I like the idea of Stanley actually calling LeFou by first name than by surname or (presumably) nickname, so for the purpose of this fanfiction LeFou's name is Jacques. Sorry for the lack of originality there.

"LeFou. Jacques. You know that I know that…" You know that I care for you is what it was meant to be, but the words hadn't managed to come out uninterrupted, or fully formed, or without him choking on his own saliva halfway through.

That was another of several attempts and Stanley had allowed himself to think, a little foolishly, that saying it in English might put an end to the anxiety-induced slip-ups; as it turned out, English was not is forte.

He drained the rest of his drink and looked away, hoping the noise level was loud enough to pretend he hadn't attempted to speak to begin with. Jacques seemed distracted anyway, almost like he wasn't completely present. He had been like that an awful lot since the castle incident.

Life was full of the joyful chaos of having the people they'd lost back in them with the snap of someone's fingers. That was daunting enough. Then there was him. Jacques. Lefou… then it was the disassociation of, at the snap of someone's fingers, having to live your life without the one person you'd shared it with the most.

There was no disguising how lost Jacques had been without Gaston. They'd gone through the war together, living practically on top of each other and came back to the village to live in much the same way, just because neither of them really remembered anything different.

Now Gaston was gone and Jacques still didn't remember anything different; his entire world had been turned on its head…

It was almost like Stanley needed to nudge him into place with little suggestions to get him to move at all for a short time. After that, it was just habit to keep an eye on him.

Has he eaten today? Has he come to get a drink? No? Pass me that plate. When was the last time you went riding? How about coming with us on a hunt? No, I don't need you to carry my gun... I... I want you to come.

He seemed the only one willing to do it, too.

Nobody had anything against LeFou… not really. There was a vague, unspoken indifference surrounding Gaston. People seemed too cautious to talk about it or too scared maybe, it didn't really matter. They were all content with pretending he had never existed, which put Jacques in a horrible grey-area.

He existed. He was here, but in what context they didn't know. They knew him as LeFou, Gaston's right-hand man, sidekick. Until they were forced to see him without the other, that's all he had been. They knew him as nothing but what he'd been with Gaston.

He doubted they knew his name. The first time Stanley ventured to call him by it, he barely recognised it himself.

"Jacques, are you going to the wedding?"

He gave a humoured smile, amused by how delicate it sounded compared to its counterpart. "You're calling me Jacques?"

"It's your name, is it not?"

"It may sound silly, but I don't really associate it with myself anymore. I don't think having a first name suits me."

"I think it suits you very well." Stanley smiled back. "So, the wedding...?"

"I suppose it'd be rude to turn down a royal invitation but I'm not sure I should, after everything."

"Nonsense." He exclaimed back with a smile. "You should go."

Something about Jacques made it hard not to spot him in the crowd. Maybe there was the part of him that was actively looking for him after their morning rituals had them missing each other by mere minutes, wondering whether or not he could bring himself to come. But now he had stopped him it was impossible not to.

He moved to his side once the dances had begun. "I'm glad you came."

"So am I." Jacques smiled back, almost like he'd forgotten until that moment what it was like to be surrounded by light and cheer. "I like dancing. There is something so intimate and wholesome about it."

There was something very beautiful with the spark of excitement in his voice as he said it that made it hard to look away from him, even for propriety sake. Stanley thought that maybe now would be the time to try again: to try and tell him with words that never failed to choke him, humiliate him, fail him at every opportunity.

"Jacques…"

"Yes?"

He stood with mouth only slightly open to speak and throat suddenly dry. Again. "I just thought you should… kn- well… maybe you should ask one of these ladies to dance."

The other opened his mouth to argue, or refuse the idea, or something more self-deprecating than Stanley was happy to see from him. It was easy to read on him, always had been, only now he felt like he could speak against it.

"No, you should. There are too many people stood by watching; let's reduce it by four."

No arguments then. Jacques turned to the woman on his other side, watching on wistfully with her friend, with that doubtful little smile just waiting to become that beaming brilliance with the acceptance of his hand.

She was gracious and pleasant enough also, in accepting his hand right down to concealing her surprise of his agility. Stanley couldn't help but notice how pleased he was with himself; Jacques held his head high with such pride and contentment, and he couldn't stifle his own smile in response to it.

Then he was dancing with him, and the room lit up somewhat with that beautiful, gentle smile he hadn't seen on the other since before… well, then. That is once the shock melted off his face somewhat.

From the outside he was sure they looked like two people caught up in the formalities of dancing amongst a technical mistake, politely awaiting the next opportunity to correct it. From the inside, they were glowing. Eyes caught but not restricted, hands tight but reassuring.

It was that comfortable closeness writers often neglect amongst the butterflies and fireworks.

They could have carried on dancing long after the song had ended and they both knew it. Secretly they both wanted too and did a very poor job of keeping it from dancing across their faces with their smiles.

Both bowed when it finally came and allowed their hands to slip from one another to applaud. It didn't hurt to do as it's so often written as. It was just as soft, and gentle, and full of that optimistic belief that having their hands connected was too natural an action to not happen again.

Jacques must have felt the same. As the applause died he turned back to the other man and will relatively little anxiety, he took a hold of Stanley's hands as though to lead him into dance again. "Whatever you've been trying to say-" he started, hands rhythmically tightening and loosening "-you've just said it."

The silence hung between them for a moment before Stanley, electing to soothe his raging thoughts and calm his raging chest, smiled and stepped forward to close the small amount of distance between them.

Jacques melted instantly and squeezed the other's hand that little bit more.

Thanks for reading x