Archive of Our Own ^beta

If there was one thing Courfeyrac was sure of, it was of the fact that he had always been, and probably always be, in love with his best friend.

 

Not Enjolras, patria, not Enjolras, no, he meant Combeferre.

 

The Intelligent Bastard who knew how to press on people’s nerves and still somehow drink himself half to death like his name was Grantaire.

 

It was infuriating.

 

But he still somehow managed to do it while looking good, not that Courfeyrac ever thought he didn’t look good, but he accomplished it somehow anyway, and that was enough to send Courfeyrac into a mental spiral.

 

He hadn’t been able to finish any of his advanced politics studies of the month, using nights he should have been studying to think about how soft Combeferre’s hair would feel in his hands. Enjolras yelled at him, sometimes, and Combeferre chided him too, but it didn’t stop.

 

To make matters worse, Courfeyrac was sure that Combeferre was subtly trying to pull away from being friends from Courfeyrac. To make that even worse, it was just Courfeyrac he was doing so.

 

He was just the same with Enjolras, smiling with all of his teeth like he normally did, giving advice and thoughts at meetings, encouraging Grantaire to come over and help take care of Enjolras when the fool got sick, speaking with Joly about coordinating a time to go out and talk at the park, a break from their medical studies, with Musichetta about a new drink she made, but anytime Courfeyrac was near, he dimmed down.

 

Courfeyrac wasn’t entirely not to blame, the touchy man being less touchy as of lately, every caress he gave to all his friends a subtle reminder that he would never truly have him.

 

Enjolras got better and fucked it up with Grantaire, the emotionally constipated men, let Enjolras cry into his shoulder while Combeferre made him the leftover tea the aforementioned boyfriend had left there, and then let him make Courfeyrac swear to not tell a soul he did.

 

Courfeyrac made sure with Jehan that Grantaire was okay, and they repaired it. Feuilly found a more stable job, Marius learned slang, and still Combeferre retreated into his shell and Courfeyrac was too much of a coward to run after him.

 

Late nights of pining turned into late nights of studying so deep he fell asleep in his textbooks and woke up with smudged mascara and eyebags no amount of foundation could hide.

 

He stops participating in meetings as much, a hearty triump for a member of the triumvirate, and it’s taken notice by everyone. Courfeyrac doesn’t care.

 

It continued like this no matter how many times he got yelled at by Enjolras, who was just concerned, for maybe 3 weeks in total.

 

His actions only come crashing down on him a september afternoon when Grantaire bursts in through the door wearing a red beanie Courfeyrac knows for a fact isn’t his, Jehan following behind him.

 

He stops his pacing, thinking and chewing on his thumb so hard it bleeds.

 

Grantaire raises an eyebrow, shutting the door carefully behind them as Jehan draws a bandaid for the mentioned thumb. It’s orange and has little pink polka dots on it and Courfeyrac starts wondering if Jehan started their own bandaid company and they didn’t realize.

 

“Hey Bestie.” Grantaire says, peeling back the covers of Courfeyrac’s navy sheets to reveal the grey beneath and rearranging the pillows that haven’t been used in so long they practically have dust collecting on them. “Quick question. What the hell is up with you?” He finishes, just as Jehan finishes putting the bandaid on his thumb.

 

“This is officially an intervention.” Jehan pipes in, looking at him with their hands on their hips and their platform converse in all black, outfit so normal that Courfeyrac knew he really was in trouble.

 

He knew how this had gone with Enjolras and his overworking, being thrown into bed, and so Courfeyrac peeled off his shirt, not caring enough, and tossing himself into bed, face down, letting out a big groan.

 

“It could have been worse.” Grantaire said.

 

“We had to bribe Enjolras to not help, and Bahorel had to physically restrain Joly from coming here to diagnose you with something like Lupus.” Jehan offered, trying to be bright.

 

“You’ve been watching too much House lately. It’s never Lupus.” Grantaire said again, and Courfeyrac managed the energy for a nod in agreement. It really was never Lupus.

 

“Whatever. Tell us what’s up, Courf.”

 

The bed dipped as someone sat on the bed, and Courf inferred it was Jehan, because Grantaire would have probably body-slammed him down if it was him.

 

A gentle hand rubbed at his back.

 

The thing was, Courfeyrac did want to talk about it. He wanted to talk about it so bad it hurted. Courfeyrac loved talking.

 

He didn’t want to talk about his love issues with the two people who had loving boyfriends who would probably kill for them. Which really wasn’t something for Montparnasse, Courfeyrac was still entirely sure that Montparnasse killed for fun, despite everyone telling him he didn’t.

 

But they were there for him, because they cared, and so Courfeyrac talked anyway.

 

“ I’m in love with ‘Ferre.” He said, tilting his head just slightly to let his voice out from the pillow, and the room went stagnant with silence for a second.

 

“That’s it?” Grantaire asked, sounding so genuinely concerned, Courfeyrac wondered why.

 

“Courf, everyone’s known for a long time that you were in love with Ferre.” Jehan said sympathetically, still rubbing small circles into their back, pushing on knots in muscles Courfeyrac didn’t even knew he had.

 

He just groaned and shoved his face further into the pillow.

