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Courfeyrac’s life was good. He had amazing friends, a family that was wonderful and supportive, he got into an internship at a law firm that many would kill for, and he was good at his work. He lived with one of the most lovable guys in the world, who spoke so many languages and was so sweet, except maybe for some weird political opinions. Plus, he was a part of a group that fought for social justice and actually got shit done.
He had absolutely nothing to complain about, except maybe how sometimes his hair didn’t behave, but he was used to dealing with that.
His life had been so good.
And then Grantaire had to go and ruin it.
It happened one night, when they were all at the Musain after a meeting, and he was sitting on a couch in the corner of the café, idly listening to Joly and Bahorel discussing something. He wasn’t really focused on the conversation, as he was sort-of-but-not-really staring at Combeferre.
He didn’t mean to stare at his best friend, really, it was just that Combeferre had recently started an internship at the hospital and he’d been late to the meeting because his shift ran late. Which meant that he was still wearing his scrubs.
It wasn’t weird that Courfeyrac noticed how the dark green clothes complimented the dark brown of his skin, okay. It wasn’t weird, because Courfeyrac had eyes and he wasn’t blind and, it was purely for aesthetic purposes.
It also just so happened that the scrubs were short-sleeved and Combeferre wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath, so his tattoos were on display.
You really could not blame Courfeyrac for staring, okay? Combeferre was gorgeous, everyone knew that. The combination of the tattoos and the undercut with his bookish glasses and scrubs made the man absolutely wonderfully beautiful and maybe just a little too hot, and that was an observation that Courfeyrac made absolutely platonically.
He tried to ignore the fact that, even in his own head, he sounded defensive about the whole thing. That was when Grantaire slid down on the couch next to him, a knowing smirk on his face.
It was odd, seeing Grantaire with a cup of tea in his hands instead of a drink. Odd, but extremely gratifying. His drinking had gotten out of control a while ago and then, to everyone’s relief, Grantaire had told them he wanted to stop and had gotten help. It had been a long process that took its toll on the man, but he had persisted and came out better at the end. It’s been a while since Grantaire had joined them at the Musain, it serving alcohol and everything. They had wanted to change the venue of their meetings to someone’s apartment or something like that, but Grantaire had been absolutely adamant and told them that if they tried to move, he wouldn’t speak to them again. They all knew he didn’t really mean it, because Grantaire loved them all, in his own special way, but they respected his wishes.
There was an aspect of Grantaire’s sobriety that made everyone nervous. That was Enjolras and their, for the lack of a better word, relationship. It was common knowledge that Grantaire had a crush on Enjolras, but it was not common knowledge why exactly it was that Grantaire kept getting Enjolras to yell at him. Perhaps it was some sort of weird defence mechanism, where he tried to protect himself from rejection by driving Enjolras so far away that anything romantic between them wouldn’t be on anyone’s mind. If it was that, Courfeyrac wasn’t able to tell whether it was working, because the sexual tension between the two was palpable; even though they didn’t seem to be aware of the fact.
So, yeah, their friends were concerned as to how Grantaire would deal with arguing with Enjolras when he wouldn’t have alcohol as the safety to fall onto.
It was a surprise to mostly everyone to see exactly how Grantaire decided to deal with that.
Knitting.
Courfeyrac would never forget Enjolras’ face the first time it happened.
Enjolras had been yelling about whatever it was they’d been fighting about. Grantaire’s hand twitched. They maintained eye contact as Enjolras breathed heavily, regret starting to form in his eyes, but then Grantaire reached into his bag and pulled out a ball of dark blue wool and needles. Then he just started to knit and Enjolras was left standing there, staring incredulously at the man.
It started happening every time Grantaire was stressed or upset because of Enjolras. Sometimes he just started knitting beforehand, and then had an argument with Enjolras, while his hands worked. It was impressive, really.
Now, however, Grantaire was not knitting, but was looking at Courfeyrac and smirking in an infuriating way.
“What?” Courfeyrac said, tearing his eyes away from Combeferre.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Grantaire asked, declining his head towards where Combeferre was standing.
Courfeyrac felt his cheeks get warmer and was very glad that his dark skin wouldn’t show that he was blushing. He had a feeling Grantaire knew anyway.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied in what he hoped was a dignified voice.
Grantaire lost his smirk, sighed and then smiled genuinely. Courfeyrac was glad to see there was no pity in his eyes, only sympathy.
“Okay,” he said, nodding, “but if you ever find yourself knowing what I meant and want to talk about it with someone who might know how you feel, I’m here.”
He gave Courfeyrac a pat on the shoulders and then rose up, walking over to Joly and Bahorel without another word.
Courfeyrac blinked at his back. There was nothing he wanted to talk about.
