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Courfeyrac didn’t know how to handle this.
He watched Jehan talking with Bahorel, smiling, as they said their goodbyes, and something made his stomach flip, made his insides curl with something thoroughly unpleasant. He had to bite his lip, as Bahorel clapped Jehan on the shoulder, and Jehan leaned in to give the other man a hug.
He shook his head.
He never did this.
He just didn’t get jealous.
He never had before, anyway. Of course, that was before he had learned that Bahorel and Jehan had dated for a period of time…and before he noticed that Bahorel was ridiculously well built, and pretty much the definition of masculinity, perfectly balanced with an easy smile and charm.
Once more, he shook his head to clear his mind. He trusted Bahorel. He was a very good friend, and even more, he trusted Jehan, even though they had really only known each other about a month. And, they loved one another. He was sure of this. They had confessed it almost immediately. For Courfeyrac, this was absolutely true, and as he came to know Jehan’s loving nature, he fully believed it was true for him, as well.
Though, Jehan’s loving nature may have been the problem.
Jehan was just friendly. Sweet in so many ways, to so many people, basically to everyone who deserved sweetness. And, Bahorel deserved sweetness. He was an awesome dude. Of course he deserved Jehan’s affection, his smiles, his hugs…his love…him…
Shit, no. Stop. He mentally beat himself, and forced a smile, as Jehan walked towards him.
“Ready to go, love?” Jehan asked, taking his hand.
The grin that resulted from Jehan’s words was genuine. The poet just had that effect on him. “Absolutely, angel.” He rearranged their hands, so they could link arms, and they exited the Musain.
Jehan loved him. And, he didn’t get jealous. He was a firm believer that the past was the past. He had had past hookups and relationships. And, Jehan had past hookups and relationships as well. They had been completely honest with each other, and if Jehan had still had feelings for Bahorel, why would he have told Courfeyrac of their relationship in the first place.
No. He was being ridiculous. Everything would be fine.
Well…he was wrong about the fine part. He acknowledged that he was being ridiculous, but really, things were absolutely not fine.
He should have known that Jehan would be the type to stay friendly with his exes. Well, he really shouldn’t criticize, because honestly, he was still friends with most of his exes as well, but it was different! Jehan didn’t know them and see them regularly…and a bunch of them were back in California.
Each look that Jehan and Bahorel shared felt like a kick in his side. They grinned and laughed easily together, sitting next to one another during meetings at the Musain, when Courfeyrac had to sit closer to the front of the room with Enjolras and Combeferre.
Even as Jehan’s arm was slung around Courfeyrac’s neck at a local pub, he would share jokes with Bahorel, where there was clearly context he would never know.
They didn’t mean to exclude him. He had his own jokes with old friends, which Jehan didn’t know either. It was perfectly legitimate for him to have his own life.
But, as heart-stoppingly beautiful as Jehan’s smile was, each time it appeared for Bahorel, Courfeyrac felt an unpleasant flutter of nerves in his stomach, knowing that he wasn’t the cause of said smile, and somehow feeling like he was failing at something.
It had been a phenomenally bad day.
Like, Bossuet levels of bad luck.
His printer had run out of ink, so he had to email his term paper, worth a great deal of his grade, to his technologically illiterate professor, and just pray he would accept it as an excuse until he could actually get a hard copy. He had twisted his ankle on the way to the printer’s to pick up flyers for the upcoming protest. When he got to the printer’s, they insisted that he had never made order, which meant he would need to be the one to explain to Enjolras why they wouldn’t be ready for next week’s event. And, the metro line he needed was experiencing delays, so he was already running twenty minutes late to the meeting, when he decided fuck it, I’m walking, even on his bad ankle, and half-jogged the remaining four metro stops to the Musain. To top it off, his phone had died in the middle of the afternoon, so he couldn’t even text someone to tell them anything.
His leg was throbbing by the time he reached the café, and he was sweating uncomfortably with exertion from rushing.
He burst through the door already apologizing for his tardiness, when he froze.
