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Combeferre had a million things to do, finals were coming up and they were hard enough for anyone, but he was doing a double major and at this point, he was probably just going to die. Everyone had tried to talk him out of doing a double major, but he hadn’t listened, and now he was going to die. That’s what was going to happen. He wasn’t even going to live long enough to learn to listen to the advice of others.
He was mentally preparing his will as he unlocked the door to his apartment, but his considerations on how to divvy up his belongings were interrupted as Courfeyrac bounced over to him, only to stop short. “Where’s the ice cream?”
“What ice cream?” Combeferre could feel Courfeyrac’s pout, but he chose to ignore it as he set his bag on the floor and toed off his shoes.
“The ice cream I texted you about.” He let out an anguished whine which Combeferre chose to ignore as well. But that explained why he didn’t get the message- he always turned his phone off in the library. He fished it out of his pocket, furrowing his brow when he looked at the screen.
“I have a voicemail from an unknown number-” Combeferre’s head whipped up and glared suspiciously at Courfeyrac. “Have you been giving out my phone number on craigslist again?”
“No I haven’t; I swear!”
He had received calls for three weeks straight; every one propositioning increasingly bizarre sexual acts. Combeferre’s block list was a mile long because of it, and he almost had to get a new phone number.
His revenge wasn’t pretty- though it was highly amusing. Afterwards Courfeyrac had sworn up and down that he wouldn’t do it again, and despite the fact that he was now terrified of any and all crustaceans, Combeferre still didn’t trust him.
Combeferre just hummed, not convinced in the slightest. When he typed in his password, he turned the phone on speaker so Courfeyrac would know whether or not he’d be living to see another dawn.
Courfeyrac had been telling the truth; the message wasn’t from another dubious person solicitating him for sex, but from someone solicitating something far different- a bag.
“Hi, um, I’m Grantaire and I really hope this is Combeferre. If it is, I just want to start off by saying that your inscription in your books is the cutest fucking things I’ve ever seen. It’s adorable- but that’s not why I’m calling; I have your bag, and I’m really, really hoping that you have mine. Please say you do; I’m dead if I don’t find Yorick.”
He then rattled off his number and for a lack of paper Combeferre ended up scrawling it onto Courfeyrac’s arm, but it was difficult because he was bouncing on the balls of his feet and wouldn’t stay still.
“Oh my god, you have to call him back and set up a date with sexy voice!” He yelled. The comment distracted him long enough for Courfeyrac to have enough time to reach down to scoop up the bag and take it to the couch before Combeferre had a chance to stop him. “But first we should go through his bag to make sure he’s not a spy who’s holding your books hostage!”
Enjolras was walking through the room at that moment and he stopped to scowl at Courfeyrac. “You can’t go through someone’s belongings.” Both Enjolras and Combeferre tried to taking the bag from him, but Courfeyrac just tightened his grip and began rifling through it. Almost immediately he wrenched his hand back and looked at Combeferre incredulously.
“There’s a human skull in here.” He whispered, pulling it out in wonder. Combeferre snatched it from him, turning it over in his hands. It was covered in fake jewels and “Yorick” was written on the forehead with glitter paint.
“This is a real skull,” He said, passing it over to Enjolras to inspect. “Someone bedazzled a human skull.”
“I’m assuming that’s what he meant when he said Yorick. Oh my god, his message was a pun. He’s a spy, but he’s a dorky spy.” Courfeyrac groaned, but continued to go through the bag before a thought occurred to him. “Is the theater troupe putting on like a musical version of Hamlet or something? Please say yes; I want that so badly.”
“So you want The Lion King. That's already a thing.” Enjolras sat down beside him, only for Courfeyrac dump a small pile of books in his lap. The books were entirely written in Greek and most had the stamp of the university library. Courfeyrac was positively gleeful.
“He speaks Greek!”
Enjolras nodded solemnly. “He must be a Greek spy.”
“Don’t encourage him!” Combeferre groaned, collapsing next to him on the couch.
Courfeyrac grinned at him cheekily before going back to the bag. He let out a triumphant noise as he pulled out a notebook, and they all leaned forward to watch him go through it. By this point all thoughts of personal privacy had left their heads- after all, Combeferre rationalized, Grantaire had probably done the exact same thing with his bag… though the contents of his bag were far less strange.