Absolutely nothing.
***
Courfeyrac pushed Grantaire’s words to the back of his mind and happily lived in denial for a few days after. It was fine.
He was fine.
Everything was fine.
Except, he found himself thinking about Combeferre more often than was probably acceptable. They’d been best friends since primary school, when some bullies had been teasing Combeferre about his glasses and Courfeyrac had told them all to leave him alone or his older sister Marie would have a word with them. It had worked wonderfully, as Marie had had a bit of a reputation for her inventive ways to deal with bullies.
It was normal, Courfeyrac thought, to think about his best friend. He thought about Enjolras, too, though his thoughts of Combeferre and of Enjolras were vastly different. With Enjolras, he mainly thought about how to get him to take a break and sleep, and if he had eaten, and how to make him apologize to Grantaire about whatever comment had been most hurtful the last time they fought. With Combeferre, however, his thoughts often strayed to ‘Combeferre is so great’ territory.
Because, well, Combeferre was great. He was wonderful. He was smart, funny, gorgeous, had a weird obsession with moths that Courfeyrac didn’t really get, but supported nonetheless and he was a great conversationalist.
Sometimes Combeferre would stay over at his apartment after a movie night and they’d cuddle on the couch and then in the morning, Combeferre would make them pancakes. It was lovely, and not just because the apartment’s been feeling a bit empty, what with Marius staying over at Cosette’s a lot. Courfeyrac suspected that Combeferre knew he sometimes felt lonely when he was alone in the flat, and stayed over because of that.
See, the thing was, Combeferre knew him so well, that he would know how Courfeyrac felt without Courfeyrac ever actually saying anything. He always seemed to know when Courfeyrac was down, and showed up at his apartment with pizza and a documentary.
Combeferre had a lot of documentaries and Courfeyrac absolutely loved watching them with him. They would always end up cuddling, with Combeferre’s arm around his shoulders and Courfeyrac’s head resting on his chest. Sometimes, they fell asleep like that.
It wasn’t a big deal, it’s never been. Until Courfeyrac started thinking about what Grantaire said and then started analysing his thoughts and feelings towards his best friend.
It was all Grantaire’s fault. He made him think of this. Courfeyrac could have lived his life in happy denial if it wasn’t for Grantaire. If it weren’t for Grantaire, his best friend would have remained his best friend, not someone he fancied.
Logically, he knew it wasn’t really Grantaire’s fault, but it was so nice to have someone other than himself to blame. Of course, he wouldn’t tell Grantaire that he blamed him, he knew the guy’s self-esteem wasn’t the best and he really didn’t need this on his shoulders as well.
Sometimes he would think that maybe, just maybe, Combeferre might like him as well. Sometimes, Ferre would look at him with this look in his eyes and he would start wondering… but then Combeferre would blink, or look away and Courfeyrac had to remind himself that Combeferre had always looked at him like that and that it was nothing else than friendly affection.
After a particularly frustrating walk in the park with Combeferre, where their hands kept brushing and Combeferre had some leaves in his hair and everything was overwhelming, Courfeyrac really needed to talk to someone about this.
He dismissed Enjolras as a potential talking partner, as nobody in their right mind would go to Enjolras for relationship advice. Courfeyrac still remembered how the man had reacted when Marius met Cosette and was all happy and excited. The words ‘nobody cares about your lonely soul’ would forever be etched in Courfeyrac’s brain. Okay, admittedly, Enjolras had been very stressed that day and Marius could be a bit annoying when cooing about Cosette, but still. Marius had cried.
His roommate would, in theory, be the person to talk to about this, it was just that Marius got so flustered whenever anyone brought up anything remotely romantic. The guy was amazing with languages, but bring up the language of love and he was lost.
He could talk to Jehan, but, well. Jehan has been pining for some guy lately and Courfeyrac figured they really liked this Montparnasse, or whatever the fuck his name was, because they’ve been in a particularly melancholy mood. A melancholy mood for Jehan meant that they mostly quoted insanely morbid and obscure poetry, often without any prompting whatsoever. Just the other day Courfeyrac only sat down next to them at a meeting and they sighed and then told him a poem in a sad voice that was, as far as Courfeyrac could tell, about soldiers dying and the mortality of all men. So, yeah, not exactly what Courfeyrac was going for.
That left Grantaire, who really should have been his first choice, seeing as he was the one who made Courfeyrac think about all this, but there was a part of him that didn’t really want to admit that Grantaire had been right.
He squashed that part of him down when Combeferre smiled at him and sunshine lit his gorgeous face.
Courfeyrac smiled back and tried to think through the fog that his brain seemed to be engulfed in. He couldn’t just walk away without an explanation and leave Combeferre at the park. For one thing, that would be rude. For the other, Combeferre would ask what was wrong and would try to make him feel better with cuddles, and that… Courfeyrac didn’t think he would be strong enough for that right then.