 

“Why are you being all mopey about it?” Grantaire asked, sitting down as the familar squeak of Courfeyrac’s desk chair was pushed down.

 

“ ‘Cuz he doesn’t want to be friends with me, let alone anything more. I think I’ll die without him.” Courfeyrac moaned, feeling small raindrops slip down his face and into his mouth, a never ending channel of pain.

 

Grantaire muttered a small ‘tell me about it’, but was probably given a look by Jehan.

 

“What makes you say that?” Jehan asked, mediating with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, and they probably had. Jehan was there for just about everyone’s relationships.

 

“He’s been inching away from me, slowly. It’s just me. He doesn’t want to let me down, so he’s been taking the silent stage exit.” Courfeyrac let out a choked sob, emotions he didn’t want to face coming up and out his eyes. “Run away from Courfeyrac, we all know he’s in love with you!” He acted out, a theater kid still at heart.

 

“Oh Fey…” Jehan said softly, with something that wasn’t pity, but something more akin to the way your voice sounds when you know something but couldn’t share. Jehan always had been the best at keeping secrets.

 

Thinking about secrets made Courfeyrac think about his secret crush on Combeferre, which in turn made him cry harder. He was a mess.

 

There was a long pause, where none of the three people said anything, until there was the click of a pen, and Grantaire’s voice started talking.

 

“Why don’t we do something about it then?” Courfeyrac paused halfway trhough a choking sob. The pen clicked again. “I said that wrong. Why don’t we help you do something about it?”

 

Jehan said nothing, helping Courfeyrac’s shaking arms push himself off the bed, turning his mussed head full of curly hair that hadn’t been washed in a long enough time to smell horrible, but nobody commented on it.

 

“What…” A sniffle. “What do you mean?”

 

Grantaire held a thing of the colourful sticky notes Courfeyrac always had an abundance of, tapping the back of the pen he was clicking against it, peeling one off every few seconds to scribble on it.

 

“I mean, if you think that Combeferre is backing away from you, we can force him to not.”

 

Courfeyrac noted the careful choosing of the words that Grantaire had picked. Thought. He said Courfeyrac only thought that Combeferre was backing away. Not that he actually was.

 

The slow smile that spread across Grantaire’s face that was a mix of shame and deviance let Courfeyrac know that the younger man had been caught, that Courfeyrac had seen through his wording, because Courfeyrac always caught those things.

 

It was probably why they kept him around.

 

He was the most observant out of anyone.

 

Grantaire flipped the pen between his fingers with one of those tricks you learn in secondary school. He didn’t answer. Courfeyrac prompted him as Jehan’s hands left his back temporarily, rustling through fabric to find something.

 

“What do you mean ‘think that’. I know it.”

 

A dreamy sigh out of Jehan. It was likely meant to be exasperated, but everything out of Jehan was dreamy.

 

A phone slides in front of him. It’s a screenshot of text messages in a groupchat. Courfeyrac recognized the icons as those that Grantaire had saved for Combeferre and Enjolras. The group chat was titled ‘Sinister Homosexuals’ which also lead Courfeyrac to the reasonable conclusion that this was something of Grantaire’s design.

 

The group chat started on a horrific note. Literally. It was an image from Grantaire of a poorly written note in english, just stating;

 

“Your boyfriend is kissing his glasses friend.”

 

It wasn’t signed or anything, and you could practically feel the amusement and joy radiating off the following text message from Grantaire.

 

“Apollo? Ferre-y? Any thoughts?”

 

The timestamps were practically instantaneous.

 

“That wouldn’t even be physically possible.” From Enjolras.

 

“R, I would never.” From Combeferre. The first of two messages.

 

“Everyone here knows I’d rather kiss Courf anyway.”

 

The screenshot ended there, and Courfeyrac’s eyes glazed over.

 

He looked at the date of the conversation. A week ago. Maybe a week and a half. Time was difficult.

 

“He unsent the message right after that. I screenshotted it in shock, like I do with most funny text messages.” Grantaire paused. “And then I sent it to Jehan. And Feuilly. Just about everyone except you. He almost strangled me over it.”

 

“This is… real.” Courfeyrac processed, the cogswheels turning in his head, thinking about it slowly and delicately.

 

Jehan slid the phone away from him, like Courfeyrac was a drug addict. He slid the sleeve over his nose, and Grantaire tossed him the tissues from his desk.

 

“So? Do you want to do something about it?” Jehan asked, the chaotic neutral that everyone that knew them knew they were slipping out.

 

For the first time in what was a way too long time, Courfeyrac grinned.

 

“Of course I do.”

