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“Oh my god,” Jehan said, trying and failing to untangle himself from the blanket to get to the front door, “Whoever that is, I’m taking their doorbell privileges away.”
Bahorel, to their credit, seemed to be enjoying the show too much to go answer the door themselves, so the sound of the doorbell rang shrilly through the house once more. Jehan finally crawled out of bed, stomping their way to the door and swinging it open. Courfeyrac was wearing a massive grin, made wider by the clown makeup he had on.
“Sorry about the noise,” Enjolras said from behind him, looking sheepish.
Jehan eyed Courfeyrac from top to bottom, and his curiosity proved stronger than his annoyance, “So what’s all this, then?” he asked, while ushering them in.
“I’m going to a costume party,” Courfeyrac said, doing a spin to show off the multicolor skirt and collar he had on, along with thigh high socks and garters, “I’m a sexy clown.”
“Oh sweetheart,” Jehan said, “You’re always a sexy clown.”
Courfeyrac swatted his arm, before noticing the figure standing in the doorway, “Oh yes, Bahorel’s here too, perfect. I have no one to go to the party with, will you guys come?”
Jehan shrugged. He did own an awful lot of costumes. He turned to look at Bahorel, who was tilting their head in thought.
“I’ll have to stop by at my apartment to put something together,” they said.
Jehan felt a wide grin slipping onto his face and he clapped his hands excitedly. “Or,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect, Courfeyrac wasn’t the only theatre kid in Les Amis, “You could finally let me dress you up.”
Bahorel smiled wickedly, “Only if you let me dress you up, too.”
Courfeyrac let out a triumphant whoop. “Yes! See, Enjolras, this is what it’s like to have friends who aren’t boring.”
“Wait Enj isn’t coming?” Bahorel asked, “Did you come here with Courf just to ask if we’d go with him? That’s sweet.”
Courfeyrac snorted. “He doesn’t love me that much.”
“Then why-“
Jehan’s question was interrupted by Grantaire’s bedroom door swinging open. “Good morning,” he said, eyes still half lidded with sleep, idly scratching his side, “I thought I heard sirens, is everyone okay?”
Enjolras had gone very, very red and was staring at the floor intently. Jehan tried his best not to laugh as he said, “That was Courf ringing the doorbell. Also, it’s 4pm.”
Grantaire looked unbothered as he made his way to the bathroom, “Good afternoon, then. Nice outfit, Courf.”
“Thanks, babe,” Courfeyrac yelled as the bathroom door shut, smiling as Enjolras slunk away to the kitchen to make him some coffee.
Bahorel eyed the pile of their clothes that had accumulated in Jehan’s closet from years of sleepovers and forgetful mornings.
“No wonder I can never find jeans,” they grumbled, rooting through them to find what would fit Jehan. “If you have a belt, this one should work I think.”
Jehan sat cross legged on the bed, “I have belts, but none of them will go with those pants so I’m going to steal one from R.”
“Right now?”
Jehan grinned, “Enj is in there right now because they’re ‘looking at a graphic novel about a hospital in Syria’ that R bought two weeks ago so, no, not right now. Let’s get you dressed first and then we can go bother them.”
Jehan was well aware that their costume idea would be funny to just the two of them, and maybe Courfeyrac, but something about dressing as each other cracked him up. Bahorel, with their strictly functional clothes and shoes they bought based on how well it would handle having something heavy fall on it, and Jehan with his corsets and kitten heels and lace up dresses that took entirely too long to fasten.
He knew exactly which of his dresses they would look best in, pulling out a black skirt with white petticoats. “Put this on.”
Bahorel grinned at him, “If you wanted me to take my pants off you could have just-“ they stopped as they were hit in the face with a lace top.
“Less talking, more dressing, hot shot.”
Jehan fiddled with the waist of his pants as they entered the party, a little afraid that they would fall off.
“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me this was a Patron Minette thing, Courf,” he grumbled, tightening his belt.
“Didn’t you and Montparnasse go on like two dates in first year? I thought you’d moved on.”
Bahorel ducked their head down from where they were towering over them to reply. They were tall enough with no shoes on, but Jehan had thought it would be funny to put them in his highest patforms.
“Who said anything about dating?” they said, smiling salaciously, “Of all the things that they did, the dating doesn’t stick in my memory.”
Jehan smacked their arm, “Who hasn’t milked a cow they don’t regret?”
Courfeyrac made a gagging noise. “I’m going to go get a drink.”
The house lights had been dimmed in a way that makes everything fuzzy. Jehan did a little shimmy, stomping the work boots Bahorel had put him in. “Maybe we should dance!”
“Maybe you should dance, I have very important plans to fall over soon,” they replied, trying to stay steady in the shoes.
“Remember, knees straight, chin up.”
“How do you walk with your knees straight?? Are you the tin man from Wizard of Oz.”