“Are you okay?” Combeferre asked, a concerned frown tugging on his beautiful, beautiful face. “You seem a bit… distracted.”
“Oh, yeah, no, I’m fine, I’m spectacular,” Courfeyrac told him quickly, huffed a laugh and then, for some reason known only to some all-knowing robot out there in the universe, he started singing, “Spectacular, spectacular, no words of the vernacular, can describe this great event, you’ll be dumb with wonderment!” He finished the verse with jazz hands and a nervous giggle.
Way to act cool, Courfeyrac.
Combeferre blinked at him.
“O-kay? Is this your way of telling me you want to watch Moulin Rouge tonight?”
Sure, why not.
“You got me! I’m so good at dropping subtle hints,” Courfeyrac grinned and tried to ignore just how much he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
Combeferre laughed and shook his head at him.
Courfeyrac knew that if he was in a cartoon, he’d have huge pink glittery hearts for eyes and that his heart would be thumping loudly and exaggeratedly right out of his ribcage.
“I have to go, though, I just remembered I promised R I’d meet up with him,” he forced himself to say, because what he wanted to do was to drape himself all over Combeferre and never ever let go. That, however, didn’t seem like a good option. Actually, it didn’t seem like an option for Courfeyrac at all, so let’s just stop thinking about that, okay.
“Oh, sure, yeah,” Combeferre nodded, “Is he doing okay? I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“I think he’s good, yeah. He has his knitting,” Courfeyrac grinned and so did Combeferre.
“Did you know Enjolras is still confused about that? After that first time, he kept asking me if I know why he started knitting, who taught him and who he was making that scarf for,” Combeferre sighed, but he was grinning, a tiny little bit exasperatedly.
Courfeyrac nodded and sighed as well; he knew very well how Enjolras could get when it came to Grantaire. He was Courfeyrac’s best friend and he still had no idea whether Enjolras was genuinely annoyed by Grantaire, or if he was actually secretly pleased when the man spoke up during meetings. Courfeyrac knew that Enjolras didn’t mean half of the harsh words he said to Grantaire, but he also knew that he sucked at apologies and that Grantaire was genuinely hurt every time.
It was all very confusing.
“What did you tell him?”
Combeferre waved his hand vaguely. “I said that if he wanted to know, he should ask Grantaire. He just glared at me.”
“Yeah, sounds like Enjolras,” Courfeyrac sighed.
He almost forgot about leaving, almost forgot about the urgency he felt mere minutes ago, as talking to Combeferre never failed to calm him down, but then Combeferre’s hand brushed against his once again and the panic was back.
“So, yeah, I have to go,” he said quickly, taking a step back and waving, “See you around!”
“Say hello to Grantaire,” Combeferre smiled.
Before Courfeyrac could say anything embarrassing, he grinned and turned around. It was a bit hard not to start outright running as he fumbled with his phone, sending a text to Grantaire. He wanted to call, but he knew very well that Grantaire hated talking on the phone and that if he called, it would marginally decrease his chances of Grantaire helping him.
***
Courfeyrac stared at Grantaire with wide eyes as the other man sat down at the table. He wanted to yell, cry, make Grantaire tell him how to fix this, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. So, he was just looking at him.
Grantaire looked back.
“So, who talks first? You talk first, I talk first?” Grantaire said, smirking.
“Stop quoting Star Wars at me, I am mad at you!”
Well, at least Courfeyrac finally started talking. That was something.
Grantaire adapted an all-too innocent expression, his eyes growing wide and mouth gaping dramatically.
“Mad at me? Whatever have I done?”
“Stop it,” Courfeyrac snapped, though he didn’t really put much effort into it. It wasn’t his fault, he was in distress!
“Courf, can you just tell me why you wanted to talk? Also, you promised me cake, and I don’t see cake,” Grantaire said and Courfeyrac rolled his eyes.
Yes, he promised R cake in his text, because he suspected that would be the only way to get the man to meet him. He turned in his chair and waved to Chetta, who was wiping down the counter.
After they finally both got cake, Courfeyrac took a deep breath and looked down to where he was dragging his tiny fork through the pink icing.
“I. I like Combeferre,” he said quietly.
Grantaire was silent.
Courfeyrac kept staring at his cake, expecting Grantaire to say something, to react, but nothing came. When he couldn’t take the quiet anymore, Courfeyrac looked up to see Grantaire looking at him expectantly.
“Oh. Oh that was it?” Grantaire said, when it became painfully obvious that Courfeyrac wouldn’t continue.
“What else could there be?” Courfeyrac threw his arms up, exasperated.
