Chapter Text
“Is that another Courfeyrac CD?” Enjolras asked teasingly as Combeferre came sidling out of HMV. “Anyone would think you were in love with the guy.”
Blushing, Combeferre stuffed the plastic bag into his rucksack. “I just really like his music. And he’s such an inspiration – a bestselling jazz artist and he’s only seventeen. That’s our age. And what have we done?”
“We’ve made a marked difference to the lives of the abased and poor in this city,” Enjolras replied automatically.
“We’ve held a couple of bake sales and a car wash and donated the proceeds to Shelter.” Combeferre sighed. “I’d hardly call that the equivalent to what he’s already done.”
“But we’re using our talents to do good. This guys just a singer, nothing more.” Enjolras slung a comforting arm around his best friend. “Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee.”
“Starbucks?” Combeferre asked hopefully, earning himself a dig in the ribs. “Ow!”
“From the coffee cart, you idiot,” Enjolras replied, pointedly steering them towards the cart in the centre of the square. “Don’t sell out to the corporations.”
Combeferre could feel the new CD and Courfeyrac’s plastic smile burning a hole in his bag. He didn’t want to support mainstream music and the X-Factor generation. He didn’t. But there was something about Courfeyrac, and his bright eyes and Irish accent and smooth voice that Combeferre found hard to resist.
“What are we going to do for our eighteenth’s, then?” Enjolras asked him absently. Their birthdays were only three days apart, so they’d always had joint parties. “Mother wants to throw a ball but I’m vetoing that plan.”
“I’m not sure that I really want to do anything,” Combeferre replied quietly. “It’s a big day, after all.”
“The tattoos, you mean?” Enjolras asked, reeling off their standard order to a friendly barista. “Are you nervous?”
“Yes.” Combeferre blushed again. “It’s just such a huge thing.”
“Oh, come on.” Enjolras frowned. “You don’t subscribe to the whole fate thing?”
“Well, it works for most, doesn’t it? You only hear of a rare few cases where people fall for the wrong person or don’t get a tattoo at all.” Combeferre crossed his arms. “I like the fact that it’s controlled. The world is too disorganised to spend it searching for someone. So what, don’t you believe in it?”
“I feel precisely the opposite way to you. People shouldn’t feel controlled by fate. It’s a matter of free will.”
Slowly, the conversation disintegrated into the kind of high-speed argument that both of the boys enjoyed, ending when the coffee cart owner kicked them off his outdoor tables because it was closing time.
“That was fun,” Combeferre intoned as they wandered through the quietening streets. “When will I next see you?” They’d reached the crossroads where they split each evening – Enjolras heading uptown to his parent’s fancy townhouse, and Combeferre going towards the bus station, where he would catch the coach out to the far-less-fancy house that his parents had in the suburbs. That split meant that the pair had been sent to sixth-form colleges on opposite ends of town to keep transport costs down, so only saw each other on weekends.
“Next weekend?” Enjolras asked.
Combeferre shook his head. “Work experience at the hospital. Wednesday afternoon this week?”
“Debate club.” Sighing, Enjolras took out a small personal planner and began rifling through it. “Can you do Sunday evening?”
“At a pinch, yeah. I’ll text you.” Combeferre grinned, reaching out to hug his friend. “And if you’re set on having an eighteenth, we can start planning it.”
“Great.” Enjolras’ face slowly split into a smile. “Bye, Ferre.”
“Bye.” Pulling down the sleeves on his button-down top, Combeferre turned his back and started walking.
oo
“Are you serious right now?” Courfeyrac asked angrily. He wasn’t normally the type to get aggressive, but, hey, the situation demanded it. “You’re throwing me a birthday party and I don’t get to choose who’s invited?”
“It’s all about networking.” His agent stamped a few documents on his desk with a rubber stamp and pushed them to the side. “We need to get you to collaborate with the big guns. If you can persuade, oh, I don’t know, Jean Prouvaire to play violin on one of your tracks, we have an instant hit on our hands.” Rubbing his fingers together, he returned Courfeyrac’s icy stare. “Why? You didn’t have plans, did you?”
“Just flying back to Ireland to see my family, whom I haven’t seen in over nine months,” Courfeyrac replied, scowling. “I want them flown over here if I can’t go to them.”
“Not happening. They can’t be at the party, in any case, so what’s the point of bringing them here?”
“They’re my family!” Courfeyrac yelled back. “And I actually want to be close to them when –“
“When your tattoo appears?” Dan’s nose wrinkled like he’d smelled something bad. “Remember what we said about that, Courfeyrac?”
