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“No.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No, Grantaire.” Combeferre sighs heavily, closing his book and looking at the other man. “I don’t want to.”
“But you’re the one who first introduced me to Enjolras. I’m just offering to make you as happy as we are.” Grantaire pouts, flopping down onto the sofa beside him. “And besides, we owe you one.”
“And you think the best way to repay me is with a blind date?” Combeferre deadpans, leaning back and staring Grantaire down. “Fifty quid wouldn’t have covered it?”
“We just want you to be as happy. You deserve it.” Grantaire huffs. “Say you’ll consider it, at least. You don’t have to say yes.”
“Fine. I’ll think about it. But it’ll probably still be a no.” Combeferre goes back to his book, and Grantaire just smiles to himself.
*
“You’re shitting me, right? This isn’t a genuine suggestion I’m hearing, not from you.” Courfeyrac laughs, holding onto his paper coffee cup with both hands to prevent spilling coffee everywhere.
“It is, actually. Grantaire says he seemed interested.” Enjolras replies, his lips set in a firm line. “Look, you don’t have to, but I thought it was a nice idea, alright? You’ve obviously been looking to settle down lately, even I can tell that much, and I thought it might help. Sorry I asked.”
He huffs, sinking back in his seat.
“Sorry. I didn’t really think you were serious.” Courfeyrac apologises, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “But a blind date? Really? Do you have that little faith in my flirtations?”
“Yes.” Enjolras answers flatly, stirring more sugar into his coffee. “It seemed like something you’d be interested in, at least.”
“Well, I’m curious. It’s ridiculous and it’ll probably never work, but, sod it, I’m curious.” Courfeyrac leans forward on his elbows. “Tell me about him.”
“No.” Enjolras laughs. “Not yet, anyway. Besides, it’s sort of the point that you go in blind. They’re blind dates for a reason, you know.”
Courfeyrac groans overdramatically and Enjolras just sniggers at him again.
*
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Combeferre lets out a long suffering sigh as he looks at himself in the mirror. Grantaire has spent the better part of an hour dressing him and messing around with his hair and making him put in and subsequently take out his contacts twice.
Grudgingly, he’ll admit that he looks good. Gone is the work-friendly and failsafe companion of old chinos, a comfy jumper and a cardigan with worn-thin elbow patches, replaced by a shirt and a fitted blazer and jeans that fit far too snugly in places.
“Shut up, you’ve got nothing to complain about.” Grantaire rolls his eyes, pushing himself onto his tiptoes to run a fingerful of wax through Combeferre’s fringe, pushing it into a gentle wave. He wipes his hands down on his jeans, straightens the other man’s glasses and steps back to admire his handiwork.
“Are you quite finished here?” Combeferre grumbles. “And will you at least tell me something about this guy other than his name?”
“Yes, I’m finished. You look good.” Grantaire smiles proudly. “And no, I won’t. You’ll be meeting him in half an hour at Little Sicily, where you’ll enjoy a prepaid dinner because Enj and I are generous like that, and then you’ll be going to the New London to see War Horse, so on the off-chance that things are awkward and you don’t want to talk to him, you don’t have to.”
“Great.” Combeferre plays with his hair in a way that almost seems nervous. “Now I’d best get going, hadn’t I?”
“Maybe. You’ll be fine. Good luck.”
*
Courfeyrac has been sitting in the restaurant, alone, for ten minutes now. All of a sudden, he’s anxious. He’s nervy and jumpy and unlike himself entirely, drumming his fingers hard on the table and looking up hurriedly whenever he hears the door open.
“Um, are you Courfeyrac?” A voice says from a few feet away, and his head jerks up and –oh. Oh, he’s cute and he’s got big square glasses and freckles and he’s biting his lip and that shouldn’t be allowed, he’s far too adorable and Courfeyrac is a little in love already and-
“Are you not him, then?”
“Yeah, sorry, I am.” Courfeyrac gets to his feet, stumbling a little and holding out his hand for the other man to shake. “You must be Combeferre.”
“Yes.” Combeferre replies as they sit down. “I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you.”
“And I you.” Courfeyrac smiles. “Wine?”
Combeferre smiles back and nods.
Courfeyrac is nothing like he expected –nothing like anyone he’d expect Enjolras to associate with on a regular basis, either. He’s loud and brash and genuinely hilarious, with big brown eyes and a mass of dark curls and an already-questionable fashion sense.