“I don’t know, man! I kinda thought this wouldn’t be news to you, you’ve been in love with him for years and-“
“Wait, what? I haven’t been-that’s ridiculous. I. I think you’re projecting, there, buddy,” Courfeyrac spluttered, shaking his head vigorously.
Grantaire gave him a Look.
“I’m not projecting anything. Yes, I might like Enjolras, but that’s never happening, he hates me. Not the point.” Grantaire had to take a moment. Courfeyrac let him. “Listen, okay, when I met you guys, I honestly thought you were together. You hold hands more often than not, you watch those fucking documentaries together. You’re so in sync, it’s honestly terrifying sometimes, like, he’ll look down to his coffee and the next second, you’re handing him a packet of sugar!” Grantaire waved his hands at him, as though that explained everything.
“He likes his coffee sweet,” Courfeyrac mumbled in his defence.
“Yes, and you know that. You two share clothes, don’t think I haven’t noticed that,” Grantaire said, and. Huh.
Courfeyrac hadn’t really thought about that. Yes, when Ferre would sleep over, sometimes he would borrow a t-shirt of his. It was just more pragmatic than Combeferre bringing over clothes to change into, especially because sometimes he slept over without planning to.
“For fuck’s sake, Courf, those are Combeferre’s pants!” Grantaire gestured to Courfeyrac’s legs.
Courfeyrac looked down and saw that he was wearing leggings with planets on them. They may or may not belong to Combeferre.
He let his head thump on the table, mindful of his plate with the cake, because while he was in distress, he wasn’t completely out of his mind.
“I am screwed,” he mumbled.
“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed, while sympathetically patting Courfeyrac’s head.
***
Courfeyrac found he had fallen into a routine without really knowing. He would spend time with Combeferre, like normal, spend the entire time trying very hard not to kiss him or confess his undying love. Then, when Combeferre would eventually have to go to his shift at the hospital or do something else equally important, Courfeyrac would go to the Musain and sit down next to Grantaire.
Grantaire was a wonderful listener, although Courfeyrac suspected that that was because he didn’t really listen, but was preoccupied with his own thoughts, but nonetheless, Grantaire let him speak without interrupting all that much. Of course, it was Grantaire, so instead of advice, he would just make sarcastic comments, but that suited Courfeyrac just fine, because he really was not ready for advice like ‘you should just ask him out’.
In turn, Courfeyrac would listen to Grantaire complain about Enjolras. Well, it wasn’t really complaining as much as it was about 15 minutes of Grantaire paying Enjolras compliments in a grumpy tone, but hey. Courfeyrac wasn’t really in a position to judge anyone here.
They found themselves at the Musain once again on a Saturday afternoon, with two huge mugs of hot chocolate in front of them, as well as two pieces of Musichetta’s new cake. She’ been experimenting with flavours recently and somehow, Courfeyrac and Grantaire had become her test bunnies. Not that either of them complained, obviously, Musichetta’s cakes were the very best. Saturday’s cake was dark chocolate and pistachios and it was incredible.
Courfeyrac has spent the morning and last night with Combeferre and he still hasn’t really recovered from waking up to see a topless Combeferre making pancakes. They’ve spent the morning idly chatting about a book Combeferre was making him read, because he wanted to talk about a character that he loved. Then, Ferre said he had to meet Enjolras to talk about a meeting with the mayor they would have next week.
Their morning together was so frustratingly domestic and it made Courfeyrac groan into his hands for about two minutes straight, while Grantaire mumbled about how much he loved cake.
“He wore my apron, R,” he groaned and then dragged his head up from the table to look at his cake mournfully.
“The one with the flowers?” Grantaire asked around his cake.
Courfeyrac nodded. “He wore my flower apron and he was shirtless and he made pancakes and I wanted to die. He’s so pretty and so smart and oh my god, R, you have got to try his pancakes, they were so good. I think there were blueberries in them. I didn’t even know I had blueberries!”
Grantaire vaguely patted him on the back.
They were quiet for a bit, as Courfeyrac picked sadly at his piece of cake – which was, admittedly, perfect in every respect and Grantaire drank his hot chocolate.
“Enjolras stopped by my place last night,” Grantaire then said, in what was obviously meant to be a casual tone, but his face was way too composed for it to be casual. Plus he was gripping his mug so tightly his knuckles were white.
“He stopped by your place,” Courfeyrac repeated slowly, staring at his friend.
“Yeah. He – he said he wanted my take on the speech he was preparing,” Grantaire was blushing now, his skin turning a darker shade as he stared determinedly at some fixed point in front of him.
“He wanted your take on his speech,” Courfeyrac repeated again, as he really had no fucking idea what else to say.