Reluctantly, Courfeyrac intoned the rules. “I’m not to tell anyone outside of you and my immediate family, I have to cover it up, and I’m not to do anything rash if I do find my soulmate. I know. But how am I going to cover it up if it’s somewhere weird, like my forehead?”
“Make-up. Or there’s always the other option.”
“You’re not seriously suggesting that I have my tattoo removed?” Courfeyrac asked, puzzled. It was a new technique that was currently being pioneered among the elite – essentially high-powered laser treatment, it removed the tattoo almost completely, leaving a few smudges and a scar shaped like a broken heart. “Why would you even say that?”
Dan simply rolled up one of his sleeves, where, on his lower forearm, a few ink blots could be discerned, along with the characteristic scar. “Choose your own fate. It’s not so bad.”
“What if I like the certainty?” When Dan was silent, Courfeyrac recklessly continued talking. “If – when I meet the person, my soulmate, I want to be sure of it.”
“Do you even know why I had this removed?” Dan’s eyes were angry but his whole body had relaxed – no, slumped – into his chair.
“No.” Courfeyrac sighed. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you, but I just – “
“My girlfriend died, Courf. She died a few minutes after we found each other, when she was hit by a lorry as we left the supermarket, and I had the tattoo removed a week later.” Dan’s mouth twisted into a thin line. “Love screws you up. Fate screws you up, and anyone who says any different has either never met a Dysfunctional or is horrendously lucky.”
“You shouldn’t call them Dysfunctionals,” Courfeyrac replied automatically, referring to people upon whom no tattoo appeared, or who had separated from their soulmates. “It perpetuates a society that’s focused on what people perceive to be “normal”, and it’s really harmful.”
“Save it. You’re having a party, it’s going to be at a nightclub and you’re going to like it.” Dan gritted his teeth. “And you’re going to stow the bullshit, too. Now, get the hell out of here.”
“I can’t be dealing with this.” Grabbing his bag, Courfeyrac swung out of the room, picking up his music folder from reception and heading out to the waiting car.
oo
“Having fun?” Enjolras asked, grabbing Combeferre from behind. “You look sad.”
Tugging his shirt down a little over the tattoo that had appeared that morning on his hip, Combeferre turned to see his friend with a heightened red colour flowering on his cheeks from the dancing. “I’m not sad, just tired. It’s eleven pm.”
“But are you having a good time?” All around them, the friends and family that they’d invited danced around them, unaware of the scene playing out between them. “I hope you are.”
Combeferre forced a smile. “Of course I am. It’s nice to see everyone.”
Enjolras eyed his friend – he’d always known when something was wrong. “I don’t normally go in for this sort of stuff, but do you want to go out into town?” London was a busy place, even on a Thursday evening. “You look like you could use a couple of drinks.”
“I absolutely could.” Combeferre’s spirits were roused, if only for a second. “I’ll see you out the front in a couple of minutes, ok? I’d better get a jacket.”
“Great.” Enjolras smiled fully. “See you in a second.” He dived back into the crowd, and, within minutes, the pair of them were running along the road to catch the bus.
“Lucky that there’s still one going out at this time of night,” Enjolras panted, swinging onto one of the blue seats as Combeferre showed the driver his student card. “If we miss the last one back, I’m never going to forgive you.”
“Sucks,” Combeferre grinned, taking the seat next to Enjolras’. “Sorry for being a grouch – I just really wanted to get away from all of that.”
“All of what?” Enjolras suddenly frowned. “Is it about your tattoo?”
“Yeah.” Combeferre pulled up his shirt slightly. “It was disappointing, to say the least.” Instead of the curlicue messages that often appeared on skin, his was a simple “hi” in block capitals. “How about yours?”
“Oh, that old thing.” Enjolras scratched the back of his neck. “It’s nothing.”
“But where is it?” Combeferre asked, curious. Enjolras was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and cropped trousers. “I’m confused.”
“It’s on my back.”
“And what is it?”
A few seconds later, Combeferre had fallen out of his seat laughing.
“It’s not funny!” Enjolras said indignantly as Combeferre scrabbled to stand up again, still howling, much to the disapproval of other passengers.
“You have a drunken litany on the virtues of the Greek god Apollo on your back! I’d say that that’s funny!” Combeferre howled, pulling himself back up. “Oh my god, that’s going to be the one thing that I introduce you with for the rest of our days.”
“Don’t you even dare,” Enjolras replied warningly, swinging out of his seat and stepping over Combeferre. “Come on, it’s our stop.”
oo
“It’s my eighteenth birthday and it fucking sucks.” Courfeyrac stirred the one drink he had been allowed moodily as hundreds of people he didn’t know dealt drugs and traded meaningless compliments and danced. “Can we get out of here?”
