up close.

“All my life, it seems like,” she said.

“He’s a good friend,” Eponine said. Cosette nodded dumbly. “Hey, have you been to a show before? You look really familiar.”

She flushed. “Yeah, I uh...I really like watching you guys play so I um, I try to see all your shows,” she admitted.

“All of them?” Eponine said, her grin was back full force. Cosette couldn’t feel her arms.

“Sorry, that’s so weird.”

“Naw, it’s dedication. You’re like our number one fan.” Eponine winked at her and Cosette’s knees felt unreasonably wobbly.

“Yeah,” she said. “I guess I am.”

“Well I suppose the least I can do is ask you out for coffee some time, to say thank you,” Eponine said, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “If you’d like?”

“I’d like that a lot.”

“Alright,” Eponine said. “Stay cool, Cosette,” she said.

Like she thought she was cool in the first place.

[machihunnicutt]

FICVEMBER DAY FOURTEEN

Watching

Finny liked the summer session. Finny liked it when Gene watched him swim. He got a far away look in his eyes, like he was thinking about a lot of things all at once, and Finny, dripping with chlorinated pool water would smile, and take a goofy sort of bow when his feet were on dry land again.

Gene got the same look during Blitzball. Finny started tossing the ball to him more often just so he could see this look. Gene’s dark eyes were often unfocused or bored: over his books in their room, while listening halfheartedly to Brinker going on about this or that, at assembly right before Finny leaned over and told them they should skip. But when he caught Gene staring he looked different. He looked concentrated and handsome, with his strong jaw and long lashes and hunched posture.

Finny thought about Gene often, perhaps too often. Many of his summer antics were perpetuated to impress him. He’d dreamt about their trip to the beach ten times before they actually went. The dream always ended differently: Gene said he was his best friend, Gene laughed and smiled and let the water lick his feet, Gene got angry and left alone, Gene didn’t back away when Finny leaned in close. In his head he could run a million scenarios.

“Goodnight, Fin,” Gene said, before turning out the lights. He’d been studying again, ignoring Finny like he didn’t know how awful that felt. His Southern drawl came out when he was tired. That drawl could keep Finny up at night.

“Goodnight, Gene,” Finny said, and when he closed his eyes he imagined all the stars above him, watching.

[machihunnicutt]

FICVEMBER DAY THIRTEEN

(Not) A Love Letter part 2

Dear Anne,

I’m coming back to Avonlea. I don’t want to tell you. I can’t. If I’m being honest (and since no one but myself will read this I suppose I can be) I’m afraid you won’t be happy to see me. I’m afraid the distance between us will have stretched so long and thin that you won’t see me anymore.

I can’t stop seeing you. The waves are harsh at night. They crash and the ship sways and I can’t sleep. I close my eyes, just to try, and your face is there. You’re smiling at me and all I see are freckles. I didn’t think I’d miss Avonlea the way I do. I thought that every piece of it would be tangled up in how I feel about my father. Everything would be tainted with loneliness and cold, like that winter, and thinking of Avonlea would sting like frostbite.

But I miss you. I miss your Avonlea, Anne. I miss standing beside you in the schoolhouse and hearing you spell. I miss your stories and your hair in the morning, lit up in gold and wild from the walk to school. I miss Green Gables. I miss passing by and looking up at your window, hoping. I even miss holding all my words inside, fighting the urge to tell you everything I like about you whenever you smile.

But what if you’re not happy to see me? What if when I’m home everything is tough in the way that drains the life out of you? What if I’m lonely every day and no one notices?

I’m coming home, Anne. I’m counting the days. I’m writing pointless letters and singing the old farm songs quietly, so I don’t wake Bash and the others.

I’ll see you soon. I hope you want to see me.

Yours always,

Gilbert Blythe

[machihunnicutt]

FICVEMBER DAY ELEVEN

I found this on my phone from a year ago! Thanks past me for saving me tonight bc I am tired and out of ideas. :)))))

Better Than Last

Michael Caffrey looked at his boots because he was scared to knock on the door. The boots were too big. His mam picked ones he'd have room to grow into. Right now they just contributed to his perpetual feeling that he didn't belong. Not in his shoes. Not in this town. Not nervously standing at the Elliots' door on New Year's Eve with no clue what to say.

At Christmas he hadn't gone near Billy. Hell if he knew what to say to his best friend whose mam had just died. I'm sorry didn't sound right. I'm sorry didn't sound like enough.

Tony answered the door when he got up the courage to knock. He held a beer lazily in one hand and looked at him with tired eyes.

"Is Billy home?" Michael asked, clearing his throat.

"He's in his room," Tony growled. He stepped back and Michael came in out of the cold. He thought maybe it was better to freeze on the doorstep. It was certainly easier.

Billy was on his bed, back pressed against the wall, socked feet jutting out into space, and faced scrunched like he was angry or sad or confused. Michael shrugged off his coat and climbed onto the bed to sit beside him.

"Hey."

"Hey," Billy replied. He didn't look away from the wall he was staring at.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Michael asked. Their shoulders were pressed together. Billy was wearing a sweater his mam had gotten him for his birthday.

"No," he said, blinking. "I just want to sit quiet like. Is that alright?"