Enjolras didn’t go to Grantaire for help. He went to Combeferre, or Courfeyrac, sometimes the others if it was their expertise, but never Grantaire. Not that Grantaire wouldn’t be able to help him; he was smart and had a way with words and he did, sometimes, have good ideas, even if he hid them under layers and layers of cynicism. Enjolras knew that, Courfeyrac knew that he knew, because he’d been forced to listen to Enjolras going on about how Grantaire could really do something with his life if he’d just try and actually put some effort in. No, Enjolras wouldn’t go to Grantaire because he would know Grantaire wouldn’t feel good being singled out. Or, at least, Enjolras wouldn’t publicly single Grantaire out.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell anyone about it, and left it to Grantaire to decide if he wanted to let the others know.
Grantaire was nodding absent-mindedly now, his stare still fixed right in front of him. He seemed to be in shock, or re-living shock.
“He actually listened to my comments. Like, he didn’t do that thing with his face that he usually does, you know?” Grantaire said and Courfeyrac nodded, even though he knew the man wouldn’t be able to see it, “And he… he actually really listened and we only fought a little and then. Then,” Grantaire cleared his throat and blushed even harder, “then he fell asleep on my couch,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
“Do you have any idea how adorable he is when he’s asleep?” Grantaire now turned to look at him, his eyes wide, but there was a smile on his lips that Courfeyrac wasn’t sure Grantaire knew about. “And he was in my lap and-“
Courfeyrac choked on a piece of cake he was eating and was left spluttering indignantly while Grantaire thumped him on the back. In between the coughing and desperately trying to get oxygen to his lungs, Courfeyrac noticed exactly what shade of deep red Grantaire was right then.
“He was-“ Courfeyrac wheezed and coughed again, “he was in your lap?”
“His head!” Grantaire yelped loudly, his face somehow turning an ever deeper shade of red. It was quite entertaining, actually. “His head was in my lap, Courfeyrac, I almost died. Actually, I think maybe I did die and this is all some weird hallucination as my body is shutting down, or maybe this is afterlife, I mean, you know, I’ve never really believed in anything like that, but Enjolras fell asleep with his head in my lap, so now I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything anymore, he. Courf, he fell asleep with his head in my lap,” he repeated emphatically, shaking the mug he still had a vicelike grip on at Courfeyrac.
Courfeyrac couldn’t help but grin and then giggle, when Grantaire tried to glare at him, but was still smiling. He gently took the mug out of Grantaire’s hands, not wanting his friend to spill hot chocolate all over himself. Well, he tried to do it gently, but in the end had to literally pry his fingers off.
“So, what about this morning?” Courfeyrac asked when it became obvious that Grantaire wouldn’t tell him on his own.
“Oh, he was gone when I woke up,” Grantaire waved his hand dismissively, but his face slipped into that carefully arranged blank façade he assumed whenever he’d been hurt by something Enjolras said or did, but didn’t want to show it. It was a very specific facial expression.
“Did you talk about anything else but the speech?” Courfeyrac asked instead of dwelling on the fact Enjolras disappeared from Grantaire’s apartment.
“Um. Guillermo del Toro,” Grantaire answered and all Courfeyrac could do was narrow his eyes at him.
“Sure, of course,” he said flatly, because what else was he supposed to say? “Any particular reason, or…?”
“We both liked Pan’s Labyrinth.”
Courfeyrac nodded slowly.
Enjolras once tried to make him watch that movie, but Courfeyrac hadn’t really liked it as he hadn’t been in the mood for something quite that dark, and he distinctly remembered Enjolras taking that very personally. So, it made sense that Grantaire and Enjolras would bond over some obscure, incredibly terrifying movie. Sort of. Courfeyrac didn’t know, the two of them were always so at odds, it was weird to think of them bonding.
They were quiet for a bit after that, neither of them really knowing what to say. Then, Courfeyrac reached for Grantaire’s hand, giving it a little squeeze.
“I’m okay,” Grantaire said immediately, and a little too quickly.
“Yeah,” Courfeyrac replied, but didn’t let go of his hand.
“Yeah,” Grantaire sighed.
***
They met up again on Tuesday.
Once again, Courfeyrac had been hanging out with Combeferre earlier in the day; in the library this time, as he tried to do research for a case he had, and Combeferre frowned down at the medical books in front of him. They’d drunk copious amounts of coffee and complained about the research material under their breaths. In order to hear each other, they’d had to sit close to each other at the table, their thighs pushed together and their arms brushing every so often.
Courfeyrac was about ready to die when Combeferre had to go – he had a meeting with mayor Valjean and Enjolras soon, and had to go get ready. Courfeyrac knew he wasn’t really going to do much research anymore, as his mind kept going to how warm Combeferre’s leg had been against his, so he gathered up his books and headed over to the Musain.