“Is it really wise?” Grantaire replied thoughtfully. “Dan may well kill you if you escape.”
“He’ll have to catch me first. And since when were you so law-abiding?” His guitarist (and best friend) had never been one to follow the rules, especially those laid down by Dan Javert – he’d even taken people back to the bus on their last tour, which had resulted in him nearly getting fired when Dan had found out.
“Since it’s your eighteenth birthday and, if you go, you’re going to get trashed, so I’d have to go with you and I’m already skating on thin ice.” Grantaire smiled thinly. “Why don’t you ask Dan if you can leave? Say you have a headache or something.”
“Nice plan.” Courfeyrac leapt up, ignoring the unpleasant pounding in his temple. “I actually do have one. I’ll text Dan, just get me out of here.”
Grantaire gave him a sympathetic look. “You’re too hot, right? Why don’t you just take off the jacket?” Courfeyrac had been wearing a high-necked denim jacket all evening, despite the heat of the summer.
“I can’t!” Courfeyrac blurted out, blushing immediately. “Um, my tattoo is there and I’m not allowed to reveal it.”
“Seriously?” Grantaire’s eyes widened. “Oh, fuck it. Dan can bugger off, we’re going out.”
“What does your tattoo even say?” Courfeyrac asked as Grantaire grabbed his hand and plunged them into the throbbing heat of the party, making their way towards the door.
“I’ll show you in a second.” Waiting until they were standing in the dimly-lit foyer of the club, Grantaire pulled the neckline of his shirt down to reveal the words, “my name is not Apollo.”
“Well, that’s more than a little cryptic.” Courfeyrac frowned. “Mine’s awful. It just says “Can I get you a drink?” That could apply to anyone!”
“Time to find out.” Grantaire threw up a hand to flag down a taxi. “Tonight’s on me.”
oo
“Where did you even hear about this place?” Combeferre asked loudly over the loud pop music that was blaring out of the club. “I didn’t know you knew about…clubs.”
“I have my sources.” Enjolras smiled briefly and flashed ID at the bouncer, who gave him a suspicious glance before dubiously waving the pair forward. “It’s also the first one I saw on Google Maps.”
“It’s…loud. And bright.” Combeferre shielded his eyes from the strobe. “But there is alcohol and there is £1 shots, so this place looks perfect.”
oo
“This looks fantastic!” Courfeyrac said eagerly as Grantaire got the driver to pull over. “I’ve never been clubbing before.”
“This place is an easy introduction.” Grantaire only had to give the bouncer a sardonic look as if to say really? you’re trying to ID me? to get him to let them in. “It’s bright and alcoholic and full of people who want a good time. Also, £1 shots on a Thursday.”
“Let’s do this.” Courfeyrac surged forward eagerly into the crowd.
oo
When Combeferre had had his fifth one pound shot, he suddenly realised that the evening was way better than he had originally thought it would be. “This is fab. This is grrrrreat.” Handing the barman his last pound coin and receiving a shot of something green in return, he downed it in one and turned around, almost falling off his bar stool. Enjolras was already out there somewhere in the milky twilight, probably dancing with a stranger. He wasn’t one of the most outgoing teenagers in the world, but Enjolras loved a party, and he especially loved a party where he had the opportunity to spread pro-worker propaganda. “Time to pahtay.”
Diving into the fray, he danced with first one person and then another, feeling the beat throbbing through him as he moved closer and closer to the speakers, looking out for the blonde ponytail and the delicate flush of porcelain cheeks that signified Enjolras, and ended up bumping into someone, who yelled “watch it!” without really turning to look at Combeferre, who turned with a start, because blow him if that voice didn’t sound exactly like Courfeyrac. But then the figure was lost into the crowd again and he was left to move on again.
He eventually found Enjolras dancing with a group of people, including a man with ginger hair who looked vaguely familiar and a scruffy-looking dark-haired man who looked drunk out of his skull. He was just in time to see the dark man look up and launch himself at Enjolras, shouting something that sounded like “oh, Apollo, have mercy on your Patroclus – bestow thy love upon me? oh, Apollo, sweet god of –“
“Well, shit. Looks like that finally happened,” Combeferre said to himself. Enjolras was staring, awestruck, at the dark man, who was now hanging around Enjolras’ neck. He couldn’t have been older than twenty, and seemed far too sophisticated to be hanging out in a club like this, but he was staring at Enjolras like he was the only thing in the world and, wonder of wonders, Enjolras was staring back.
Someone blundered into him from behind, and Combeferre turned, ready to apologize, and found himself face-to-face with Courfeyrac.
