Work Text:
Combeferre has been here before, countless times, in fact, but never quite like this.
There’s something distinctly unusual about seeing your husband’s face at about four hundred times the size and emblazoned upon the side of the Prince Edward Theatre.
He’s currently sitting in the second row, tapping absently at the programme sitting on his knee. He’s read it three times in the space of the fifteen minutes he’s been sitting there, each time lingering to read Courfeyrac’s biography, even though he knows it by heart. He recites it in his head as he waits for the curtain to rise.
‘Courfeyrac: Charlie Price; graduated from LAMDA, class of 2016. Previous roles include ensemble and Elder Price in The Book of Mormon, ensemble and understudy Raoul in Phantom of the Opera, Andrej in Once, a collection of low-budget Shakespeare plays I still have war flashbacks to, a hideous and ridiculous revival of Le Roi Soleil that involved woeful French pronunciation and a flight home from Lyon at six in the morning on a Saturday, and about fifteen other ensemble roles including one in The Wedding Singer, for god’s sake. As always, Courfeyrac would like to thank his husband and soulmate Combeferre for his unending support. Thank you for an incredible ten years. Happy anniversary. ’
Combeferre lets out a quiet sigh as his finishes his internal monologue, pulling his glasses from his face and wiping them on the sleeve of his suit jacket. Premiere nights are always uncomfortable; there’s the red carpets and the afterparties and the odd, terrifying occasion when someone recognises him as Courfeyrac’s husband and starts asking him questions.
The curtain rises, finally, and Combeferre settles himself down and attempts to get comfortable in his seat, an odd, nervous feeling resting low in his stomach.
He supposes it’s his own fault that people start asking about his marriage, because during the applause at the end of Step One, when Courfeyrac is beaming out at the audience with an ecstatic grin, he turns to the young couple sitting beside him and says proudly ‘that’s my husband.’
When the show is over a few hours later, Combeferre lurks around by the stage door and watches as Courfeyrac giggles and laughs, signing programmes and posing for photographs with his fans, some of whom Combeferre knows have followed him from his first role in the ensemble of Hair about six years ago.
It’s about half an hour later when Courfeyrac kisses the cheek of the last girl there and signs her programme, telling her to have a safe trip back home –apparently she’d come from Denmark to see the premiere, and Courfeyrac’s expression at this had been utterly priceless, or so she’d said.
Courfeyrac turns and his eyes fall on Combeferre, leaning absently against the wall of the theatre, waiting.
“How long have you been there?” Courfeyrac asks, a small smile on his face as he walks towards the other man.
“Long enough. I wouldn’t want to tear you away from your adoring public.”
Courfeyrac laughs, smile tugging at his lips as he looks at his feet.
“You were brilliant.” Combeferre says earnestly, looking straight at Courfeyrac as he steps forward to take his hand.
“You always say that, even if I was terrible.”
“You’re never terrible. I always say you’re brilliant because you always are.”
“You’re just saying that.” Courfeyrac grins, linking their fingers together and pulling Combeferre down the street towards the nearest Underground station.
“You were.” Combeferre says firmly, stopping under the glow of a streetlight and pulling Courfeyrac towards him by the hand. “You always are and you need to know I mean that, the music was great and your supporting cast were good, but you, you were amazing and I spent the interval telling everyone who would listen and even people who wouldn’t that you were my husband, that I get to hear your silly vocal warm ups and sometimes run lines with you and no one else does. I’m so proud of you. I love you so much; you are so talented and I don’t tell you that enough but-”
Courfeyrac cuts him off with a kiss. He’s smiling into it, Combeferre can tell, and he can’t resist as he smiles back, hands sliding to his husband’s hips to pull him closer still.