Grantaire was already there, lounging on the couch, reading a book. He looked almost serene.
Courfeyrac went to the counter first, to get a cup of tea and two slices of Musichetta’s cake of the day – “cardamom and orange with a hint of lemon”, in the baker’s own words, before heading over to the table in the corner.
“Hey, how come you’re always in here when I am?” he asked as he sat down.
“Maybe I’m stalking you and then when I see you’re heading over, I sprint here and act all causal,” Grantaire replied, not taking his eyes off his book.
Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes at him. Knowing Grantaire, that theory wasn’t really so far-fetched, although Courfeyrac thought he wouldn’t really make a good subject for stalking. Most of what he did in his spare time was hang around Combeferre, trying not to kiss him.
“Well, as long as you’re happy,” Courfeyrac replied cheerfully.
Grantaire hummed in reply.
They spent a few minutes in silence; Grantaire reading and Courfeyrac eating the delicious cake.
Then, Grantaire sighed, put down his book and turned his eyes to Courfeyrac.
“Okay, out with it.”
“He gets this look when he’s concentrating, he frowns a bit and bites his lip and scrunches up his nose and all I want to do is smooch his face,” Courfeyrac sighed. “And then there’s the look he gets when he doesn’t agree with something he’s reading and I just know that he’s re-writing the book as he’s reading it. Sometimes, he even mouths what he wants to write down and it’s just. So. Adorable.”
Courfeyrac slumped against the couch, taking his plate with him, so that at least he could have cake in his time of need.
Grantaire hummed again and he opened his mouth to say something, but then he glanced around the café and suddenly his eyes grew wide and his mouth gaped. Courfeyrac frowned at him and then turned to see what he was looking at.
He understood immediately and was sure his face was doing something similar to Grantaire’s.
Enjolras and Combeferre were standing at the counter, wearing suits. Not just any suits, but really, really nice suits. Combeferre turned around over to them and Courfeyrac choked on air. Combeferre’s jacket was undone, showing a tight dark blue shirt, a tie and a black vest.
Enjolras then turned as well and Courfeyrac heard Grantaire making a weird wheezing sound in the back of his throat. Combeferre was giving him an odd look, so Courfeyrac tried very hard to rearrange his facial expression into something more dignified, but he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about pressing him up against the wall and ripping that suit off him, piece by piece.
Next to him, he heard and felt Grantaire reaching over to his bag and then, when he finally made himself look away from Combeferre, he saw Grantaire was knitting furiously, eyes determinedly fixed on the bright pink, kind of glittering wool instead of Enjolras.
Courfeyrac took a deep breath, counted to ten in his mind and then made himself look back at his two best friends, fixing a casual grin on his face. The pair had moved from the counter in that time, and they were now standing in front of their table, each holding a cup of coffee.
“Hey,” Courfeyrac managed to say and he was proud of himself for it, even though it might have come out a bit strangled.
“Hey,” Combeferre said, smiling at him.
“Are you okay?” Enjolras said, frowning at Grantaire.
Courfeyrac recognized the frown as the one that meant he was concerned and confused by something Grantaire was doing. Honestly, Courfeyrac thought he deserved some kind of award for knowing all of Enjolras’ and Grantaire’s facial expressions when it came to the other.
Grantaire nodded curtly, still staring at the fast-moving needles.
“He, um. He had too much coffee,” Courfeyrac offered as an excuse.
“Yeah, that,” Grantaire rasped, nodding along.
“I see,” Enjolras said, but his eyes narrowed as he looked down.
That particular look told Courfeyrac that he didn’t believe a word Grantaire was saying, but he would go along anyway, because he didn’t want to argue. It was a look that he’d been adapting more and more in the last few weeks.
“Who are you making that for?” he asked and Courfeyrac could swear he saw panic in Grantaire’s eyes, probably because that conversation was still happening.
“Jehan,” Grantaire answered, and cleared his throat. Then he finally looked up at Enjolras and Courfeyrac had to give him credit for schooling his expression into something that didn’t say he wanted to ravish Enjolras on the spot. Courfeyrac knew exactly how hard that must have been.
“They made me get this wool for them. I tried to refuse, but then they blackmailed me and, well,” Grantaire shrugged and grinned.
Enjolras grinned as well and Courfeyrac was almost too caught up in their conversation to notice Combeferre sitting down next to him. Almost. As it was, he was suddenly incredibly aware of Combeferre right next to him and all the places their bodies were touching.
“What did they blackmail you with?” Enjolras asked.
Courfeyrac was glad for the way Grantaire suddenly blushed furiously, as it meant he could pay attention to something other than the fact he could, objectively, climb into Combeferre’s lap and kiss him mercilessly.