He couldn’t think of anything to say at all, besides the obvious “oh my god, it’s you!”, but was relieved of the uncertainty when the man simply smiled and said in that fucking amazing accent, “Hi.”
Mentally telling himself not to panic because hi is a perfectly common introduction and there’s nothing that means that this man could possibly be your soulmate at all, he replied, “Um, can I buy you a drink?”
Courfeyrac’s mouth dropped open. “Your tattoo?” he whispered, Combeferre still somehow managing to hear him over the thudding beat. Barely even grinning, because this was a dream, totally a dream, there was no way that this could be real, he lifted his shirt a little to reveal his tattoo, and looked up to see Courfeyrac turning and pulling down his collar to show his, in the neat little curlicue writing that Combeferre used for essays.
“No way.” Combeferre shook his head. “No fucking way.”
“How about that drink then?” Courfeyrac asked, smiling wickedly. “We seem to have a lot to talk about.”
oo
“I met my soulmate last night,” Courfeyrac said simply as he burst into Dan Javert’s office. “Um….on my way home. I met him and he’s perfect and he wants to be a doctor and he’s a fan and he’s taller than me and…”
“…and you are not to see him again.” Dan didn’t even look up from his papers. “It’s dangerous for your career and I will not tolerate it.”
“But – the tattoo?” Courfeyrac blustered, having lost all the wind in his sails. “This guy is my soulmate! I can’t just leave him!”
“Yes, you can. Because if you do, I am resigning as your agent.” Dan looked up. “What – you don’t think I’m serious? I’m not going to carry on working for an artist whose entire career and fanbase will go down the pan if he carries out what fate tells him to.”
“You dick,” Courfeyrac replied, turning purple. “You’re actually trying to control who I fall in love with?”
“I’m trying to do whats best for you and for your career. Chances are that the other boy is just infatuated. You’re famous, after all. It’s what fans do best.”
“That’s not true,” Courfeyrac replied automatically, but his mind was already beginning to windmill. What if Combeferre – perfect, sweet, gorgeous Combeferre, who had brought him a tequila shot and told him science jokes all evening – was just a fame hunter? It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. “I’m going. Grantaire and I have rehearsal.”
“Grantaire won’t be returning to your band. I fired him.” Dan signed something else and threw a scrumpled up paper ball into the bin. “He led you into a dangerous situation. Yes, I know about the bar.”
“I’m not even going to ask how you know that,” Courfeyrac responded wearily. “And I’m going to go and find Combeferre later, whether you like it or not.”
“I will leave if you do.” Dan stood up. “And you’ll be cast out, adrift, with no agent, no contacts, no nothing.”
“At least I’ll have Combeferre,” Courfeyrac said stoically.
“Stupid boy,” Dan intoned, wearily shaking his head. “Haven’t I taught you yet that fate comes back around to bite you in the ass, no matter how hard you try to avoid it?”
oo
“He was amazing!” Combeferre yelled, his head buried in his pillow. “I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe it.”
“I can’t fucking believe it either, but you could at least keep your voice down.” On his bedroom floor, Enjolras was sitting with his head in his hands, trying to block the sunlight. “It was a hard night.”
“Are you going to see Patroclus again?” Combeferre asked teasingly, rolling over onto his back and batting away the thrown cushion. “Oh, come on, he was cute.”
“Tonight,” Enjolras replied, slowly rolling back onto the floor. “And I’m not prepared at all. And I’m also insanely jealous of your Irishman.”
“How did this even happen to us?” Combeferre asked the ceiling. “Two days after your birthday, the day of mine – some people wait a lifetime to meet their soulmates.”
“It’s kind of weird, don’t you think?” Enjolras asked slowly. “That we should both meet our soulmates in the same bar, almost at the same time, on the same day?”
“Not weird,” Combeferre replied quickly, “just coincidental.” But, already, cogs were whirring inside of his head. Courfeyrac and he both had fairly common phrase tattoos. They could have been completely mistaken – strangers instead of soulmates that happened to share one magical evening.
Enjolras was still chattering inanely in the background, but Combeferre was barely listening.
oo
As he stormed out of Dan’s office, Courfeyrac ran into another young man, dressed from head to toe in different patterns, none of which matched, and knocked over a stack of sheet music that went flying off into the wind almost immediately.
“Oh, crap. My bad,” he said, chasing after some of the scraps of paper that went floating off down the road and returning them to their owner. “I’m so sorry. Bad day, and all. And, you know, problems. Agents. God, I’m rambling.”
The man fixed liquid green eyes on him, the same colour as the summer grass after it’s been worn out after a hot August, and shook his head slightly, grinning from ear to ear. “Can I buy you a drink?”