A/N: Hello! Today is my friend's birthday and I wrote her a gift. Happy birthday, Jean! I hope it will make you smile. :)
And hopefully you all will enjoy this.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, Combeferre's name comes from Rosebud5's stories.
„I've had enough." The notebook was closed with an impet and thrown onto the floor. „And it's dark already."
Enjolras murmured something unintelligibly from above his notes.
„Don't read in the light of just one candle. You're going to go blind," his companion warned.
The young revolutionary leader looked up, startled. Courfeyrac smiled at him from his place in the armchair. A look on his friend's face made the brunet chuckle.
„What?" He asked cheekily.
Enjolras shook his blonde head.
„You've sounded just like 'Ferre", he explained, an amused smile dancing on his lips. „He is always complaining about me reading when it's dark. He's worried about my eyes."
Anxiety replaced a cheerful expression on Courfeyrac's face.
„So is it how it happened?" He whispered. Enjolras frowned. He didn't understand. The other young man waved his hand.
„I mean, is this why 'Ferre wears glasses?", he qualified.
Enjolras thought for a brief moment.
„I don't know, to be honest," he admitted. „He had already worn his glasses when we met for the first time."
„Yeah, it's hard to imagine him without them, isn't it?" Courfeyrac grinned. „He was probably born wearing glasses!" He laughed at his own lame joke, but stopped when he noticed that Enjolras wasn't listening to him. A bit irritated, he cleared his throat.
The blonde turned to him slowly with a strange melancholy on his face.
„He wasn't born in glasses," he said in a serious tone. "You don't say" was on the tip of Courfeyrac's tongue, but he bit it. Enjolras continued:
„I've remembered what 'Ferre once told me. He wasn't born in glasses," The revolutionary leader repeated. „He was very unhappy to find out he would have to wear them all his life."
Monsieur Combeferre pressed his forehead to the wooden door to his son's bedroom. What was he supposed to do?
„Etienne, come out," he called gently, not allowing the impatience to be heard in his voice. He clenched his fists as there was no response.
„Son, please," he started, determined to make the little boy leave the room. He'd been sitting in there since morning! „Come, I want to talk to you."
„I will never go out," a thin voice announced. Monsieur Combeferre felt a pang of pain in his chest, which was immediately followed by another one as the child added:
„And we can talk just as well when I'm here."
How was he supposed to react? How was he supposed to explain a seven-year-old that there was nothing to be ashamed of in wearing glasses?
„Etie, understand..." he began, but was interrupted.
„Understand what? From now on I will have to go everywhere with that... gizmo on my nose! I look as an idiot!" The little voice was stopped by a sob that the boy couldn't hold back. His father stood there, longing to embrace his child, to comfort him, but the door were blocking his way. He was close to busting them open.
„Everyone will laugh at me," Etienne stated gravely.
Monsieur Combeferre opened his eyes. When had he closed them?
„Come here," he asked once again in a slightly trembling voice.
Silence. Long silence.
Then the door bursted open and a small figure cannoned into the man, embracing his waist and soaking him with tears. Monsieur Combeferre lifted the boy in his arms, pulling him close and planting a soft kiss on the little head.
Etienne had been stupid. His parents had worried and he had finally agreed to go for a walk with his dad. He sighed. The previous day was the worst of all the bad days. Yet this day had all the chances to be even worse. He was to go out in these glasses of his. He put his coat on and went downsairs, sighing heavily. The glasses were heavy. It was only strange that he felt their weight in his heart, not on his nose.
He met his father at the door, but the boy didn't look up at him, not sure if there was no moisture in his eyes. Oh, why was he worried? The tears surely couldn't be seen through the thick glass!
„Ready?" The dad asked. Etienne took a deep breath and was about to say „no" when he looked up at the man. He gasped and felt his heart accelerating its beating.
Suddenly, it was very hot in the room. Or maybe it was only hot in his chest? Probably yes.
Monsieur Combeferre was grinning at his son. There were glasses on his nose. He was extending his hand.
Etienne took it, still in shock. He knew, of course, that his dad's eyes were in a perfect state. Yet he was wearing glasses. For him.
They walked confidently, their hearts much lighter. The boy smiled broadly.
He wore his glasses proudly. Because his dad was wearing glasses too. And everything his dad did was the best thing to do. Everything his father did was worth emulating.
Because there was nothing else in the world Etienne wanted more than to be just like him.
Silence fell in the small room as the revolutionary leader finished the story. Courfeyrac shook his head slowly, still under the spell of the tale.
„He had a wonderful father," he whispered barely hearably.
Enjolras budged. Courf's dad had died long ago. The blonde wondered if he was right to tell him about 'Ferre's. He looked at him anxiously. But the brunet was smiling widely, showing his white teeth.
„That's why 'Ferre knows how to be a good father."
Enjolras's eyebrows ended up just below his hairline.
„Beg your pardon? Since when is 'Ferre a father?"
„Oh, ever since the Amis were created!" The other boy burst out laughing.
Enjolras felt a pleasant warmth spreading inside his chest. Yes, Combeferre was an older brother to them all, but he was also a father-figure. That was a father's task, after all: to guide. None of them was an orphan.
But Courfeyrac had something more to say.
„You know, I talked about this with Jehan and Bossuet once and they agreed. Bossuet also said that not only did we have a father in our group, but we had a mother-of-a-sort as well. A mother we all love and respect," he grinned.
Enjolras's eyes sparkled.
„The Republic," He guessed, touched. He felt very proud of the bald young man.
But Courf seemed to be ruffled.
„What?" Then his face brightened with understanding. "Oh, yes," he chuckled. „You often say the Republic is your mother."
Enjolras raised an eyebrow with dignity.
„So who was Bossuet talking about?" He asked, dreading the answer, for he had already suspected who the person was.
The other boy thought for a moment.
„Hmmm," he began. "It would appear that the Republic is the Amis' grandmother!"
He laughed as Enjolras fixed him with a glare.
A/N: Please review! (English is not my mother tongue - if you find a mistake, don't hesitate to tell me! :))