"Course."

Michael had been with him at the funeral. His tie was too tight and everyone was looking at them with pasty, pitiful faces. He'd seen Billy cry for the first time since they were too young to know any better and he'd wanted to do something. He still didn't know what he was supposed to do now.

"Happy New Year Billy," he muttered. Billy glanced over at him and his expression melted fractionally. He'd follow Billy Elliot to the ends of the earth if he asked (though he'd never say something like that to his face.)

"It could be a load of shite, next year you know? It could be as bad as last."

"It won't," Michael said firmly. What did he know?

Billy tilted his head back and closed his eyes, lashes fluttering against his skin. Michael wondered how much he'd cried when no one was around. His chest felt twisted up.

"Happy New Year Michael," he said. Then he opened his eyes and glanced down at the neat row of their feet and laughed.

"You need smaller shoes. You look right stupid in those big ones."

"Oh fuck off," he shot back, trying to contain his smile.

"You fuck off, Caffrey," Billy said, and for once Michael felt like he fit.

[machihunnicutt]

(LATE) FICVEMBER DAY NINE

Pancakes and Eggs

Courf woke up on a couch he didn’t recognize. Enjolras’ coach was grey and lumpy and sat in front of a cluttered coffee table. Joly’s was spotless and smelled like air freshener. Grantaire’s was a couch you could really sink into, and R always put a blanket over him when he passed out. This couch was foreign. His head was pounding and he tried to piece together a rough timeline of the previous night.

Grantaire kept handing him frozen margaritas and Jehan had the scoop on a slew of house parties to rotate through once they got tired of the bar. Courfeyrac remembered a house with big ashtrays in every room and a 90s pop anthem playlist he greatly appreciated. He remembered fruit punch and vodka and Combeferre introducing him to the prettiest boy he’d ever seen.

Wait, what was his name again? What did he look like. Courfeyrac’s brain was two steps behind him, thoughts hovering in a hazy space between his eyes. He remembered freckles all over the guys nose and cheeks. He remembered that his face was flushed and made the freckles stand out even more. He remembered nervous laughter, and that he talked so quickly and quietly that Courf had to lean in close to hear everything he said. He didn’t think the guy was as drunk as he was, which wasn’t saying much given the pain that was radiating through Courf‘s head.

There was a thin quilt draped over him. It was light and soft and smelled like lavender. He sat up.

“Hey, you’re awake.” Courf blinked. The pretty guy was there, standing in a kitchen with a frying pan and a small smile. His hair was messy and he was wearing pajamas.

“Um, yeah. Hi.” Courf said, sitting up straighter. “Sorry I’m...”

“I’m Marius,” the guy said before Courf could finish. “In case you couldn’t remember.” His smile grew fractionally. “I’m a friend of Eponine’s. She’s in the other room with my roommate Cosette. She and Combeferre thought it would be best not to move you after you passed out on our couch. They can come pick you up when you’re ready. Sorry, you just looked super confused so I thought I should clarify before you thought you’d been kidnapped or something.”

“Oh,” Courf said, feeling mildly humiliated. “Thanks. And uh...sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” Marius shot back. He put the frying pan on the stove and flicked on the flame. “You’re a great houseguest. Incredibly polite.”

Courf got up, smoothing the mess of his hair out of his eyes and feeling the hardwood firmly underfoot before standing.

“Polite?”

“Eponine said you were a friendly drunk.”

Courf winced. “And how drunk was I when we met?”

“You said I was the prettiest guy you’d ever seen,” Marius said, halfway to the fridge. He pulled out some eggs and milk and turned around to see Courfeyrac with his head in his hands at the counter, absolutely mortified.

“I said that out loud?”

“It’s okay. It was sweet,” Marius said. “Do you want pancakes and eggs? I can’t choose so I think I’m going to make both.”

“Let me help,” Courf said.

“Sure,” Marius said. “The pancake mix is in that cabinet.”

Courf retrieved the mix and started making the pancake batter. He remembered pieces of the night now. He remembered sitting next to Marius on the couch. He remembered a drunken game of Uno that Enjolras and Grantaire had ended up arguing over somehow.

“Did you say you were pre-law last night or am I misremembering?” Courf asked.

Marius nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

“Cause you want to advocate for kids who have to testify in court.”

“That’s right,” Marius said. He cracked some eggs into a bowl. “I did say that.”

Courf laughed. “I could remember that but not your name.”

“Well, you’ve got it now,” Marius said. “And that’s what counts.

“I’m sure I told you all about myself, then?”

“Actually, it was more like a set of discreet rants about your friends and how much you love and value them.”

“Well, okay then.” Courf handed over the pancake batter and Marius heated up a new pan as he finished off the eggs.

“Cosette, Eponine! Get up before you miss breakfast,” Marius called down the hallway. He turned and added to Courfeyrac “I’m sure you can tell me all about yourself over coffee sometime, if you want.”

“Oh,” Courf grinned. “Yeah, I’d like that. Do you want to give me your number?”

Marius scooped the eggs out of the pan. Courf could hear Eponine and Cosette stirring in the bedroom, their laughter distant and happy.

“You’ve already got it,” Marius said.