Jehan chortled at the sight of them muttering fucking Glinda under their breath as they adjusted the lace gloves they had on.
Out of the two of them, Jehan mused he had gotten the easier end. Although it did feel like his pants were going to fall off, and he felt tiny in the flat boots, his outfit was unbelievably comfortable. The scratchy looking flannels Bahorel always wore were softer than they looked. They had even picked out a red one to lean into the whole classic lumberjack look.
Bahorel’s waist looked tiny in the corset they were wearing, making them look even taller. “You look like a hot demon doll that stands at the foot of my bed waiting for me to wake so it can drag me to hell,” he said.
“That good, huh?” Bahorel grinned in response, the obvious discomfort slowly melting off of them.
Jehan laughed. “Don’t look now,” he said, trying very hard to be discreet, “But there’s someone to your right who seems to appreciate the look a lot.”
Bahorel snapped their head to the right without a moment of pause, and Jehan sighed fondly. The person standing at the table making a drink met their eye and smiled. They held their gaze as they poured another drink, and walked over slowly.
“I hope you like gin,” they said, their voice low, “My name is Marcel, what can I call you?”
Bahorel made an undecipherable noise, before managing to say, Bahorel.”
“What pronouns do you use?”
A look of surprise crossed their face, “They/them, thanks for asking. Yours?”
“He/him. Do you want to sit down somewhere for a bit, I can barely hear you over this racket.”
Jehan grinned, slowly backing away. Bahorel shot him a panicked look, before schooling their features. He mouthed good luck, putting up both his hands in thumbs up.
Marcel led them away and Jehan sighed. He was the best wingman, but now he had to find someone to talk to.
“Prouvaire?”
Oh god no.
“Montparnasse!” he said, plastering a fake smile on his face.
“I almost didn’t recognize you. What’s your costume, sexy bumpkin?”
Well, he thought, Bahorel did come from a long line of farmers.
When he didn’t say anything out loud, Montparnasse took it as his cue to continue. “It looks good on you, but then again, most things do.”
Did this used to work on me? He thought, desperately.
“Thank you, I’m going to go find something to drink.”
“I’ll come along,” he said, smiling that horribly smooth smile of his.
Of course he will, he thought.
He headed over to the table set up with drinks and poured himself some soda, looking around to see a familiar face.
“The first time we met was at a party just like this one, remember? Isn’t it so nice to reminisce?”
Jehan poured himself a shot
Bahorel was listening to someone with orange hair and an eyebrow piercing. Well they weren’t really listening. They were a little preoccupied with the fact that they had introduced Bahorel to their friend saying, “Their name is Bahorel.”
“They get it,” eyebrow piercing (Linda, their brain provided) was saying, “It’s so tiring to be around people who dress the same all the time. If I never see a plain polo tee again, it will be too soon. Right, Bahorel?”
Bahorel made a sound of assent.
“Of course they agree with you, look at them,” Linda’s friend replied.
Bahorel wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Usually conservative people found their appearance inoffensive, but everything else about them was offensive. Here, in this outfit, they found a strange mix of opinions.
They had never had so many people ask for their pronouns. But then again, it’s all anyone seemed to want to talk about, as if it was the most interesting thing about them. As if seeing someone built like them in a lace top was some kind of political statement.
They had just wanted to do something funny with their best friend. They weren’t sure how it had gotten this bad, or really why they felt so bad about being correctly gendered in public for once but they knew they had to get out of the conversation.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” they stuttered out, already beginning to walk away.
Behind them, they could hear the conversation shift to the topic of gender neutral bathrooms.
Jehan was certain that he hadn’t been hit on so much in one night before. He couldn’t figure it out. His clothes were unassuming and a little too big on him. He couldn’t even strut right in these shoes.
“You should do this more often,” a man dressed as the Joker said. If the costume wasn’t enough of a red flag, the tone of his voice definitely was.
“It brings out the shape of your shoulders,” he continued.
“You know what,” Jehan said, “I would literally rather talk to Parnasse than you. And yes, that is an insult.”
Bahorel frantically looked around for Jehan and Courfeyrac. They were certain that if one more person called them brave or bold they were going to deck someone. So it was best to get out of there.
When they finally spotted Jehan, he was in a corner, staring up at Montparnasse with that expression he got when he ate a soft grape.
Again? They thought exasperatedly. They had just rescued Jehan from Montparnasse an hour ago.
When they met Jehan’s gaze he have them his best please rescue me eyes, and they laughed as they walked over.
“In any case,” Montparnasse was leering, oblivious to Jehan’s expression, “I like this outfit better, much easier to undo.”
Before Jehan could throw up onto Montparnasse’s knock off Gucci leather pants, Bahorel interrupted.
“So sorry,” they said, scrambling to find something to say, “But Grantaire has explosive diarrhea and we really should go….help.”
Montparnasse looked like he had been slapped with a live fish, but it gave Jehan enough time to squeak goodbye and join them in powerwalking away.
