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Combeferre isn’t Enjolras. You know that, you’ve always known that, but things happened that night and you like to think that they may excuse you in some levels (and even if they don’t, it’s not like you have a history of making good decisions anyway):
For starters, the alcohol was blurring your vision. Then, Combeferre started to make your headache worse by apologizing for Enjolras’s behaviour even if it isn’t really his fault that Enjolras hates you, truth be told, it isn’t Enjolras’s fault either, it’s all on you for being a useless drunk cynic who’s incapable of believing (of thinking/willing/living/dying/etc). Unfortunately you weren’t that drunk that night, you were still thinking and he was still talking, he was still apologizing for heaven’s sake and you had to make him stop.
So you kissed him. He kissed you back.
The touch of his lips and the touch of his hands were both gentle; he has always been gentle while Enjolras was severe and you feel like there’s something breaking inside your chest before you can ask yourself if it’s such a bad thing.
You woke the next day with the covers up to your chin and the room smelling like coffee. It wasn’t your room, it was too organized to be and it didn’t take you long to find him in an armchair, reading. He got up as soon as he saw you were awake and went to seat next to you in the sofá, then offered you coffee and began to explain that you had passed out at the party and that he brought you home with him because he didn’t know where you lived. When you asked if you two had kissed or if it was all a really good dream, he managed to avert your gaze, but not the blush that took over his entire face, completely missing the mocking tone. You couldn’t help wondering if Enjolras would blush like this or if he would ever look cute instead of the cold marble statue of Aquilles. The answer was obvious and yet it left a bitter taste in your mouth so you leaned over to kiss him again.
He kissed you back.
Combeferre isn’t Enjolras, but they have so much in common that you occasionally (wish you could) let it fool you. However, more often than not, the differences between them are crystal clear, which makes you need a drink and another and another, just so you have something on your stomach to throw up later. They both love the word “citizen,” you recall and, even though none of them is there to see it, you sneer, and you do it on principle because seriously. It’s the everlasting dream, the utopia that rule each and every meeting of les amis de l’ABC. Still Combeferre prefers the word “man” and maybe that’s why he stays when you ask him to leave. He knows that the man is weak, he knows that the man falls while the citizen stands strong, red banner in hand, so maybe that’s why he stays on the bathroom floor by your side and rubs small, soothing circles in your back.
You’re falling and you’re bringing him along right into this dysfunctional thing you have going on and you can’t even name it because it’s not a relationship, you’re not dating, he couldn’t actually like someone so fucked up as you and it’s not as if you like him because you already went down that road of romantic crap once and you’re not eager to do that again. Combeferre isn’t Enjolras, you know that, you’ve always known that, but it still hurts, so you shrug it off, you laugh, you mock, you kiss him again and he kisses you back every single time. He returns your affections, multiplying the crumbs he gets from you like he’s fucking Jesus, the idiot. He lets you in every time you show up at his doorstep drunk out of your mind and makes you tea even when it’s way past midnight and he has classes in a few hours. He always asks what’s wrong, but he doesn’t try to force an answer out of you, he is patient and he probably believes in some psychological shit that you will tell him when you’re ready or stuff. He holds you close and listens as you rant about how everything’s wrong, he brushes some unruly hair off of your forehead and kisses your tears, even the ones that are yet to fall. He worries, he says he likes you and he kisses you.
You can feel him smile against your lips when you accidently let out a surprised noise (someday you’ll stop being surprised every time he does that) and it suddenly hurts a little less, you let yourself believe that maybe he does like you and, hell, maybe you like him too even though he isn’t Enjolras. Or maybe you like him because he isn’t Enjolras, it’s still a bit (a lot) unclear and you’re not going to think about that because there’s always the chance that Enjolras is right for once and you really are incapable of thinking, but you aren’t incapable of kissing so now, when he kisses you, you kiss him right back.