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Residency is hard. Residency in Brooklyn, one of the most crime ridden boroughs in New York? That's really hard.
Now Combeferre was no stranger to hard work. Being a first generation college student with parents who had nothing but love and a small Indian restaurant meant he had to fight. He fought his way to the top of his high school class. He worked two jobs during pre-med and worked three during medical school at Columbia.
When his medical career began, he knew the fight wasn't half way over. He still had loans to pay and competition between residents was ruthless. But, he told himself, this was why medicine in America was so great. Only the most intelligent and diligent students were given the chance to become doctors.
But it wasn't as if he hadn't had help along the way. Les Amis were his best friends and biggest support throughout his education. Joly, Feuilly, Musichetta, and Cossette were older and had been through the hell that was residency. Bossuet and Bahorel were always the best drinking partners, ready whenever Combeferre needed to let go. And Enjolras was his roommate.
Les Amis dubbed them platonic life partners. Which was more accurate than either would admit. Enjolras, a young lawyer, was his confidant and friend. Combeferre loved him. Really. Truly.
And yet sometimes, the two were not a good combination. Enjolras, with his passion and drive and Combeferre with his wisdom and work ethic. The two were a habitual nightmare.
Sleeping, eating, and bathing were chores. They were only to be carried out if absolutely necessary.
So after hours and hours of pouring over medical journals, hunched over his laptop, Combeferre wasn't surprised that he developed a crick in his neck and pain just about everywhere else.
He spent hours on his feet and often slept on unforgiving mattresses in the on-call rooms.
But if growing up with very little taught him anything, it was that complaining got you nowhere in life.
So he suffered in silence.
That is, until he woke one morning on his day off, unable to tilt his head more than an inch without feeling an unbearably sharp pain.
“Combeferre? Why are you calling so early?” Joly mumbled, clearly not completely awake.
“I really don't mean to alarm you,” he sighed.
“You should never start a sentence like that, ‘Ferre.”
“It's just that I'm to be in an immense amount of pain,” he stated frankly, moving stiffly to the living room where Enjolras lay asleep on the couch.
“Oh, dear. Should I come over?”
“No, it's not an emergency. It's just neck and back pain that's been building up for quite some time. And now I can't really move my neck and it’s really inconvenient,” Combeferre explained.
“Oh. Well, I have the number of a wonderful chiropractor! Dr. Courfeyrac, private practice, best in New York.”
Joly then rattled off a cell number he implored Combeferre to call. “And don't worry about money. Tell him you're a resident and that you know me and he'll give you a decent rate.”
Combeferre nodded and then winced at the sharp pain that came from the slightest movement.
“Good Vertibrations Chiropractic, how can I help you today?” a ragged voice drawled. Combeferre huffed out a laugh at the gaudy pun of a name.
“Oh, um this is Ariz Combeferre. I was referred to Dr. Courfeyrac by a friend. I was wondering if I could make an appointment as soon as possible. I have really limited neck movement and really unbearable pain.”
Combeferre knew how to efficiently describe symptoms. Because day after day, people came in just telling him they ‘felt funny’.
“Ooh lucky you. Two hours from now, there's been a cancellation. I'll be sure to write you in.”
Combeferre sighed in relief. Maybe he wouldn't have to down a bottle of Advil.
“Our office is on the corner of Meade and Harvey, you can't miss it. Right next to a Starbucks. Oh, and would you mind telling me who referred you here?”
“Ah Dr. Joly, head of cardio where I'm in residency.”
“Jollllly!” The receptionist laughed. “Tell him Grantaire needs a word with him about a troublesome blonde.”
Combeferre chuckled and winced again.
-
The walls were lilac. Combeferre knew private practices could be a bit unorthodox but this was the first place of medicine, omitting pediatrics, that had pastel painted walls. And bright orange chairs.
He took in the sight of the lobby and laid his eyes upon the front desk, where a man sat with his feet up, reading a graphic novel.
Enjolras frowned at this. He had insisted on accompanying Combeferre, to make sure the practice wasn't sketchy.
It wasn't sketchy, so much as… flamboyant.
“You must be Combeferre and - oh goodness it's fair Apollo! Long time, no see!”
Enjolras rolled his eyes and blushed and Combeferre knew Something was up.
“Grantaire, didn't know you were actually employed. Thought you just sat in the Musain drawing and antagonizing me all the time,” Enjolras replied haughtily.
Grantaire chuckled jovially. “Had to find some way to find my caffeine addiction, didn't I?”
Combeferre watched in amusement as the two bickered. Well, Enjolras bickered. Grantaire mostly taunted him and smirked.
Combeferre cleared his throat after a few minutes.
Enjolras could be quite tedious when he was smitten.
“Oh Combeferre, sorry. You can go to the back,” Grantaire said and immediately returned to their argument.
Combeferre walked down a long hall and assumed that the open door was intended for him. His neck and shoulders and back cried out in protest at every minute movement.
He knocked on the door frame hesitantly, peering inside.
The room had a long cushioned table with a headrest that Combeferre assumed was for adjustments. There were white cabinets on one wall and a desk with a large computer. The walls were all a baby pink and had certificates of medicine hung on them. Light from the sunny day filtered into the room.
A short man sat with his back to the door, curly black hair a haphazard tangle. He spun around quickly and the mischievous angle of his eyebrows and the glint in his eye let Combeferre know that the decor of the office was his doing.