Jehan and Bahorel were sitting very close and smiling, talking about…something…
It’s fine. I’m finefinefine. Finefinefinefinefine–
He could just hear Enjolras demand to know where he had been, when Jehan burst into the most glorious laugh at something Bahorel had said.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, WILL YOU STOP!”
He almost hadn’t realized that he had spoken, until everyone in the Musain’s back room was staring at him, and Jehan asked, “Excuse me?”
But at this point, he was lost. He marched as well as his ankle would let him to their table.
“I have had it just about to here with this thing with you two!”
“What thing?” Jehan looked baffled.
“The talking and the laughing and the smiling!”
“We laugh and talk all the time, Courf.” A confused grin appeared on Bahorel’s face.
“Yeah, I know. Back off,” Courfeyrac demanded tersely.
“What are you talking–”
“He’s my boyfriend.” He snapped, “Just stop all of this–”
“Stop talking.”
When Jehan interrupted, Courfeyrac became silent immediately, and he was brought back to himself, when he saw his poet, with eyes flashing, looking more furious than he had ever seen.
“What do you think gives you the right to talk to either of us like that?” Jehan seethed.
“I–I…” Courfeyrac’s words died in his mouth.
“Who do you think you are?” He spoke through clenched teeth. Courfeyrac could see his ink-stained hand gripping tightly around his pen, as he stood. “Well?” He nearly shouted.
“Jehan…”
After an excruciating moment of silence, Jehan mumbled a quiet curse, turned on his heel and stomped through the Musain door.
“Shit…shitshitshit…” Courfeyrac breathed a stream of expletives, as he hyperventilated, suddenly realizing everything wrong with the last few choices of his life. “Oh god, oh god, what did I do?”
“Acted like a total prat.” Grantaire mentioned, drunkenly from the corner table.
“Yes, thank you, for that insight, Grantaire,” Enjolras snarled.
“Guys!” Combeferre stopped the imminent argument.
“Oh god…oh god…” he turned to Bahorel, “Fuck, Bahorel, I’m sorry. I don’t–”
“Dude,” the fighter stopped him, “We’ll talk about it later. Go after him.”
He didn’t need to be told twice, and he fled the Musain. There was barely a twinge in his ankle, with the adrenaline coursing through his body.
Courfeyrac finally caught up with Jehan on the metro platform.
“Jehan! Jehan, please, listen!” He reached out for Jehan’s upper arm.
The poet wrenched his arm from Courferyac’s grasp and turned on him, “You do not own me,” he snarled, eyes blazing.
“No, of course not–” Courfeyrac agreed readily.
“You do not get to tell me who I can and cannot associate with, and you do not get to determine who talks to me.” He continued, interrupting the other.
“I understand.”
“Good.” Jehan whirled around and marched onto the train that had just pulled up.
Courfeyrac chased him, elbowing his way through the crowd exiting onto the platform.
By the time he found him, his love was sitting, with an open book, and lips pressed into a tight line. There were no seats around him, forcing Courfeyrac to stand, awkwardly holding onto a nearby pole, “Jehan, please–”
“Not here.” He snapped, never looking up from his book.
Immediately, Courfeyrac fell silent. As the train rolled on, he wondered if he should be grateful or terrified of Jehan’s insistence on privacy.
When they reached the stop, near Jehan’s apartment, Courfeyrac followed, stumbling, as Jehan snapped his book closed and strode off the car. Wordlessly, he followed down the street.
Still, no words were exchanged, as they unlocked the apartment building’s gate, and, still nothing, as they mounted the stairs to Jehan’s door.
Once inside, Jehan commanded, “Sit.” He waved at the sofa, then marched to the kitchen, where Courfeyrac could see him starting to make tea.
Courfeyrac nibbled on his lower lip. With him on the couch, and Jehan making tea, this could have been any other day, where they hung out for hours chatting and cuddling…except of course, this time there was no chatting or cuddling, also he couldn’t get rid of the churning dread in his stomach…also, Jehan’s tea-making seemed more violent than usual.