 

~~~

 

They didn’t get to work right away. Jehan verbally threatened Courfeyrac after tucking him into bed so hard he was practically suffocating in his sheets that if he tried to get out and think or study any more, the only type of kisses he would get from Combeferre would be ones that he was given in a casket.

 

Courfeyrac was afraid enough of Jehan that he believed them.

 

It wasn’t hard to fall asleep, and when they woke up there was a sticky note and a thing of what had come to be known as Grantaire’s dreaded Chamomile tea on his side table, still lukewarm.

 

The handwriting was loopy, but readable, unlike whatever Enjolras had going on. Jehan’s, then.

 

“Drink this when you wake up. E wants to help. Take a shower too. Xoxo. -Jehan.”

 

He drank it slowly, because however dreaded, the tea was still good, and Courfeyrac had been tired of living off instant coffee and the first thing he could scrounge up.

 

The shower burned his skin, so cold it could have probably killed someone, but it made him look rosy in the way only cold water did, and he always turned out bright red when he took hot showers, which was really impressive for someone with as much dark and tanned skin as Courfeyrac.

 

Thoughts of texts messages unsent or sent tilted over in his mind hundreds of times, as he finally let his poor law book collect some dust. He picked out an outfit that he actually put thought into, which was one of Feuilly’s flannels that had been shrunk at the laundromat, a t shirt he got for 35 cents at some flea market, and one of his best pairs of jeans, which really just meant they were tight and made his ass look good.

 

It’s only about 16 hundred when Courfeyrac finally emerges from the cocoon he had made into his room, to see Enjolras in their living area, a show on in the background (which he wasn’t paying attention to), and the smell of something that Courfeyrac had wet dreams about, probably.

 

Pancakes. It was a rare delicacy to find genuine, cooked food in the triumvirate’s apartment, unless made by Courfeyrac himself. Combeferre’s abilities were mediocre at best, and Enjolras could light an empty pan into a grease fire with a blink of his eyelids, and was strictly banned from trying to cook.

 

He didn’t even hold a candle to Joly regardless, but it was still bad.

 

It was likely Grantaire, who had probably stayed around to bother Enjolras, which really meant that Enjolras was complaining about his company because he knew that the more he complained the more likely Grantaire was to do something.

 

Enjolras’ blue eyes flitted up to Courfeyrac as he practically salivated at the aroma, and walked entranced, smiling at his friend and shaking his head, before returning to whatever he had on his computer.

 

“Grantaire just left. They should be fresh.” Enjolras said, and Courfeyrac only distantly heard him, picking up 3 of the pancakes that Grantaire had added blueberries into, before turning to rifle through their fridge for syrup to douse them in.

 

He wasn’t sure if Jehan would also kill him for overloading on sugar while recovering, but it would be a noble death if that was true.

 

There was no official table in the shared flat, foldable chairs stacked against an empty cupboard (they had gotten tired of putting them away anytime everyone came over), and some places at the counter, but with a friend group of 15 people, it was pointless to try and fit everyone at just one table.

 

So Courfeyrac took a plate and threw himself down across from Enjolras, who didn’t even flinch.

 

“How are you feeling?” Enjolras asked, voice calm, showing genuine concern.

 

“Better. Open to realizing how much of an idiot I am.”

 

“You’re not an idiot. I only think ‘Ferre realized because Feuilly literally pointed it out.” Aggressive hitting of the keyboard, before Enjolras frowned and shut the laptop. “He had a mild midlife crisis for three days straight.”

 

He was twirling a gold ring that only fit on his thumb around his fingers, and it seemed Grantaire wasn’t the only one stealing things, so Courfeyrac pointed it out. It was fun to tease Enjolras, when he turns the same colour as most of his shirts.

 

“Did you try and get your beanie back?”

 

Enjolras sighed, running a finger over his temple, the way he always did when he was trying to present himself as upset. When he was really upset he just started yelling.

 

“Try would be the keyword. When I noticed he was already halfway to the door, sticking his tongue out and saying ‘finder’s keepers’.”

 

Courfeyrac laughed.

 

“I was going to chase him, because I did like that beanie, but then he was running and I stood no chance of chasing him.”

 

“You were staring at his ass when he ran weren’t you.”

 

“Courf.”

 

Courferyac choked on his food with the blush that rose to Enjolras face.

 

“Oh, you so were.”

 

Enjolras scowled.

 

“Félix.”

 

Courfeyrac shrugged.

 

“Whatever you need to do to get it up, man.”

 

Enjolras lunged at him, and Courfeyrac shrieked, moving his plate out of the way, mouth half full of food.

 

“Not in front of the food!” He shouted as he and Enjolras wormed around on the small brown couch, not even hearing the front door open.

 

By the time Combeferre was in the front door and could see them, Courfeyrac was completely vertical, his pancakes on the floor despite still holding the plate, Enjolras’ legs twisted in between his somehow, the two wrapped around each other.

 

Combeferre just laughed, the melodic sound drawing Courfeyrac’s immeadiate attention to him like a bird hearing a mating call.

 

“You two seem to be having fun.” He commented, and Courfeyrac had missed seeing his face, but he still avoided Courfeyrac’s gaze, which broke his heart in some places, but his gaze landed on the pancakes, which was understandable.

 

He still wore the white lab jacket from his intern shift at the local ICU, and he was probably exhausted. Courfeyrac would offer himself as human pillow if he had no shame.

 

“So much fun.” Enjolras deadpanned, wriggling out from Courfeyrac, who frowned at his pancakes. He was going to have to vaccum that up. A waste of good food.

 

Combeferre laughed again, and it was the only sound Courfeyrac ever wanted to hear for the rest of his life, but he took his jacket off, and hung it in the closet, grabbing the small vaccuum and tossing it to Courfeyrac, who tried to lunge for it but was still upside down and somehow managed to knee Enjolras in the face.

 

The blonde groaned, holding his cheek as Courfeyrac held the vaccuum with success of catching it. Nobody went to help Enjolras, knowing he was mostly being dramatic, annoyed at the very best. Courfeyrac would make a joke about him complaining to Grantaire later and having him kiss it better.

 

Homosexuals.

 

Courfeyrac snickered at his own train of thoughts, like the maniac he really was. Combeferre grabbed a pancake and shoved most of it in his mouth like a chipmunk before grabbing the television remote and falling down next to Enjolras as Courfeyrac scooped up his wasted child.

 

Maybe things were going to be okay after all.

 