Yeah, watching Grantaire’s face and neck turn deep red was certainly more appropriate than his thoughts.
“So, why are you all dressed up?” Grantaire asked loudly and Courfeyrac could swear he saw Enjolras smirk a little.
Huh. That was new.
“We have a meeting with Valjean,” Combeferre answered.
Enjolras grabbed a chair and dragged it to the other side of the table, so he was sitting right in front of Grantaire, who was still knitting. The needles were clacking louder now, as his hands moved faster, even though Courfeyrac wasn’t sure whether the knitting was correct or not.
“I really appreciated your input, Grantaire,” Enjolras said and Courfeyrac blinked at him.
Grantaire’s hands stilled and he looked up slowly, a slight frown on his face. That particular one said that he was suspicious of what Enjolras was saying because he was afraid of being either ridiculed or being roped into something he didn’t want to do.
And, seriously, Courfeyrac needed to stop cataloguing his friends’ expressions. He couldn’t help it, though, he was an observant person.
He was also a person who tried very hard to focus on Grantaire and Enjolras, instead of his best friend, who was currently shifting in his seat. Granted, the couch they were sitting on wasn’t the biggest and Combeferre didn’t really have much space, but that only meant that Courfeyrac could feel it every time Combeferre moved.
It was distracting.
“-really helped me see the other side, and build better arguments,” Enjolras was saying now, with Grantaire staring at him, that little frown still on his face.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Combeferre suddenly whispered to him and Courfeyrac may or may not have jumped a bit, because he could feel Combeferre’s breath on his ear.
“I… yeah, sure,” Courfeyrac muttered.
Then they were standing up and Courfeyrac was following Combeferre to a nearby empty table, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire, who were both sort of leaning more and more into each other, as Enjolras talked to Grantaire in a low voice.
“Hey, what the fuck is that about?” Courfeyrac asked when they were seated, glancing over at the other table.
Combeferre chuckled and shook his head fondly.
“Enjolras is seducing Grantaire,” he said and allowed a few seconds so that Courfeyrac could process that. “He’s been trying to do it for a while now, but he’s been absolutely useless and kept insulting him instead of complimenting him.” Combeferre rolled his eyes and Courfeyrac grinned excitedly as realization poured over him.
“So that’s why he yelled at Grantaire about his eyes being green the other day?” he asked and Combeferre nodded, laughing quietly. “We were so confused about that, R spent at least ten minutes staring sadly at his cake instead of eating it. And it was white chocolate with almonds and raspberries, one of his favourites. And that’s why Enjolras randomly showed up at his apartment and then slept in his lap?”
Combeferre sighed, nodding. He was smiling, though and Courfeyrac couldn’t stop staring.
“Yeah, he actually wanted to ask him out on a date, but he was tired and then he was so embarrassed about falling asleep in Grantaire’s lap, he just fled in the morning,” Combeferre shook his head again.
Courfeyrac chuckled and glanced back at them again and gasped, his hand flying over to grip Combeferre’s on reflex.
Enjolras was kissing Grantaire, his hands gently cupping Grantaire’s cheeks. Grantaire, in turn, seemed to be gripping Enjolras’s jacket very tightly, probably holding on for dear life.
Courfeyrac sighed happily and turned back to Combeferre, who was staring at their joined hands with an unreadable expression. And that was saying something, because however good Courfeyrac was at reading Enjolras’ and Grantaire’s expressions, he was something of an expert when it came to Combeferre.
Seriously, Courfeyrac would know when Ferre wanted black tea with vanilla instead of green tea with aloe vera just by a twitch of his eyebrow.
Now, though, he had no idea what Combeferre was thinking and it scared him.
He wanted to ask, but when he opened his mouth, he couldn’t bring himself to actually voice anything. What if Combeferre didn’t like it when Courfeyrac touched him, even if it was just a brush of shoulders or whatever? What if Combeferre had always merely tolerated Courfeyrac’s touches, because he was a patient saint, but was now finally getting fed up with him and would tell him to leave him alone? What if –
“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to dinner with me. And then a movie, and then we could go back to your place and cuddle on the couch,” Combeferre said, looking resolutely into his eyes and Courfeyrac couldn’t do anything but look back.
He was vaguely aware he might be gripping Combeferre’s hand a bit too tightly, but couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it.
“Like a date, Courfeyrac. I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me,” Ferre went on and Courfeyrac was still just looking at his face. Combeferre’s lips twitched as if he wanted to smile, but there was a slight frown appearing.
Oh god, that was because of him.
He tried to speak, but only a weird choked noise escaped his lips.
Courfeyrac cleared his throat and yes, Combeferre was definitely smiling and frowning now, and then he tried again.