The kettle shrieked, and Jehan marched back into the living room, carrying the two mugs. He dropped onto the couch and set Courfeyrac’s tea onto the table with a thunk. Then, he moved to the other end of the couch, elegantly crossed his legs, and glared at Courfeyrac, while clutching his own tea to his chest. “Okay. Talk.” He took an angry sip of tea.
“Look, Jehan, I’m sorry–”
“By ‘talk,’ I mean explain yourself.” He snapped, tersely.
“Okay…” He sighed, “I was jealous. I snapped, because I was jealous.”
Jehan raised a single eyebrow. “Why?”
“I just–like–you know, well…Jehan…” He pleaded.
“You’re not going to get out of explaining this. Come on!”
“You guys have been together,” he finally mumbled.
“Yes. I told you about it ages ago,” he agreed.
“I know, but…like, you guys are super friendly and close.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“You hug and kiss his cheek and–”
“I do that with everyone, Courf! I do that with Grantaire and Eponine and Combeferre and Enjolras, for Christ’s sake!”
“Yes, I know, but you don’t have a history with them!”
“So what? What do you think we’re going to do?!” Jehan’s eyes flashed.
“Look, I don’t know, but–”
“Do you honestly think I’d cheat on you?” Jehan leveled his gaze, mouth tight.
After a beat he answered truthfully, “No–”
“More than that, do you think Bahorel would hurt you like that? You two are friends!”
“I know!” Courfeyrac protested, “I know! Neither of you would do anything, while we were together, I know that!”
“Then what?”
“Look, just because I know you two wouldn’t do anything now, doesn’t mean you won’t realize that you’re in love with him.” He explained softly, looking at the ground.
“I’m sorry?” Jehan asked.
“I trust you; I trust you both. You wouldn’t cheat on me, and Bahorel wouldn’t seduce you, while we are together. But, I’m afraid of the moment you realize you’d rather be with him and let me down very gently, and move on to someone better.”
Jehan looked at him as if he had grown a second head. “Uh-huh…and, that would happen, why?”
“For god’s sake, Jehan!” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, “Because, he’s you know…”
His boyfriend shook his head.
“Fuck, like, tall and muscley and tough and basically everything I’m not, okay?”
“Didn’t it ever occur to you that if I wanted to be with Bahorel, I would have stayed with him? I was with him. It ended. We’re friends, and that’s better for both of us. We’re happy that way. Honestly, it would make more sense, if you were jealous of Grantaire or Eponine or something…”
“I comfort myself with the thought that if you had wanted to sleep with them, you would have by now,” he mumbled.
“I have slept with them, Courfeyrac.”
“I–what? You…you never told me that…” Courfeyrac felt his heart sink.
“It’s not serious. I wasn’t in a relationship at the time, and we weren’t in a relationship at all, which is why I never said anything. They were sad, and I endeavored to make them happier. That is all.”
“Okay, well fine, I’ll be jealous of them now.” He groaned and stood up.
“Courfeyrac, that’s not what I mean, and you know that. You have no reason to be jealous of anyone!” He followed Courfeyrac into the kitchen.
“Yes, I do, Jehan.” He set his mug on the counter.
“No, you don’t!” He insisted loudly, “I love you. Why don’t you trust me?”
“I do–That’s not the point!”
“Then, what is it?”
“Jehan, you’re a fucking fairy prince, don’t you get that?”
Jehan froze for a long moment. “Huh?”
“Like, I look at you, and I have trouble believing your real, and even more trouble believing that you’re going out with me. You could literally have anyone you wanted. You smile and talk about poetry and write, and it’s fucking magical, and seriously, anyone would give you the moon to make you happy. And, I’m here, and I’m just this guy, you know? I know I’m not bad-looking, and I’m pretty smart, but I’m just…me, and I want you to know how great you are, but I’m scared of the day you figure out that you can do so much better than me.”
Silently, Jehan stared at him. His gaze had softened, but he shook his head and turned back around, walking back to the living room.