As soon as they were out of earshot Jehan descended into convulsive giggles, “What the fuck, Bahorel?”
“You know I don’t think fast under pressure. Also, I cannot believe you fucked that guy for so long.”
“Hey, all of us make bad choices in college. It not my fault mine is so chatty.”
Bahorel laughed. “Let’s get out of here.”
Jehan fished out his phone to text Courfeyrac that they were leaving, when he sidled up to them wearing a pair of green sunglasses he definitely wasn’t wearing when they arrived.
“You don’t have to leave yet,” Bahorel said, a wave of guilt washing over them.
Courfeyrac waved them off. “I’ve been ready to leave since I saw that chick give you a talk on transgressive fashion, very 2019,” he grinned, “Plus, I heard R has the shits. News spreads fast.”
Courfeyrac walked ahead of them, paying no mind to their stuttering. “You mind if we make a quick stop before I drop you home?”
Courfeyrac had said he needed to stop at the Musain to pick Combeferre up, but they weren’t expecting all of their friends to be sitting at their usual booth.
“Are you having a meeting without us?” Bahorel asked, aiming for a joking tone, but the evening had been long and insecurity bled through.
“Enj, Feuilly and I came here to sit and finalize the pamphlets we’re distributing this weekend,” Combeferre said, gesturing at the papers in front of them. Courfeyrac smiled, sitting down next to him.
“Believe it or not, Joly and I came here to pick Musichetta up for a date. R just heard Musain and we’re all here now,” Bossuet said, eyeing them, “But that’s hardly the most interesting thing in the room. What’s going on here?”
Bahorel felt their cheeks go hot. “We went to a costume party dressed as each other.”
“This is the least amount of lace I’ve ever seen you in,” Grantaire said, his head lolling dangerously on Enjolras’ shoulder, “Even your nightgowns have lace. You sewed lace trim onto your work out shorts.”
“Do you like it?” Jehan ventured.
“You look like the beginning of a lumberjack porno, hot but not real.”
Jehan smiled genuinely for the first time in hours. “Only you could say something so heartwarming and crude at the same time.”
Grantaire unsuccessfully winked, shooting finger guns at him. “And you,” he said, pointing at Bahorel, “You look like goth Prince Diana.”
“Princess Diana?” they hazarded.
“No!” he replied, with fervor, “The one with the lasso, the superhero.”
“Diana Prince,” Combeferre corrected, “Wonder woman.”
“Yes,” Grantaire said, with an equal amount of fervor, “You’re fucking huge, I love you so much but I cannot see your head.”
Bahorel let out a startled bout of laughter, bending down to press a kiss onto Grantaire’s hair. “You smell like whiskey, man.”
Grantaire grinned. “Guilty.”
Enjolras stood, slowly dislodging himself. “How about I drive these guys home, Courf can catch a ride with Ferre.”
Courfeyrac looked like he was trying very hard not to smile. “Absolutely, sounds like a wonderful idea.”
Enjolras slowly guided Grantaire out of his seat, one arm firmly around him to keep him upright.
They climbed into the backseat, three different levels of inebriated, as Enjolras took the wheel.
“So,” Enjolras said, as they started, “Full disclosure, Courf texted me before you guys reached saying the party might have been a little…difficult and I don’t know the details, but-”
“Enj,” Bahorel said, their eyes already stinging with preemptive tears, “Please don’t give me a horribly touching speech about gender today, I will cry.”
Jehan reached over Grantaire to take their hand.
“No speech,” Enjolras said softly, “But can I just say one thing?”
“Sure.”
“Clothes and gender and presentation and all that- they’re all made up things. Your comfort- that’s not made up. You dress however makes you feel best, fuck anyone who makes you feel like that changes anything.”
“Fuck yeah!” Grantaire slurred, making the rest of them laugh.
“Thanks, Enj.”
“Comfy?” Jehan asked, as he got under the covers with Bahorel.
Bahorel nodded as they scrolled though the downloaded shows on Jehan’s laptop. They mindlessly clicked on a sitcom, letting the bright colors overpower any cruel thoughts they might still have. They settled into the bed, the soft, worn cotton of their old sleep shirt felt soothing against their skin.
“I like this,” they said, plucking at the strap of the nightdress Jehan had on.
They wrapped an arm around Jehan, pulling him in closer and tucking the blanket around him. Jehan felt the tension drain out of his body, winding his arms around their waist.
“Sorry this didn’t go better,” Jehan said. “It was supposed to be a fun little thing. It would have been if everyone hadn’t reacted so shittily.”
Bahorel ducked his head. They were both thinking the same thing, and they knew it. “Not everyone.”
“You know what would make this better?” Bahorel said, their voice drained from the day.
Jehan fished his phone out from where it had gotten lost in the balnkets. “Pizza?”
Bahorel smiled softly. “Pizza.”