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The afternoon sun bathed the manor and its surrounding hills in a golden glow, making for a comfortably lazy atmosphere.

Courfeyrac adjusted his cravat while glancing down to his feet, where one of the cats - George Gordon, he noted, recognisable by the big, white spot on his dark chest - was lounging in a fleck of sunlight.

Once he had ensured himself that the elaborate knot he'd tied earlier was still as impeccable, he knelt down to scratch George Gordon behind the ears. "You will have to be on your best behaviour today", Courfeyrac told him. "We're going to be welcoming some important guests. I won't accept any kind of mischievous endeavours."

George Gordon simply purred and stretched his limbs thoroughly.

Courfeyrac smiled fondly and arose again, blinking against the sun as he continued to wait.

Soon enough, the carriage came riding into the courtyard.

A true gentleman, Courfeyrac rushed towards it with long strides, nodding at the coachman and patting the horse's neck before offering a hand to help his guest out.

"Mr Combeferre", he said, giving him a charming smile and a bow. "It's been some time since we've been acquainted, I believe. We are very happy to welcome you here."

The man seemed a little perplexed by that gesture, but not offended. He blinked at Courfeyrac as if he struggled to see him clearly, which was probably true, judging by the eyeglasses hanging around his neck on a fragile chain.

Courfeyrac surveyed his visitor's appearance, the smile still on his lips. Combeferre's hair was a light shade of brown, mussed in a way that suggested not carefully fashionable indifference as Courfeyrac's did, but rather the endurance of a long journey; his brows knitted together as if in thought, perhaps examining Courfeyrac as much as he was being examined himself; his eyes, bright and piercing and intelligent. He did not seem to care much for the latest fashions, but his immaculate posture and honest expression suited him much better than any complicated fabrics or cravats could, Courfeyrac concluded. Combeferre's words, too, were full of polite sincereness.

"Thank you for having me", he said, "Yes, it has been quite a while. But I'm looking forward to refreshing my ties to your family."

Courfeyrac laughed. "We were ten, and my father had taken me with him to discuss business with your father. You've grown a bit since then." Combeferre had grown a lot, actually, his limbs now long, but probably having been what could be described as gangly just five years ago or so. Now, Courfeyrac had to look up to him. "Oh, you must excuse my father and sister's absence", he added hastily, motioning for Combeferre to follow him towards the house. "Father is currently in London, busy as always, and Joly felt unwell this morning. I fear that, for now, you must contend yourself with only me for company."

"My sincerest wishes for her well-being. So you are in charge of the household for now?"

"For now, yes." Courfeyrac sighed. "There's not much excitement in it, though. Joly and I were getting lonely; there are only so many duets one can accompany on the pianoforte and only so many games of cards before you know all the opponent's strategies by heart. You're our long-awaited saviour, truly. Do you gamble, Mr Combeferre?"

"In good company, yes. Though I prefer indulging in a good book or an interesting conversation in the evening, usually."

"Interesting conversation! I promise you, we'll be having plenty of those", Courfeyrac promised, leading his guest into the house. George Gordon followed them, brushing against their legs as they entered the hallway. "But I should show you your room first. I'm sure we have much to talk about already, but that can all wait until supper. You'll need some time to rest after your journey."

After Combeferre had settled in his room and Courfeyrac, as promised, had left him to himself, he made his way towards his sister's room.

She was dressed and out of bed, sitting in an armchair by the window, holding a book in one hand, but looking out onto the courtyard instead. "How are you feeling?", Courfeyrac asked gently, reaching out to brush a strand of hair off her forehead. It was dark like his, but not as curly, taking more after their father. They were often told they looked similar nonetheless, and sometimes Courfeyrac thought he could see his father observe Joly with a faraway look on his face. Their mother had died shortly after their birth, never having recovered from the exhaustion of giving life to two children at once.