~~~

 

Things were not going to be okay.

 

Courfeyrac had attended a meeting with renewed interest for the first time in months, and not much had changed. Feuilly and Bahorel still tried to grope each other under the table when they thought no one was looking, Grantaire still drank anything he could get his hands on, and bickered loudly, and Marius looked completely terrified any time Enjolras or Combeferre looked his way.

 

Normal.

 

That wasn’t the issue. Courfeyrac could always do normal. He loved normal. The issue was that he had been cornered after the meeting by Musichetta who had locked the door after almost everyone who had left, Combeferre included, dragged away by Joly who insisted that they knew he hadn’t finished his forensics project, because he’d been complaining about it all month. He had.

 

Grantaire offered Courfeyrac a drink from where he was stood, while Enjolras scribbled furiously on papers with ideas, supposedly, before groaning and scrunching them up, and tossing them into the trash bin.

 

Jehan stared. Their hazel eyes were vortexes of mass destruction, especially when looking at Courfeyrac and asking him what he thought they should do.

 

“I have no ideas.” Enjolras said, throwing his hands up in the air with exhaustion.

 

Jehan looked at him politely.

 

“Enj, mon ami, in the kindest way, nobody was expecting you to have any ideas. It’s a miracle you got together with R, at least.”

 

Enjolras wanted to look upset, but he couldn’t find it in him, because Jehan was right. Grantaire was laughing.

 

Musichetta came back into the room, somehow having figured it all out, supposedly, nobody would confess to having told her. Courfeyrac wouldn’t put it past her to be omniscient.

 

She slid 5 drinks down, taking one herself, bright red and sparkling, and could probably kill someone if it was held by the wrong hands. Jehan took the ginger ale, Grantaire an orangina, suprisingly sober. There was a bottle of water with no label, and Enjolras took it, looking at Musichetta.

 

“Is this normal water? No added minerals?” He asked, like a superstious man.

 

Musichetta smiled.

 

“Spring water.” She said. Enjolras scowled. “Extra minerals.”

 

“It’s like licking a stalagmite.” Grantaire snickered, and Enjolras’s eyebrows twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

 

“Screw you guys.” He said, pulling off the top of the bottle.

 

“mm Cave water.” Jehan hummed and Enjolras’ cheek dipped where he was biting it to not burst out laughing.

 

It was a blessed distraction, but it didn’t last forever, as the attention soon turned back to him, with the knowledge that they had to do something, soon.

 

Courfeyrac took the sprite that was left for him, hoping it would get rid of the burning nervousness that remained in his throat.

 

The quiet silence that took over wasn’t one of uncomfortability, everyone had been friends with each other too long to ever be uncomfortable, but one of thinking.

 

“If Enjolras is out, does anyone else have any ideas?”

 

There was a long silence before Musichetta put her glass down, shooting up with an idea, running to grab something from a different room, like she had just remembered.

 

She returned less than a minute later with a book in hand, sticky notes sticking out of most pages, a silver bookmark near the back. It was a hard back copy of Romeo and Juliet, a book everyone knew well. Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow.

 

“Serenade him!” She said excitedly, flipping open her book to a part with a pink sticky, where Romeo was outside Juliet’s window.

 

“We live in an apartment complex, Chetta. I don’t think the other residents would appreciate that.” Courfeyrac joked, trying to pretend that the idea wasn’t as appealing as it was to him. He wasn’t that good at singing. At best Combeferre would turn around and walk out.

 

A mental image of the text flipped through his mind, and he took a deep breath as Jehan spoke.

 

“Then don’t do it at your apartment. There’s plenty of spaces around here for free or ones we can rent out, and we can make it all romantic.” They said, hazel eyes sparkling as they thought through their idea. With Jehan hooked, Courfeyrac was not getting out of it. It wasn’t the worst idea.

 

“Ok. Fine. Does anyone have any places?” He asked, a long pause following.

 

There was a loud groan from Grantaire as he tipped his chair back, front two feet off the ground. He took a long swig of his drink before speaking.

 

“I know a place. I was going to use it for a date myself, but for a higher cause, I suppose.” He sounded genuinely disappointed about it, and Courfeyrac almost felt bad. Almost.

 

Enjolras, on the other hand looked somewhere between in love and ticked off. He almost lunged at Grantaire, and however that would end was not something Courferyac wanted to see.

 

“I’ve told you to stop planning things! Let me do something!” He yelled at his boyfriend, and Grantaire stuck his tongue out at him, immature as ever.