“How about we just skip the dinner and the movie and go straight to cuddling? I could make pasta,” he said and silently congratulated himself on how composed he sounded.
“That wouldn’t really be skipping dinner,” Combeferre smirked, but the frown was finally gone. “But I would like that.”
“Good,” Courfeyrac said and then he couldn’t wait anymore.
He leaned in, running the hand that wasn’t holding Combeferre’s over his smooth cheek, revelling in how soft the skin was, and in the fact that he was allowed to do this now. His lips brushed Combeferre’s and then he pulled back slightly, just enough to be able to look at him.
Combeferre nodded and Courfeyrac smiled before pressing their lips together. He could feel Combeferre’s free hand coming up to his neck and Courfeyrac shivered and pressed himself closer, moving his lips against Combeferre’s. It was so lovely, Combeferre was lovely and his lips were soft, his hands warm against Courfeyrac’s skin and he never, ever wanted to break apart, he never wanted to do anything else than kiss Combeferre.
Their noses bumped together, he could feel Combeferre’s glasses, he was now sitting on the edge of the chair and some distant part of his brain was concerned he would slide off, but even despite of all that, it was the best kiss Courfeyrac had ever had and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt that it was because he was kissing Combeferre. He was convinced that even if Combeferre would be the worst kisser in the world, it would still feel the same.
They broke apart eventually, but stayed close together, their foreheads resting against each other and Courfeyrac could not stop smiling. His eyes were still closed as he tried to remember every single detail about this moment.
“Can we add kissing to the cuddling?” Combeferre asked softly and Courfeyrac laughed quietly, his shoulders shaking.
“Oh, definitely,” he replied and kissed him again.
***
Grantaire had left with Enjolras and Combeferre when they had to go to the meeting; Courfeyrac wasn’t sure whether Grantaire leaving with them had been entirely consciously done, as the man looked like he’d been in shock, his hand gripping Enjolras’. He had left, though, probably to stare adoringly at Enjolras and then have an argument about what their meeting with Valjean would actually accomplish. The point was that Courfeyrac didn’t get the chance to freak out with him about this… development until two days later.
On Wednesday, he was busy at work and really didn’t have the time to go talk to Grantaire over cake. He did, however, have the time to spend an absolutely adorable evening with Ferre. They watched Tangled, and he sang along to every single song, while Combeferre quietly quoted his favourite lines along with the characters. They ate cupcakes that Ferre got from some nurse at the hospital and ice cream that Courfeyrac may or may not have stolen from Enjolras’ apartment the last time he was there. It wasn’t like Enjolras actually noticed; Courfeyrac probably saved that poor chocolate chip cookie ice cream from certain doom. If anything, Courfeyrac should be thanked for his valiant efforts.
Needless to say, he was in a very good mood when he showed up at the Musain on Thursday. He cheerfully greeted Musichetta, who smiled back at him and passed him two plates of cake with purple frosting. Before he could ask, Musichetta told him it was a surprise and that he and Grantaire were to guess what flavours there were in the cake.
It was the best sort of challenge, really.
He walked over to Grantaire, who was sketching idly on a napkin and grinned at him when he saw him approaching. He figured Grantaire had had a good night, as well. Judging by the amount of hickeys on his neck, he would say there was a good chance he was correct.
“You know,” Grantaire said when Courfeyrac sat down, “it occurs to me that we don’t really have anything else in common to complain about anymore.”
Courfeyrac hummed around the bite of –delicious- cake.
“I’m sure we’ll find something, my guy,” he replied eventually.
“So this is actually happening?” Grantaire asked, only half-joking, “Like, I didn’t hallucinate the past two days? ‘Cause, that’s something that could have happened…”
“You didn’t hallucinate,” Courfeyrac shook his head. “I’m pretty sure I’d know if I was merely a pigment of your imagination.”
Grantaire laughed, but he nodded and went back to sketching, eating his cake distractedly.
Courfeyrac settled back into the couch and smiled. He couldn’t believe that when this whole thing started happening, he really thought that his life had been ruined. He couldn’t really imagine his life without dating Combeferre, and it had only been two days. Just the thought that he could kiss Combeferre whenever he wanted, that he was not merely allowed, but also encouraged to look at him and be attracted to him without feeling guilty… well, just the thought of that would probably be enough for him to produce a full corporeal Patronus. Lupin would be proud.
Plus, it was really good to see Grantaire smiling. He didn’t know how much he had missed that, but it had been rare for Grantaire to genuinely smile these past few months. It transformed his face, added that certain something that made him look almost radiant and Courfeyrac was very, very happy for his friend.
Idly, he picked up his fork and tried the cake. The purple icing tasted like kiwi, and he stared thoughtfully at Musichetta.
“She’s devious,” he muttered.
Grantaire hummed in agreement.