Chapter Text
“I’m sorry, it’s just…” Courfeyrac sighed, shielding his eyes from the sun as they sat down in the café, mugs of iced coffee in hand. “I thought I met my soulmate yesterday.”
“Must have been a confusing couple of days for you.” The smaller man grinned slightly. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself, by the way. I’m Jehan, usually known as Jean Prouvaire McAfree.” He held out his hand, and Courfeyrac shook it, grateful that the man was distracting him from his whirlwind thoughts. “So, what did you say that your soulmate’s tattoo said?”
“Just hi.” Courfeyrac shook his head sadly, taking a long drink of the coffee. “Anyone could have been his soulmate. I guess that we both thought…you know.”
“And then I met you.” Jehan smiled again, once, briefly, before falling back into his puzzled gaze. “Can we take these to go? I’m actually supposed to be meeting with your agent.”
Courfeyrac got a sick feeling in his stomach. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Oh, didn’t he tell you?” Jehan asked, standing up. “He’s hired me to collaborate with you on a couple of tracks on your next album.”
“On the violin?” Courfeyrac wasn’t normally this stupid, but he could feel the dread starting to pile up in his stomach. Surely this wasn’t how you were meant to feel when you truly met your soulmate? Surely it was meant to be – well, meant to be like when he’d met Combeferre. “Of course, yes.” He forced himself to stand up as well, to take hold of Jean’s hand (he couldn’t bear to call him Jehan, the familiar, not even in his mind), to leave the café with him, all the while feeling utterly wrong.
oo
“Has he texted you yet?” Enjolras asked heatedly, walking urgently towards Combeferre in their usual meeting place. “It’s been three days.”
“No. I’m sure he will, though.” Combeferre, in fact, wasn’t sure at all, and had been feeling icy fingers of upset crawling through his body ever since that evening. Too many people had said “hi” to him in the last few days to eradicate the possibility that Courfeyrac was, in fact, his true soulmate.
The fact was that, for the first time in his life, Combeferre didn’t know what to do.
Enjolras was beginning to talk again, so Combeferre forced himself to listen again. “Grantaire texted me last night. He got fired the day after the party so he’s out job-hunting at the moment, but he’s taking me out on Saturday.”
“Isn’t he a bit old for you?” As soon as Combeferre said it, he regretted it – Enjolras had always been sensitive about how young he looked for an eighteen-year old, so pointed it out was hardly a charitable idea.
Enjolras bristled. “He’s only twenty. He’s a professional musician and he loves mythology and cats and I hardly think age comes into the equation, Combeferre.” Combeferre winced internally – he always knew when Enjolras was irritated, because it was the only time when he called his best friend Combeferre instead of ‘Ferre.
“I’m sorry, Enj. It’s been a long day.” A day full of disappointment and missed calls and blues songs, but Combeferre wasn’t about to tell Enjolras that. “I just really wanted him to get in touch again.”
“And he will. Come on, you guys were getting on like wildfire!” Enjolras took his friend’s hand as comfortingly as he could. “He’ll text. I know he will.”
Three days later, when the news hit television screens everywhere, Combeferre didn’t react as explosively as he had thought he would. Instead of bursting into tears or demanding an explanation, he simply rolled over on the sofa and curled into a ball, convinced that he had lost the one person he knew he was meant to love.
oo
“So, here we have the most successful jazz singer of modern times, Courfeyrac DeLacey, who will be releasing his new album next year.” The lacquered TV host grinned at him through a haze of lipgloss and blonde hair, prompting Courfeyrac to bare his teeth in reply. “So, how are things going for you, Courfeyrac?”
Dan had given Courf a list of answers with strict instructions to answer them verbatim and to not deviate from the pattern. Courfeyrac now knew every word by heart, and so replied, through gritted teeth, “They’re going well, thank you, Lisa. Both in terms of the album and…” oh my god he had to say it or he’d lose everything “..and in private as well.”
“In private?” Lisa guffawed, a strand of blonde hair sticking to her lipgloss. “I believe you turned eighteen recently. How has that been going for you?”
Or Dan will leave and your career will be on the floor. “Very well, so far. Everything seems normal, and I’m enjoying being able to go out a little more.” That got some laughs, because that was the standard answer – you go out, you enjoy yourself, you find your soulmate. That’s how it works.
“A little bird tells us that there is someone special who you met just a few days ago.” Lisa turned to the audience. “We want to hear everything! How did you two meet? Who is he?”
And you wouldn’t want to fail, would you, Courfeyrac? Not after you built yourself up from nothing. “His name is Jean Prouvaire.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. “And he is my soulmate. We met when I crashed into him coming out of my agent’s office and knocked his papers everywhere.” Forcing a grim smile onto his face, he sat through the cooing that followed, knowing that the news would be everywhere within a few minutes.