 

Musichetta clasped her hands together, breaking apart from Jehan, the two romantics probably more excited than Courfeyrac was.

 

“It’s settled then! We just need a date-” She started, before the front door to the musain was thrown open.

 

Combeferre stumbled in, slightly out of breath, and glasses lopsided. All conversation ended so quickly you could have cut someone. Combeferre looked startled.

 

“What’s up with all of you?” He asked, practically a mutter, all 5 pairs of eyes trained on him like he was a ticking time bomb. “Geez. I just forgot my bookbag.”

 

Combeferre’s eyes lingered on Courfeyrac longer than anyone else, and it made Courfeyrac’s heart beat so fast it could probably explode, but it didn’t, and with a pat on Enjolras’ shoulder, Combeferre was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

 

Courfeyrac let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

 

Jehan let out a dreamy sigh.

 

“This is going to be so fun.” They beamed, like their plans hadn’t almost been exposed. “Courf, you and I can pick a song. Grantaire can play the guitar, if he needs to! Enjolras, can you get Combeferre there?”

 

Enjolras would say he didn’t pout, but that was exactly what he did.

 

“I’m bad with directions.”

 

Grantaire snickered, but looked his way with the endearment of love in his emerald eyes at his boyfriend before saying;

 

“You’ll be fine, Apollo.”

 

Enjolras scowled, but his ears were pink and Courfeyrac made a mental note to tease him about how head over heels he was later.

 

“I’ve got some decorations that we can use, and Jehan has an excessive amount of fairy lights. It’ll be something out of a movie.”

 

Courfeyrac smiled his best smile, trying to feign that his stomach wasn’t eating itself alive.

 

“Thanks, guys. Is it okay if I go get a breath of fresh air real quick?” He asked, but nobody was paying attention. Grantaire and Enjolras were bickering, some weird type of foreplay they had going on, and Jehan and Musichetta were talking about how they could set it up.

 

Courfeyrac felt like a side character in his own life.

 

He grabbed his bottle, moving into the backroom where meetings were normally and out the backdoor, past the stairs.

 

It was cold, the september air brushing against his skin with the intent to rot it prematurely, and he shivered as he let his back slide against the brick wall. There were daisies blooming along the cracks, a project that Musichetta and Co had started around the alleys of Paris to try and bring smiles to peoples faces.

 

A swig of his sprite hit his throat and it was freezing more now, the cold of outside seeping into the liquid. He finally understood why Grantaire drank so much, and he was just drinking a soda.

 

The door to the outside swung open, and Courfeyrac looked over to see Grantaire emerge, looking as concerned as Grantaire did when he was trying to play it cool.

 

“Where’s Enjolras?” Was the first thing out of Courfeyrac’s mouth as Grantaire took a seat next to him.

 

“Got a phone call. Figured I’d see how you were doing.”

 

“Peachy.” Courfeyrac said, but there was no convinction in it.

 

“Liar.”

 

Courfeyrac took a shuddering breath.

 

“I’m scared R. What if he doesn’t actually like me? What if the text was a fluke?”

 

Grantaire laughed, picking one of the daises from the ground, and twirling it back and forth.

 

“Texts like that aren’t flukes, Fey. And if it was? Just convince him to take a chance on you. Of all the things he may be, he’s not a fool.”

 

Grantaire’s tan hand reached over, still holding the daisy, and passed it to Courfeyrac, who gazed it with something nobody could ever name and walk away the same.

 

“For new beginnings.” Grantaire said, squeezing Courfeyrac’s shoulder, before standing up and turning back inside.

 

Courfeyrac couldn’t pick out how long he sat there, but Enjolras came out some time after that, hauled him up and they went home. Combeferre was scowling the rest of the evening, but Courfeyrac hardly paid attention, so overcome with emotions and that stupid little flower that for once in his life he didn’t catch onto the details.