He sprung to his feet quickly, holding out a strong hand with a winning smile.
“Good morning! Well not good for you, I suppose. Hopefully I can remedy that. Please, take a seat,” the doctor gestured to the table and Combeferre stiffly complied.
“I'm Dr. Courfeyrac, but please just call me Courfeyrac. So, Ariz Combeferre, was it?” Courfeyrac asked, grabbing a clipboard and standing in front of Combeferre.
He nodded and then winced, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.
“So Combeferre, what's a cute young thing doing in place like this?”
Combeferre flushed, thankful for his dark skin. “I have some pretty severe pain in my neck, along with mild shoulder and back pain.”
Courfeyrac glanced up from the chart. “Says here you're a resident?”
Combeferre swallowed guiltily. “Yea, I don't exactly have the best posture or habits, I'll admit.” Usually Combeferre didn't embarrass easily. But somehow he wanted to impress this man.
“I know the drill. Long hours on your feet, terrible diet, sleeping in on-call rooms. And I'd peg you as a workaholic,” he said, a sympathetic smile on his face. Really, did the man ever not smile?
“Unfortunately.”
Courfeyrac stepped closer, pressing his fingers into Combeferre's shoulders and neck, asking where it hurt.
“Tilt your head for me,” he murmured.
“I can't.”
“Try.” Courfeyrac's brown eyes were hopeful.
Combeferre did, his head only going a few inches with his fingers gripping the edge of the table before he called out in pain.
“Alright, alright. How long have you been experiencing this pain?”
“Woke up and bam. Excruciating pain,” Combeferre replied.
Courfeyrac frowned, and walked around the table to stand behind Combeferre. “Alright, it sounds like an acute subluxation with subacute discomfort. Basically just fancy words for long term discomfort that built up. I'm gonna make a few adjustments,” Courfeyrac explained.
“Can we do it soon?”
Courfeyrac laughed, loud and happy. “Of course. I'm gonna make a couple joint cavitation adjustments. And I know you're a doctor so fancy words don't scare you but really, cavitation is just the release of gas,” Courfeyrac giggled. “So if you'd take of your shirt, we can begin.”
Combeferre went to take off his shirt and the pinching sensation flared. He winced, his arms going back down.
“Here, just lift your arms,” Courfeyrac said. He moved to Combeferre's front and lifted the shirt as quickly as he could. “There, all done.”
Combeferre blushed under Courfeyrac's not so subtle gaze.
“You don't seem like the type of guy to have ink,” Courfeyrac mused.
“You don't seem like the type of guy to have a chiropractic practice, but here we are.”
Courfeyrac chuckled and moved behind the table. Combeferre jumped at the feeling of warm hands on his shoulders.
“This is just to release a little tension before the adjustment,” the chiropractor explained and his fingers began to massage the tense muscles in soothing circles.
Combeferre sighed and his eyes drifted shut. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this, even if it was just a very attractive chiropractor.
The press of fingers and the feeling of steady breath against his neck would have almost killed him into sleep if it weren't for the pain he was still in.
“So, in a moment I'm going to make two adjustments. It won't hurt. You'll hear a couple pops. Okay?”
Combeferre nodded his eyes still closed. He felt the heels of Courfeyrac's hands on the sides of his face, holding his head straight.
“I want you to inhale through your nose.” Combeferre obeyed. “And exhale through your mouth.” When he did his head was jerked to the right, a sharp crack, sounding through the room.
“Oh,” Combeferre breathed.
“Breathe in, breathe out,” Courfeyrac instructed and Combeferre's neck made another startling noise.
His hands continued their circling motions on his shoulders, warm and steady. Really, he needed to not get an erection right now.
Courfeyrac circled around to Combeferre's front. “How do you feel?”
Combeferre rolled his neck. “Oh my god, you're magic,” he groaned.
“Nah, just a doctor. Although, when I was child I made my little sister disappear.”
Combeferre laughed. “Where did she go?”
“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Courfeyrac smirked and tapped his nose. “Alright what was your level of pains when you came in, scale of one to ten?”
“Ten being the worst?” Courfeyrac nodded. “Probably a nine.”
“And now?” Courfeyrac asked with an easy grin.
“A two. Just some residual discomfort in my lower back,” he responded.
“Oh god, it's attractive when people are competent,” Courfeyrac muttered, as he sat at his desk to scribble down some information.
“What?”
“What.”
Combeferre and Courfeyrac were staring at each other, both unsure that Courfeyrac had actually just said that.
“You can put your shirt back on now,” the chiropractor said with a smirk.
Combeferre flushed and retrieved his shirt. Putting it on was much easier than taking it off had been. Both men stood.
“Well Mr. Combeferre, it was a pleasure to meet you! I hope you come back soon. I hope I wasn't too much of a pain in the neck. You seem like a really well adjusted person-”
“Why do I get a feeling you only have a practice so you can make awful puns?” he cut the doctor off with a chuckle.
“You didn't even let me get to the pick up line,” he whined with a pout.
“Out with it then.” Combeferre crossed his arms.
“Well now I've forgotten it!”
“Maybe I can take a crack at it,” Combeferre replied, stepping so close he could count the shorter man’s freckles.
Courfeyrac threw his head back and laughed. “That was awful.”
Combeferre gave him a peck on the lips.
“I know.”