"Quite alright." She smiled at him; her cheeks were looking rosier all of a sudden. "The cough has stopped, but my legs still feel shaky. Let's talk about our guest, though - what is he like? Is he as you remembered him? You know I never really got to befriend him when we were children."

"He's still as flawless as he was at ten years old, it seems. But I was hoping you could join us for supper and judge him for yourself later."

"I'd love to. But I fear I'm - " She looked away. " - not in the right mind to meet him, at least for now."

"I won't push you if you don't feel well enough. But if this is about your worries of being deemed unacceptable as a - as good company, just because your health is not in the best condition, I cannot accept it." "As a wife, you mean", Joly said instead. He gave her a sheepish smile.

"Yes. As a wife. But while I can't assure you of his good character, as we haven't had the chance to talk much yet, I believe, at least, in his good manners." He could hear her take in a breath to retort something, but shook his head and kept talking. "Either way, even if he did reconsider and decided to not take his part in our father's plans to marry you to each other because of your fragility, which I do not think he will, he would do it no matter if you met him today or tomorrow. In that case, we should not burden ourselves or him with a prolonged visit that is fruitless to everyone." Courfeyrac looked at his sister with warm eyes. "I do not wish to see you hurt, but whatever way he should react, we should find out sooner rather than later."

Joly sighed deeply, her eyes fixed on the landscape outside, but he noted the familiar smile taking its place on her face again. "Very well - you may accompany me to supper, then."

Combeferre, upon seeing Joly walk into the dining room with a cane, her free arm linked with Courfeyrac's, showed no discernible reaction whatsoever. He was as pleasant and unmoved as before when Courfeyrac formally introduced them to each other; when the food was served, instead of asking about her medical condition, what came out of his mouth was rather, "I stumbled and nearly fell over a cat on my way down here. It was a different one than I saw on my arrival, I think."

"My apologies", Courfeyrac replied, "They tend to lie around in the most inconvenient places and seem to take some sort of pleasure out of unsettling unsuspecting visitors. For some reason, I take a liking to them."

"He takes a liking to them because he is of a same nature as them", Joly quipped. "A fair warning, Mr Combeferre, the real tomcat is sitting right in front of you." Combeferre - admittedly to Courfeyrac's surprise - laughed out loud at that. Courfeyrac relaxed and thought he could see the tension leaving Joly's shoulders as well. "I will have to watch out for my host lying on the carpet in front of my door, then? That sounds like an unlikely scenario."

After that, their conversation ran smoothly, with Courfeyrac doing most of the talking, but their guest always giving undivided and truthful attention to what he or his sister were saying. Whenever he opened his mouth to speak, his opinions always seemed well thought-through whereas the things he told about himself were wildly interesting and undoubtedly valid.

"I have been told you are acquainted with Mr Enjolras from London, too - he has taken his seat in the House of Lords recently - ", Combeferre was just saying when Courfeyrac noticed Joly stifling a yawn. Her cheeks were pale again despite the lively conversation, the evening clearly having exhausted her.

"Excuse me for a moment", Courfeyrac said, shooting Combeferre an apologetic smile, his hand on the other man's knee for a moment, before getting up and bowing down to talk to Joly in a low voice, all-too aware that their guest was still watching. "Would you like me to accompany you to your room? I understand if it all has been a bit much for you."

"Oh, not at all!", she replied loudly, shaking her head as if terribly amused by her brother. "That was a lovely evening, thanks to Mr Combeferre. But you're right, I should catch some sleep." She rose from her chair slowly, using the cane to push herself up. "On that note, my dear brother, you should advise Mr Combeferre to let his bed be moved to face north. One can never know." She bid them a good night, good-naturedly declining both their offers of helping her upstairs, and left the dining room.

Courfeyrac was watching Combeferre again, studying his expression very closely. All he could see displayed on that face was confusion and curiosity. "Let my bed be moved to face north? What does she mean by that?"