 

~~~

 

The details got smoothed out over the next week, and the storm brewing seemed to cloud over Courfeyrac’s head that he barely even noticed his anxious anticipation.

 

Enjolras would (with very careful direction) bring Combeferre to the little secluded garden of bushes and an old tree, decorated fatefully by Musichetta and Jehan, the latter then agreeing to provide any backup vocals (after being talked out of bringing their entire harp) and Musichetta being ominous about what she was up to.

 

Grantaire said he’d bring his guitar, which Courfeyrac also partially thought was because Grantaire knew that Enjolras loved the damned thing, but R always had ulterior motives like that. It was one of his best qualities.

 

Courfeyrac woke up that morning with an anxious settlement in his bones, writhing throughout him, and he pretended not to notice. Combeferre was already awake, the white jacket that looked unbelievably good on him already on, shoveling coffee into a mug. His eyebags had gotten worse lately, but he avoided the answer to why anytime he was asked.

 

He had also been staying later and later at the hospital, which was concerning, but with the conviction that Enjolras had when he needed to get something done, Combeferre wasn’t going to be staying a minute longer than his shift ended.

 

Combeferre greeted Courfeyrac with a small smile, but it held no warmth, and something panged in Courfeyrac’s chest. He wasn’t going to back out. He couldn’t. Not now. Combeferre could hit him and punch him to the ground and Courfeyrac would accept it.

 

He had probably just slept weird.

 

Combeferre left, and Courfeyrac wasn’t surprised to see Enjolras passed out ever since Joly had prescribed him sleep medications and they had started confiscating his electronics at 22 hundred. He was more pleasant when he wasn’t about to pass out from lack of sleep.

 

The door creaked when it opened, and Enjolras stirred, but didn’t react, and Courfeyrac snapped a photo, because he looked hilarious. His blanket was half off the bed, and he was clutching a pillow with a jacket made of green flannel that Courfeyrac had seen on someone other than the local flannel wearer-Feuilly. His hair was unkept and Courf knew Grantaire was going to paint this, after complaining about not being there.

 

The flash was on, resulting in Enjolras flickering, and reaching over and throwing one of the pillow on his bed at Courfeyrac, who was undeterred as he sent the image off to the Les Amis group chat. Courfeyrac threw open the curtains, letting the sunlight in, resulting in a groan as Enjolras tumbled off the bed in a roll, rubbing at his eyes.

 

“I overslept.” Was the first thing he said.

 

“It’s 9:30, Enj.” Courf replied, going through Enjolras’ closet, even though he knew nothing good would be in there. Maybe he’d show up at Jehan’s and go through theirs.

 

His phone started buzzing in his back pocket with reactions from his friends, and Enjolras fumbled for his phone, the scowl on his face apparent even with Courfeyrac’s back to him.

 

“Courf-” He started, but Courfeyrac cut him off.

 

“Do you want food? I’m hungry.” He said, sauntering off, smirking at his friends giggling at the image, and Grantaire’s multitude of emojis. He pulled up a recipe that Joly had sent him awhile ago for healthy breakfasts and did his best to recreate it.

 

~~~

 

The day passed by in a blur. Grantaire came over at some point, switching out his green paint covered flannel for one that was, in his words, “not going to give him lead poisoning”. Courfeyrac was concerned about the type of paints Grantaire was using.

 

Jehan brought one of their dark blue dress shirts when they arrived, and Courfeyrac realized they had a pair of black slacks that would go great. Grantaire helped him choose out some silver jewelry, after Jehan brought out a pair of moon and star earrings they had found at a local charity shop, and a small chained necklace.

 

They spent way too long doing his makeup, eventually calling Cosette in because Jehan and Grantaire couldn’t decide if the lilac pink or the rose pink would look better, and were arguing about it, which meant they were both coming up with equally stupid reasons as to why they were better.

 

Cosette brought over her own shade, which was then unanimously agreed upon, and did his eyeliner too, because his hands were too shaky to do it himself. She was gone as quick as she came, a call from her boyfriend and girlfriend about Gavroche getting into trouble at school again, a kiss on the forehead and a paper star that Azelma wanted her to pass on. For luck.

 

Courfeyrac tucked it into his pocket, letting his finger run over it.

 

His hair was an easier task, stealing some of the styling gel that Enjolras swore he didn’t own, pulling the curls back slightly. They were easy to tame, even though one or two fell out of the pulled out style he wanted.

 

Time passed in a blur, and Enjolras returned from his class that Courfeyrac technically should have also been in, but wasn’t. He gave Courf a thumbs up and a tight hug before they left for the little park, letting Enjolras deal with venerating Combeferre from the prison of the local hospital.

 

It was evident Musichetta had been there just briefly before they had arrived, and it was a beautiful spot. Grantaire put his guitar down to help Jehan put up the lights around the tall bushes, and it was so evident why Grantaire had wanted to keep this place a secret.

 

Courfeyrac could write a thousand words and still never catch the whole aesthetic.

 

He pulled back his shirt, puffed up sleeves to look at his watch, a thing stolen from another of his friends (Marius, a gift from Cosette upon her quick venture to help him.). It was 18 hundred. 7 was the agreed upon time.

 

The tanned man pulled out his phone to see a message from Enjolras, just two minutes ago, to tell him that he had just left to get Combeferre. He let out a deep breath, and straightened himself to help set up.

 

Jehan threw a water bottle at his head when he moved to pick it up, before speaking without turning around.

 

“Warm up your voice. This is under control.” They spoke sweetly, meaning the best.

 

Courfeyrac wanted to protest, they really did, but the words wouldn’t come out of their mouth. They uncapped the water with their teeth, taking large gulps of it, even though that wasn’t really good.

 

Jehan and Grantaire moved as one, little dragon flies attached to fairy lights strung across bushes, wrapped in trees.

 

After they had finished, Courfeyrac watched them pull out fake candles, remembering the conversation they had about nature damage if something caught fire. There were also rose petals, which when Courfeyrac caught sight of, choked on his own voice so hard that he started choking.

 

Jehan snickered, spreading them out near the candles.

 

Grantaire’s phone pinged, and he pulled it out, before nodding at the two.

 

“Apollo says he’s five minutes away. Combeferre is super confused. It’s go time, team ‘Get Courfeyrac’s shit together so he can bone his best friend in peace’.”

 

“Since when was that the name? I had no say in this!” Courfeyrac said, but was shushed by Jehan and Grantaire, who picked up his guitar and started humming the background vocals to ‘Take a chance on me slowly.’