Combeferre would find out.
oo
“Combeferre?” Enjolras knocked tentatively on his friend’s door, a few months later. “Can I come in, buddy?”
“Sure.” Combeferre pushed his glasses onto the top of his head. “It’s been a while, Enj.”
“It has.” Enjolras stood, awkward, out of place, uncomfortable. The room was almost bare now, all the CDs, posters, memorabilia that had been devoted to Courfeyrac having been thrown out. Now, there were a few moths pinned to display boards on the wall above Combeferre’s bed, some quiet classical pieces playing on the stereo, and Combeferre’s desk was littered with scraps of paper. “What are you doing, then?”
“I’m writing a paper.” Combeferre’s eyes lit up, having been accepted to study Psychology and Education at university in the next year. “Just to consolidate my uni place. It’s about the placebo effect in relation to the Soulmate convention.”
“What are you using as a case study?” Enjolras asked, almost knowing what the answer would be.
“Fans who meet their celebrity idols.” Combeferre swept some books off the bed and motioned to Enjolras to sit down. “I think it’s fascinating. In what circumstances can an echo of the Soulmate connection be felt outside of a true Soulmate relationship?” His eyes flicked up to the moths, to some postcards he’d had from friends over the years. “It felt real, Enjolras.”
“I know it did.” Enjolras sat down on the bed and sighed, picking up one of the books. “Clinical Psychology, huh? Are you excited?”
“I’m excited to be getting out of London. Out of the country.” Combeferre had been accepted to University College Dublin, and was leaving in the middle of September. “It’s something new, isn’t it? How are you and Grantaire, by the way?”
“We’re doing fine.” Enjolras fiddled with the collar of his shirt. “We went to a Beethoven concert a few nights ago, which was interesting.”
“When’s the wedding?” Combeferre asked, only half-joking. Enjolras had been acting as if he were literally cemented to Grantaire’s body over the last few months, which was why he barely saw his best friend any more. “Do I get an invitation, or will I scare the children?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Shaking his head, Enjolras stood up again. “I actually brought something for you. From Grantaire. I don’t know what it is, or what you need it for, but that’s what I came to say.” He wiped fiercely at his eyes. “I hate to see you like this, Ferre. Will you come out with us tonight?”
Combeferre took the proffered piece of paper and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. “Thanks, but no. I want to get this essay finished.”
Enjolras shrugged, before reaching out a hand to shake Combeferre’s, and then changed his mind completely and swept his friend up into a hug. “Please come back to Les Ami’s, ‘Ferre?” he asked quietly, referring to the political group that both belonged to. “It’s not the same without you.”
“I can’t.” Grantaire would be there. Grantaire, Enjolras, all his other friends who now pitied him. “I’m really sorry, Enjolras.”
“It’s okay.” Enjolras looked like he was about to say something, but instead hurried out of the room.
oo
“What do you mean?” Courfeyrac’s mother almost yelled, her strong Irish accent penetrating even the hundreds of miles between them. “You’re getting married?”
“Apparently so.” Courfeyrac sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand. Jehan had moved in with him only a couple of months ago, but Courfeyrac was already beginning to feel the stress. And Dan’s most recent announcement – that he and Jean Prouvaire would be getting married as soon as possible, to enhance both of their career prospects – had thrown him into even further discomfort. He’d tried to smuggle a message to Combeferre via Grantaire when he’d actually seen the man in a bar one evening, but he’d not heard anything back.
He’d all but given up hope, and had resigned himself to the marriage as far as letting his family know of his impending nuptials.
“And you’ve only told us about this now?” His mother screamed. “We didn’t even hear about your tattoo, we’ve not met your soulmate, and now you’re getting married?”
“It’s not my fault!”, Courfeyrac shouted back, finally losing his temper. “Dan’s not letting me talk to anyone about anything so that he can sell it to the right newspaper when anything happens to me.”
“There’s no need to get angry, love.” His mother’s voice was reproachful. “I was just saying, you’re our flesh and blood, and we miss you.”
Courfeyrac thought back to the cottage in County Mayo, where he’d started out playing piano in the sitting room for his family, the smoky, foggy air stirring in the evening. Then, it had been pubs, hearing the clink of beer glasses as he attempted to create the same atmosphere, until the magical night when Dan had heard him and taken him on. Then to Dublin, Belfast, Manchester, London, and there he’d stayed ever since.
“I miss you too.” He pressed a knuckle to his mouth to try and stop himself crying because there’s no way out of this, Courfeyrac, marrying your soulmate is what you were destined for all along. “You are all invited, don’t worry.”
“But how will we afford the fare, love?”
“I’ll pay. For all of you. The aunts and grandparents as well.” Courfeyrac’s family, one of the battiest and largest in Mayo, was famed for being both incredibly generous and universally broke. “Please come.”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Courfeyrac started as he heard Jean’s key turn in the front door. “And I’m desperate to meet this Jehan boy. What’s he like? Is he good to you?”