Courfeyrac followed him, “Jehan, please–”
“First of all, that isn’t true.” Jehan interrupted him softly, “Not everyone adores me.” He sat on the couch.
“Okay, fine. But, everyone worth anything does. Bahorel, Combeferre, all our friends, even Enjolras would bend over backwards to make sure you were happy.” He collapsed onto the couch. “And, if you wanted to go out with any one of them, I bet they would, just to make you happy, because they all, very rightly, adore you…” he ended up whispering into his hands.
“So, I could be with anyone I wanted?” He inquired, after a pause.
“Yep,” he mumbled.
“If I wanted Bahorel and his biceps, that would happen.”
“Yes,” Courfeyrac groaned.
“Or Grantaire’s sensitivity?"
“Sure.” He felt his stomach drop through his feet.
“Or Enjolras and all his godlike glory?”
“I know you wouldn’t do that to Grantaire, but yes.”
“Feuilly’s artistic talent?”
“Yeah.” Courfeyrac clenched his fists. It wasn’t that his friends weren’t amazing, but knowing that Jehan saw every brilliant thing they were capable of, would only eventually be the nails in his coffin.
"Even Marius with his own fumbling sweetness?”
Courfeyrac finally snapped, “God! Yes, even Marius! Jehan, that’s the point! You can have anyone you want!”
“Then, what if I want you?” Jehan asked him calmly.
“I…”
“My dear heart, don’t you see? I’m not quite the angel you say I am, but I probably could date a number of different people. But, I don’t want them. I want you.” Jehan scooted closer to him on the couch.
Courfeyrac looked up and smirked. “But, that won’t last, Jehan. I haven’t felt like this about someone in a really long time, okay? And, you are a glowing, loving person, who’s going to realize that you can do so much better than me, and I’m sorry, but that’s fucking scary.”
“Courfeyrac, I’m in love with you.” He reached out to take his hand, “I’m not just here until someone better comes along.”
“But, no, Jehan–”
“Listen to me,” Jehan commanded. “You think I’m this magical person, but you seem to be operating under the false assumption that I feel differently towards you. I am in love with you. You are just amazing.”
“No, I’m–”
“Shut up, I’m talking.”
“Okay,” he whispered, squeezing Jehan’s hand lightly.
“You’re attractive. You’re smart, but that’s not why I’m in love with you. I’m in love with your smile. Maybe, Enjolras can light up a room when he smiles, but you warm it. When you smile, it’s like the room is soft and cosy, and when you smile at me, even when Enjolras is talking about the world’s injustice, and Grantaire is saying everything is hopeless, I can’t imagine anything being wrong in the world. I’m in love with how you know how to organize Combeferre’s notes, and how you always have tissues for Joly. I’m in love with the way your hands move when you talk, and how your nose crinkles when you laugh. And, I’m in love with how you love me.”
Courfeyrac slowly tried to regulate his breathing, because he felt like he was going to cry.
“Maybe, I’d find someone objectively ‘better,’ someone you think ‘I deserve,’ but that couldn’t happen, because the reason I am so good, is because you see it in me. Like you, I see myself as someone who is okay. Not bad in any way, but overall unremarkable. I am someone great, because you see it in me, and I know, as long as I’m with you, I will continue to be someone remarkable, because you will always treat me that way.”
“I’ll always try to, at any rate.” Finally, he met Jehan’s gaze and held it.
“You will. I believe that more than anything.”
Courfeyrac smiled, “God, I love you.”
“And, I love you, darling.” He snuggled against Courfeyrac’s side.
“So, we’re okay?” He verified softly.
“Next time you feel like this, you’ll talk to me, and not have a major freak out at one of your best friends?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then, we’re okay.” Jehan smiled and kissed Courfeyrac’s cheek.
“Good,” Thank GOD. Courfeyrac ran his fingers along Jehan’s jaw and tilted his head so their lips met. His beloved poet smiled and kissed him back, and Courfeyrac knew they would be fine, probably better.