 

It was a hilarious song choice, and Grantaire’s fault mostly, but it fit and Courfeyrac had always been a fan of ABBA.

 

There was a rustling of the bushes, and the first strum of the guitar started playing, and Courfeyac took a deep breath before he let the words come naturally. He had known them since he was a boy.

 

“If you change your mind, I’m the first in line.”

 

Grantaire and Jehan echoed him with repeated ‘Take a chance’s over and over.

 

Courfeyrac saw Combeferre first, shoving through the bushes with a grumbling look on his face, before he saw Courfeyrac and went completely placid.

 

Enjolras moved around him, off to the side, but still watching.

 

“Honey I’m still free, take a chance on me.”

 

Courfeyrac forced him to smile, despite the lack of reaction, and continued with the song. Don’t think about him. Just the song. Just the song.

 

“If you need me, let me know, gonna be around.” A breath. “If you got no place to go when you’re feeling down, If you’re all alone when the pretty birds have flown.”

 

An echoey chorus, Enjolras humming silently.

 

“Honey I’m still free; take a chance on me.”

 

Combeferre was either about to strangle Courfeyrac or going through every emotion in the book, his face a silent twitch of monotone looks that only his longest friends could have interpreted.

 

“Gonna do my very best and it ain’t no lie.” A chord plucked. Jehan’s voice. Anything but Combeferre. “If you put me to the test, if you let me try.”

 

Approaching the end.

 

“Take a chance on me, that’s all I ask of you honey, take a chance on me.”

 

The guitar ended, and they all just stood there, waiting for some reaction. Courfeyrac’s heart dropped lower with each and every second. He had known it was too good to be true, but he had still hoped.

 

Combeferre let out a breath, less than a sigh, and took of his glasses, put them in his pocket, hands shaking. Tears started falling down his cheeks.

 

Oh, god. Courfeyrac had made him cry. He had fucked up so bad he made him cry.

 

Courfeyrac moved foward, on his tip toes to wipe the tears from his cheeks, to try and make this right. None of his friends said anything just watched.

 

“Oh, Ferre, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-”

 

Courfeyrac was cut off by Combeferre grabbing his wrists and putting them around the taller’s shoulders, kissing him delicately.

 

Combeferre tasted like nothing Courfeyrac had imagined. He tasted metallic, blood like he had bit his own tongue, and salty from the tears.

 

He broke away first, resting his head on Courfeyrac’s shoulder, still crying slightly.

 

“I thought you hated me.” He whispered, and Courfeyrac was sure he was losing it.

 

“Hate you? Ferre, I’m so in love with you I couldn’t look at you without being reminded of how I would unhook the stars and set them at your feet if you asked.” Courfeyrac was really bad at the nonchalant thing. Magnaimously bad.

 

“And I thought Enjolras was the biggest fool out of all of us.” Combeferre joked, voice no longer so tense, intertwining his fingers with Courfeyrac’s. There was a sound of protest from Enjolras, but was smothered by Grantaire quickly enough. “It’s you, Fey. It’s always been you.”

 

They stayed like that for several minutes, before Jehan spoke up, quietly.

 

“Now the first part of the surprise is over, let’s move onto the second part.” They snickered, and Courfeyrac broke away in confusion.

 

Second part? There was no second part. He hadn’t planned anything. He looked around in panic, but the smirks on his friends faces immeadiately told him they were up to no good.

 

“Uhoh.” Was all Combeferre said, before Enjolras and Grantaire smothered their eyes with ties.

 

Courfeyrac took a strong grip on Combeferre’s hand, even as Grantaire’s larger hand grabbed his and tugged away.

 

“See you guys soon, after I pick this up! Leave no trace.” Jehan shouted, as they were dragged away. Enjolras and Grantaire guided them out of the park, and Courfeyrac counted his steps. He heard the street noises, and a car start.

 

Hands grabbed his hips to help him up into the interior with the scent that he knew belonged to Bossuet’s van, the lilac and vanilla that Joly swore helped with carsickness.

 

“Why are we in Bossuet’s van?” He asked, and he heard a groan from the front seat.

 

“Oh come on! I told you R, that he would recognize it!”

 

“It’s fine, Lesgles, just drive, they still don’t know anything.”

 

Grantaire replied, as the vehicle lurched foward. Courfeyrac’s hand never left Combeferres.

 

He counted the seconds until they stopped moving permantely. 106 steps out of the part, 632 seconds from point A to point B.

 

Courfeyrac could only name one place within that distance from the park.

 

It was Cosette, Marius and Eponine’s place, a spacious home jokingly called Versailles by friends, because of its size. The size matched, considering how much both Cosette and Marius’ parents owned.

 

Courfeyrac didn’t speak his conclusion this time.

 

Out of the car, up the 4 stories to the penthouse they owned. Theory confirmed. He leaned over to Combeferre, up on his tiptoes.

 

“Versailles.” He said silently, a breathy ‘Oh’ his only response.

 

Courfeyrac could not possibly explain why that was so attractive.