“So, tell me about yourself.” Courfeyrac says over their starters. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“I’m twenty nine, I’m a quarter French, and I teach at a primary school. That about covers it.” Combeferre huffs with a quiet laugh. “Now you.”
“I’m twenty six, I’m Irish, which you probably got from the accent, and I’m a personal shopper.” Courfeyrac replies. “A primary school, though? Other people’s children, ew.”
“It’s quite rewarding, actually. Once you get past the constant paint stains on your knees, of course. Personal shopping?” Combeferre knocks their knees together under the table and Courfeyrac flushes.
“I dropped out of law school; my friend put in a good word where they work, and now I’m here.” Courfeyrac shifts and presses their legs together knees to ankles. It’s pleasantly warm.
While they’re waiting for dessert, Combeferre holds his hand over the table.
“Is this okay?” He asks hesitantly, before he slides Courfeyrac’s hand into his. Courfeyrac beams at him in response.
They walk to the theatre hand in hand, and Courfeyrac finds the time to send a few quick texts to Enjolras.
[Courfeyrac:] why didn’t you tell me he was so perfect you bastard
[Courfeyrac:] help i am in love he’s a teacher and he’s adorable and HE’S WEARING A BLAZER YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT BLAZERS
[Courfeyrac:] YOU LITTLE SHIT I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY HE’S SO CUTE I’M GOING TO DIE
[Enjolras:] :)
They hold hands throughout the show, and at the intermission Courfeyrac clumsily presses their legs together, and Combeferre smiles at him, lifting their joined hands to his lips to press a soft kiss to the back of Courfeyrac’s hand.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if I could walk you home?” Combeferre asks as they leave, hands still entwined comfortably.
“No, it wouldn’t.” Courfeyrac replies, leading him gently in the direction of his home. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” Combeferre’s smile is gentle, “so would I.”
It takes them almost an hour to get home, taking the scenic route down through St. James’s Park, and Courfeyrac trundles to a slow stop outside his front door.
“This is me,” he says, squeezing Combeferre’s hand, “thank you. For tonight, I mean. It was great.”
“We should do it again sometime.” Combeferre smiles gently, squeezing Courfeyrac’s hand in return.
“We should.” Courfeyrac stops for a moment, releasing Combeferre’s hand and stepping back. Their eyes lock and Combeferre grins lopsidedly, and Courfeyrac has to lean up and wrap his arms around his neck and kiss him.
Combeferre lets out a muffled sound of surprise before kissing back, his hands shifting for purchase on Courfeyrac’s hips, thumbs hooking into the belt loops of his jeans, and Courfeyrac is crowding him back against the doorframe and kissing him fiercely.
“Do you want to come in for coffee, maybe?” Courfeyrac asks when he reluctantly pulls away a minute or ten later. Combeferre chases his mouth and kisses him again.
“I don’t drink coffee.” Combeferre laughs gently, good-naturedly.
“Tea, then.” Courfeyrac kisses him once more, fingers twisting and playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
*
[Courfeyrac:] i don’t know if i should be thanking you or not
[Courfeyrac:] because HE’S PERFECT
[Courfeyrac:] but i also can’t stop looking at him it’s really not helping my workflow actually
[Enjolras:] You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re happy.
[Combeferre:] Thank you.
[Combeferre:] He’s really lovely, actually. I’m glad I met him. I’m glad I listened to you.
[Grantaire:] I’m saving this text, this is literally the only time you’re ever going to say that to me
[Grantaire:] also you’re welcome
[Courfeyrac:] <3
[Combeferre:] You are literally sitting next to me in bed, you loser.
Courfeyrac pouts, setting his phone down on his bedside table and rolling over to face Combeferre. The other man looks back at him with raised eyebrows, and smiles softly at his disgruntled expression.
He slides down until their eyes are level and kisses Courfeyrac, morning breath be damned, fingers digging softly into his hipbones. Courfeyrac’s eyes flutter shut and he smiles into their kiss, deliriously happy for the time of day.
“I like you.” He mumbles, voice bleary with sleep as he opens his eyes and fumbles to link his hand with Combeferre’s.
“I like you too.” Combeferre replies, kissing his forehead affectionately.
A moment later, Courfeyrac’s phone vibrates.
[Combeferre:] <3