The notebook was full of breathtaking drawings, but they were only of dinosaurs.
“Who is this guy?” Enjolras was incredulous, but Combeferre just smiled to himself; Greek spy or not, he was charmed. Halfway through the book they came across a page with writing scrawled over it, and to Courfeyrac’s delight, it was in Thai.
“See? He’s a Greek spy! I bet the books are code books detailing all his dastardly plots! I bet the skull is from one of his targets! He just covered it in glitter so no one would suspect anything. He can read Thai and Greek and obviously French since he “apparently” attends school here; he probably speaks even more languages. Polyglots are highly suspicious.”
“Courfeyrac, you’re a polyglot.” Combeferre pointed out. He took this opportunity to wonder how exactly he got stuck with these two. Though actually the real question is why did he love these two losers? He really needed to rethink his choice in friends, he mused.
“Well yes, but who says I’m not a spy? I could be a spy. I’m just so amazing that you never realized.”
Enjolras thwacked him over the head; he was doing his best to glare, and while it was a valiant attempt, he couldn’t quite pull it off. “If you’re a spy, why haven’t you ever spied for our cause? What kind of best friend are you?”
“Excuse you; I am an amazing best friend!” Courfeyrac declared before sticking his tongue out at Enjolras, who only stuck out his tongue in return.
Courfeyrac turned around and grabbed Combeferre’s hands. “But you have to set up a date with him! He has weird interests and you have weird interests, and he has a mysterious skull and you’re going to be a doctor! I don’t even know what’s up with the dinosaurs, but you have that weird thing for moths. Also his voice is super sexy- like cigarettes and gravel.”
Combeferre gave him a doubtful look. “Weren’t you just telling me that he was a spy holding my books hostage?”
“Yeah, but he’s a sexy spy!”
Courfeyrac was hanging all over him as he made the call, almost vibrating in excitement. The phone was picked up after only a few rings, “This is Grantaire- if you’re book bag guy, please tell me you have Yorick; if this is Bossuet and you’re calling on a stranger’s phone because you were mugged again, what the hell?”
“This is book bag guy- does your friend really get mugged so often that it’s your first thought when you see an unfamiliar number?” Even Courfeyrac look vaguely concerned.
“Book bag guy!” He cheered, “And yes, Bossuet was mugged three times last week alone. His problem is he’ll give them whatever and not even bother going to the police. He gave his mugger his coat and a banana once. Do you have Yorick?”
“It’s Combeferre, and yes, I have him.” He heard a sigh of relief on the other line. He had so many questions about said skull, but he figured it would be better to ask later. He looked over at Courfeyrac and Enjolras. They weren’t even trying to hide the fact that they were listening. “My friends went through your belongings; they think you’re a Greek spy.”
“Oh my god, that’s amazing!” Grantaire cheered. “Okay okay, here’s what we’re going to do- do you know the Corinth café?” He continued without giving Combeferre a chance to answer. “We’re going to have a clandestine rendezvous at there. Wear a hot pink feather boa so I can recognize you; I’ll wear a fake mustache and have a newspaper. When you see me your super secret code word is “Rumpelstiltskin” and I’ll reply with “hippopotamus” so that we know neither of us has been intercepted by the enemy. Meet me at 8!”
Again he didn’t wait for Combeferre’s response, just hung up and Combeferre turned to Courfeyrac and with a grave expression said “You were right; he is a spy.”
In the end Combeferre did not wear the feather boa, (though Courfeyrac had many to offer), but when he got to the café it was apparent that Grantaire really had worn his disguise. He was sporting a bushy mustache and was pretending to read a newspaper that had two holes cut out of it so he could peer suspiciously at the other patrons of the café.
Combeferre ordered a coffee and while he waited for it, he was surprised to find himself smiling; he always had somewhat of a hard time warming up to people, but it was strange to realize he was completely at ease. Maybe it was because Grantaire had made the situation so ludicrous that it was hard to stay guarded; maybe it was because he was so used to this level of ridiculousness.