 

A creaky door, the hinges that they kept oiling and kept squeaking. The stagnant air, silent but warm, alluding to people. Courfeyrac grinned even before the ties were taken off and the lights turned on.

 

All of the amis, excluding Jehan, who was no doubt not far behind, stood in front of them, in stupid party hats with streamers.

 

Behind them a banner that read;

 

“Congrats on figuring out you should bone!” With bone scratched out so it said “Congrats on figuring out you should get together!”, and Combeferre started laughing, Courfeyrac’s grin so wide.

 

Feuilly nudged Courfeyrac in the shoulder.

 

“When did you figure out this was happening?” He asked, knowing Courfeyrac.

 

“By the time Bossuet parked.”

 

“Smart bastard.” He was handed a beer.

 

Combeferre pressed a kiss to his temple as Courfeyrac opened it, and he turned a dark red. His friends made kissing noises. Courfeyrac gave them a look.

 

“I know the bad sides of all your getting together stories, can it.” He threatened, even though he didn’t really mean it.

 

There was a pounding up the stairs as Jehan threw the door open, out of breath, scarlet hair falling out of it’s braid.

 

“Damn it! Did I miss it?”

 

Everyone just giggled.

 

Montparnasse, there as the support for Jehan (See; so in love with Jehan he wouldn’t leave him alone), crossed the room to him, face clean, but eyes shining with that stupid look of love.

 

They started talking, everyone wanting to know the juicy details. Bahorel brought out some shit that he claimed was “the wine of the gods” to which Grantaire and Montparnasse both nodded, and handed out.

 

It was really good. High in alchohol count, but good anyway.

 

“Recreate it!” Cosette shouted at some point, when Courfeyrac was slurring his way through the story. This led to the front of the living room turning into a dramatic reenactment by Jehan and Grantaire, Grantaire playing Combeferre and Jehan as Courfeyrac.

 

For as dramaticized as it was, they did a fair enough job, Grantaire even breaking into tears as Combeferre went red.

 

It quickly turned into a karaoke session as Grantaire sang his own rendition of Take a Chance on me, a very drunk Marius stumbling up and singing waterloo.

 

This meant that he forgot half of the lyrics but somehow kept his composure, likely due to the alchohol, and Eponine and Cosette clapping along.

 

Courfeyrac took a seat on the love seat (ironically), and patted his lap jokingly to Combeferre, who shook his head and sat down next to him, yanking Courfeyrac onto his lap. Azelma, peering down from the second story made kissy faces at them.

 

Enjolras himself had quite a lot to drink, against everyone’s better judgement, since a drunk Enjolras meant a clingy and cuddly Enjolras.

 

The blonde himself tried to sing ‘I have a dream, failing, singing being far from his strong suit, which meant that Grantaire came up to hug him and “fix the song” as Enjolras begged him to.

 

Once they were all thoroughly wasted, except for Musichetta (and Grantaire, new DD once sober), who winked at Courfeyrac when he made a glance towards her false glass of beer. They knew something that likely only he, her and her boyfriends did. It was Jehan who made the suggestion to build a pillow fort.

 

Cosette and Eponine stumbled off to get more blankets, and Feuilly and Bahorel disappeared, nobody wanting to ask what they were going to do.

 

It was a good build, with their lack of architects. Joly fell asleep practically immediately, upon Bossuet, who let him, falling asleep not long after.

 

Marius cried as he tapped Courfeyrac on the shoulder, sniffling and saying he was so happy for them.

 

Grantaire carried a very drunk Enjolras over towards the new couple near 2 in the morning, Enjolras gnawing at Grantaire’s neck in a way that was only accustomed to drunk Enjolras.

 

“I’m taking him back to my place. That good with you guys?” He double checked, like he didn’t want them filing a missing persons report.

 

“I- hic- don’t want to hear you guys- hic- fuck. The walls are thin. The people- the people need thick walls. That- hic- will be our next meeting topic. Thick walls.”

 

He was interrupted by hiccups every few seconds, and Courfeyrac snickered.

 

Grantaire sighed, but he looked at Enjolras so carefully and lovingly, they both knew he had never been in better hands.

 

They left with a smile, Enjolras going back to making sure to cannibalize his boyfriend on the way out.

 

With one last drink, Courfeyrac and Combeferre left, early in the morning the stars shining and hardly any cars out.

 

Courfeyrac twirled under streelights, holding onto Combeferre’s hand the whole time.

 

They stole kisses between each star, leaving no room for anything but each other, by the time they made it back to the flat, they were giggling and more in love than even Romeo and Juliet.

 

“Did you really mean it when you said you thought I hated you?” Courfeyrac asked, tracing designs on Combeferre’s shirt.

 

“You were so distant, I didn’t know what I did. Then you and Enj started being so secretive, I thought you guys wanted me gone.”

 

Courfeyrac frowned.

 

“I’ve never wanted you gone. Call me R, but you’re the light in my life. My guide.”

 

Combeferre smiled, glasses pushed up on his face as he leaned in for a kiss.

 

“And you’re my center.”

 

The gentle rising sun filled in through the windows as they collapsed on Courfeyrac’s bed, both wasted and fully clothed, but so wrapped around each other neither cared.

 

Their hands never let go, not even in sleep.