You’re lucky that he would take you at all, with the way you’ve been acting. “Yeah, mum. He’s good to me.” Courfeyrac swallowed the lump in his throat. “Look, I’ve got to go. Talk to you soon, mum.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” He could almost hear her rolling her eyes, and smiled. “See you soon, son.”
oo
“Combeferre.
The first thing to say is that there is no excuse for how I have acted towards you. I am so, so sorry if I have caused you any pain.
The second thing to say is that this was all a mistake. Jean Prouvaire is not my soulmate. I’ve known it ever since he said those words – there’s not the same feelings as I had with you, and I’m scared. I’m scared all the time that I’m being forced to get married to a man I don’t love.
The third thing to say is that there is a reason this is arriving with you so covertly – I’ve been banned from discussing my relationship, tattoo or soulmate with anyone, so I had to send it via Grantaire, who I only met by chance in a bar a couple of days ago (although it may, by now, have been a couple of weeks – you can never rely on Grantaire post).
Essentially, what I’m trying to say is that I need a sign from you. One sign, and I’ll break this off and I’ll leave my career if that’s what it takes. I just know that when I was with you, everything felt right and brilliant, and, even if we’re not true soulmates and have to live outside of society for the rest of our lives, I’d be alright with that. I think that’s what I’m trying to say, anyway.
I’ve never been more sure of saying these words, so here goes.
I love you.
oo
Courfeyrac bounced up and down on his heels nervously, clicking his tongue as he adjusted the buttons on his uncomfortable suit jacket. Jean Prouvaire, looking perfectly natural in his skinny jeans and striped blazer, sent him a few strange looks. “Are you okay, love?”
Courfeyrac suddenly turned. “I can’t do this, Jean.”
“It’s just jitters,” Dan replied, tapping away at his smartphone. “You’ll be fine. All you have to do is smile, announce the engagement and then you can leave.”
“But I –“
“That’s all you have to do,” Dan repeated firmly, jabbing. “And you’re going to do it, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Just jitters.” Courfeyrac smiled as best as he could, but didn’t miss Jean’s curious glance. “We’re doing this, after all. It’s not like I can just – “
His phone vibrated, and he shook it out of his pocket almost subconsciously, seeing a text from an unrecognised number and opening it.
“You wanted a sign. This is it. C.”
And there he stood, absolutely paralysed, while the backstage runners started to try and manouver him and Jean towards the stage door. This couldn’t be happening.
Dan grabbed his hand and motioned at him wordlessly to put his phone back in his pocket, just as the announcer read out their names to storms of applause. Shoving it back in his pocket, Courfeyrac thought for a second before giving Dan the finger as the pair of them walked out onto the recording stage.
“So, Courfeyrac!” It was the same presenter – Liza? Lena? – but with a different lipgloss – this one was redder somehow. “It’s been a few months since I last saw you and I gather that the pair of you have some very big news!”
Courfeyrac gave Jehan a desperate look, and was shocked to see utter contentment on the man’s face. Smiling a little, Jean nodded and mouthed, “It’s okay.”
Turning to face the canned audience, Courfeyrac gulped and began to speak.
oo
“Actually, the big news is that I will be retiring from music, effective immediately.” Courfeyrac swallowed, hearing shocked gasps from Lisa, from the audience, and faint sounds of swearing coming from backstage. “I have decided that, due to creative differences, I can no longer work with my agent and with…” Jehan gave him a gentle nod. “…and with my band. Thank you all for supporting me over my short albeit fun career, and thank you for being there for me over the last few months.” Not knowing what to do, he stood up, took an awkward little bow and left the stage.
Combeferre simply sat there for a second with his mouth hanging open, even two days later, when the chat show was shown on TV. “What the hell did I just watch.”
“I’m not even sure.” Enjolras and Grantaire were both sitting next to them, their mouths hanging open. Enjolras was the only one still capable of talking. “It seemed that he just dumped his boyfriend, his agent and his career all in one go.”
“On TV,” Grantaire whispered. “The boy has balls.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with you, does it?” Enjolras asked in an almost accusatory tone. “What? I thought you were over him?”
Grantaire simply pulled a cushion out from underneath his head and whacked Enjolras with it. “He’s not over it.”
The doorbell rang over the increasing sound of squabbling, so Combeferre stood up, regarded his best friend and their boyfriend fighting fondly, and headed to get it. The rest of his family were out for the evening, so they had their house to themselves, and Combeferre had invited Enjolras over because, fuck it, he was getting lonely and he’d be going to Dublin in a couple of months, so what better chance would he have to smooth things over?
The door, when he opened it, was not the cold caller he expected.
“Hi.” Courfeyrac smiled hopefully up at him from the bottom of the steps, the evening light glowing on his cheeks and the small bunch of (really ugly) flowers he held in his hands.
Combeferre simply shook his head and smiled. “Can I get you a drink?”