Once he had his coffee he sat down across from him and leant forward to whisper conspiratorially, “I believe I’m supposed to meet you?”
Grantaire put down his newspaper and eyed him warily. “I’m sorry; I’m supposed to be meeting with a man in a feather boa. How do I know that you’re not a counter agent?”
“Because I have the ‘super secret code word’ Rumpelstiltskin, and besides, I have this!” He pulled Yorick from his bag. Grantaire gave a theatrical gasp, but immediately gave up the farce and started laughing.
He pulled off the mustache, grinning wildly at him. “Well, I suppose I can trust you, even though you didn’t let me use my code word.”
“Since you trust me, may I ask why you’re carrying around a bedazzled human skull?” Combeferre smiled, taking a sip of his coffee. “Or why you have a skull in the first place? They cost over a thousand dollars minimum and you really don’t seem like the type to spend that kind of money on things like this.”
Grantaire sat up straighter, “Shit, really? You’re fucking with me, right?”
Combeferre shook his head causing Grantaire to let out a wounded noise.
“All I know is that like two years ago I went to a party and woke up in bed the next day with Yorick, a kazoo, sparkly purple socks, and no memory of the night before. He was already bedazzled so I decided to keep him; I couldn’t just throw such a fabulous skull into the trash. Also let’s not act like I was the only person with weird shit in my bag, Mr. Bloodletting Over the Centuries.”
Combeferre ignored the comment on his choice in literature, as he was too caught up in wondering if Grantaire was the one fucking with him. It's not like human skulls turn up in beds all the time, (or so he hoped), and that also meant that there was another person out there who went around bedazzling human skulls and in all likelihood carrying them around to parties.
But there was a pun in there and there was little in this world to distract Combeferre from a possible pun. “I bet that was a bone-chilling experience.”
“Oh yeah,” Grantaire nodded. “It was a grave happenstance- I was deathly afraid.”
Grantaire, Combeferre decided, was perfect. He wasn’t particularly handsome, but he was almost shining with happiness, and Combeferre was a bit smitten with the complete absurdity of the situation. He always had a habit of taking himself far too seriously; maybe he needed a little ridiculousness that wasn’t supplied by Courfeyrac and Enjolras. It had been a long time since he had taken to someone so quickly.
“So do you make a habit of carrying Yorick with you everywhere?”
“Well, you never know when you’re going to need to act out a scene from Hamlet- you have to be prepared for such situations.” Grantaire said primly, before breaking into another grin. “But no, I’m giving Yorick to a friend. He’s been by my side for two years; it’s time to pass him on. I have a friend who’s all about this shit; he has a couple skulls that he’s turned into flower pots, though I made him swear not to do that to poor Yorick.”
That sounded awfully familiar, he realized. “Is this friend Jehan Prouvaire?”
“Yeah! Do you know him?” Grantaire leaned forward across the table and Combeferre realized how close they were. He hadn’t noticed that he had been leaning forwards, but now they were practically nose to nose. He didn’t move away.
“I do. I may have used his pet lobster in a revenge plot once.”
“You’re the guy who put Nerval in his friend’s bathtub!” Grantaire leant back in his chair, giving a full bodied laugh and clapping his hands together. “I wish I could have seen that. I’m the one who bought him Nerval; I saved him from a grocery story four years ago and gave it him to Jehan as a birthday present- he cried.”
He was about to respond when the barista came over, crossing her arms and glaring when she reached the table. “Grantaire, you and your boyfriend are disturbing the other customers, and I’m pretty sure your dead friend is a health code violation.”
He grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, Ép; we’ll get out of here.” She gave a curt nod and walked back to the counter. They traded bags and started walking out together in silence. It was a nice night out and standing on the sidewalk, the warm light was spilling over from the café, lighting them both in a half-light. Grantaire wasn’t quite looking at him, but he was obviously smiling.
Their rapport having been interrupted, Combeferre took a moment to figure out how to proceed, but after a moment he reached out for Grantaire’s hand. “You have my number; I’d like to have coffee again sometime. I never got a chance to ask why you only draw dinosaurs.”
His smile only grew and as Combeferre walked away he heard Grantaire yell “But next time you better wear your disguise!”