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Combeferre is exhausted.
They’ve been doing this for maybe five or six years, and he loves it, but it’s always so tiring. A week and a half, with all these people. Wonderful people, yes. People he loves without reservation and is always happy to see. But just so many people.
It’s two in the morning, and he knows that Courfeyrac’s little nieces and nephews will be jumping on them in only a few short hours, demanding help with their stockings and access to the literal warehouse of presents that is currently the family’s living room.
Combeferre relishes these few hours of sleep between returning from the Midnight Mass and the happy chaos that is Christmas morning in Courfeyrac’s family’s house.
Courfeyrac respects Combeferre’s need for peace, and bids him goodnight, saying he’ll be staying up for a while longer so he and his sister Araceli can “give Santa some last minute help.”
Combeferre kisses Courf’s nose and goes to bed.
He’s lying there, on top of the covers, as Miami is always warmer than he’d like, annoyingly wide awake, when he notices it.
There’s a noise coming from the backyard. For the first minute or so after he notices it, he ignores it. This neighborhood never seems to be completely silent, and the middle of the night between Christmas Eve and Christmas is no different.
But the noise continues, and grows more insistent. And then he recognizes a very distinct voice.
“Feliz Navidad!” The voice calls, the rhythm perfect but lacking any semblance of pitch.
Combeferre goes to the window and peeks out.
There he is. Courfeyrac is standing in the backyard, near where the barbecue is still smoking from the Noche Buena pig roast. His eyes are closed, and he’s very clumsily strumming a guitar that is frightfully out of tune.
“Feliz Navidad, próspero año y felicidad!”
“Courf, what are you doing?” He calls down, realizing as soon as the words are out of his mouth that Courf has no way of knowing what he’s just said. Combeferre is too far away and it’s too dark for Courf to read his lips, and Courf has his eyes closed anyway.
That’s when Combeferre notices Araceli, sitting in a lawn chair a few feet from Courf. She kicks her brother, who yelps and nearly drops the guitar.
“Celi!” He squawks.
She shrugs, and points up to the window.
Courfeyrac turns and sees Combeferre, and brightens up immediately.
“Buenas noches, Combeferre!”
“Buenas noches, Courfeyrac.”
Courf turns to Araceli for translation. She half-heartedly signs Combeferre’s greeting to her brother, and then launches into some commentary of her own. Combeferre has become pretty fluent in ASL over the years, but he still struggles with following Spanish sign language, and the conversation between Araceli and her brother is far too fast and far away and filled with abbreviations for him to understand it, but they’re probably doing that on purpose. The last thing he catches is Courfeyrac signing his sister a fairly rude expression telling her to shut up. She crosses her arms over her chest and grins.
Courfeyrac turns back to face Combeferre.
“Courf, what are you doing?”
Araceli signs Ferre’s question to Courf.
“Could you come down?” Courf calls. “I thought this would be romantic but it’s just really awkward.”
Combeferre nods, and quickly makes his way to the backyard, somewhat amazed that the racket hasn’t woken up the rest of the family. He emerges onto the back patio, where Courfeyrac is waiting for him. The guitar has been dropped on a table, and Courf is now holding a large piece of posterboard. Or several, actually, Combeferre realizes as Courfeyrac pulls away the posterboard to reveal another piece underneath, on which he has written with permanent marker.
Feliz navidad, Combeferre.
Combeferre nods to Courfeyrac once he’s read the words. Courf pulls that piece away to reveal another, with a sly smile that Ferre recognizes from so many good-natured pranks.
We’ve spent every Christmas since we met with my family.
They love you as much as I do.
Which is saying a lot.
Even if, for the first two years…
…we couldn’t find a way to tell them we weren’t actually together…
…yet
I love you so much.
And as soon as I knew I wanted to do this…
…I knew how I wanted to do it.
You are a saint for putting up with them when you aren’t related to them.
Especially because you don’t actually celebrate this holiday.
Over the last six years…
…we’ve made so many memories here, together.
And I want to make so many more.
So will you spend a lifetime of Christmases with me? (And them?)
Combeferre…
Will you marry me?
Combeferre is fighting back tears by the last few cards, and as soon as he sees the last one, he’s signing yes over and over, rushing over to a grinning (and crying) Courfeyrac and kissing him over and over.
He almost doesn’t notice when the backyard’s lights flood on and Courfeyrac’s entire extended family surround them. He’s too focused on Courfeyrac—his beautiful, earnest brown eyes and his enthusiastic, eager smile (and his lips, oh god his lips), and his sweet dimple (only one, in his left cheek), and his eyebrows, which have a very unique way of raising when he’s looking at Combeferre that they don’t do for anyone else.
Combeferre never thought he’d see evidence for someone’s love for him in the movement of their eyebrows, but then again, he’s never seen a face as expressive as Courfeyrac’s.
The entire extended family swarms them, offering their congratulations.
This is why the house was so quiet, Combeferre realizes as four Tias hug him at once. Everyone was hiding in the backyard for an impromptu engagement party.
Someone brings out drinks and snacks, and the nieces and nephews serenade them with a sung and signed love ballad from the island, and Adela and her old partner (who just happens to be at Courfeyrac’s house at two in the morning on Christmas), dance an excerpt from their Nutcracker pas de deux.
It’s completely absurd, Combeferre thinks. In the best possible way. Courfeyrac is fiddling with the new ring on Combeferre’s hand that he doesn’t remember putting there.
He loves all of these people, this community that accepted him without question the first time he entered Courfeyrac’s parents’ house. He loves their enthusiasm and unflagging support for each other, their ability to throw a party any time, anywhere, and make anyone, from anywhere, feel welcome.
And he loves that he can see all of them reflected in the man he loves.