"Ah, it's one of Joly's little quirks. You see, she's been affected by her poor health since childhood and has been victim to several doctors. Most of them only ever made her feel worse, so she decided to start learning about alternative medical practices."

"That's admirable."

"It is. She believes that she will benefit from aligning her bed with the magnetic fields - that is what she advised you to do just now."

"And do you believe in it, too?" Combeferre looked at him over his glasses, and Courfeyrac was struck with the sudden thought that, while he would deem the use of those eyeglasses highly unfashionable in a heartbeat, they complimented Combeferre's face rather well.

"I'm not nearly as studied in this field as my sister is", he replied, returning Combeferre's imploring gaze across the table, "so naturally, I trust her more in medical matters than myself. Though I have only ever suffered from a feeble cough in my life; I have no true need for such practices."

"So your bed is turned to face north for her sake?"

"Much of what I do is", Courfeyrac agreed. "I love my sister dearly, after all, and above all else, her company is the most precious to me - don't be insulted, I have yet to get to know you better, Mr Combeferre - " He gave Combeferre an impish grin. " - and I am sure you will grow to like her, too. You will soon find out that she is much more than her sickly condition."

"I am certain of it", Combeferre agreed, "Just as I hope to be able to remedy your image of me as a man who is unable to see beneath the surface of things."

"No, no!", Courfeyrac cried out, his cheeks red all of a sudden. "Please forgive me, that was not what I was trying to imply at all - I am sure you are a truly, deeply intellectual man - " But Combeferre was laughing, which came as a surprise to Courfeyrac, who had not suspected this serious, dry man to be capable of producing such a warm sound.

"I am only joking, my friend.", he was told. "There is no need to try and placate my surely grand enough ego." Combeferre's eyes met his again, still crinkled with amusement and unmistakably kind.

"I do hope to be deemed a man worthy of both yours and your sister's affections during my stay here."

"Oh, I doubt you will struggle to gain them", Courfeyrac told him. "I think we will be getting along fantastically, Mr Combeferre."

___

The next days went by in flight. Combeferre soon found that he enjoyed the company of the two siblings immensely, and was somewhat astonished at how easily he'd let himself be swept along by Courfeyrac's passion and the ideas that the man got into his head at times.

That was how he found himself clinging to the branches of an apple tree one afternoon, Courfeyrac's laughter wafting down to him from even higher up.

"I can't believe you have never done this as a child! That was the first thing to come into my mind whenever I saw a tree."

"I usually preferred searching for insects and interesting-looking leafs near the roots - but this is enjoyable, too."

"Ah. I think I remember."

"You do? But it was late autumn when you and your father came to visit us."

"You were still looking for insects, though. Like that moth you caught and showed around so proudly."

"I cannot say I can recall that memory, but it does sound like me."

"It was all very sweet." Combeferre cleared his throat. He could hear the smile in Courfeyrac's voice and feel his own face growing warm.

"Yes, well. We were children."

"Aren't we still?" A few metres above his head, Courfeyrac was swinging his legs carelessly. "I don't feel very old sitting here. My body may have grown over the time, but my mind is still fresh."

"That is what’s commonly called youth", Combeferre replied dryly. "The difference is that, once you've climbed back on earth, there are responsibilities to take on."

"Thank you for enlightening me. I would really rather stay in this tree for a while than become an adult." The wind carried a soft sigh down towards Combeferre. "But as responsibilities are what led you here, I suppose it must happen eventually. For both of us."

If he looked down, he could see Joly leaning against the trunk of their tree, reading a book. She would probably talk about it later, involving Combeferre in a discussion about alternative medicine, which fascinated both of them. She was an extremely upbeat person, seldomly low-spirited and never complaining about her sickness. Combeferre would have to try very hard to become a good husband to her.

"Yes", he said quietly. "But let's stay up here for a little longer."

That same evening, Courfeyrac seemed especially agitated about something - though Combeferre couldn't figure out what that was - jiggling his foot and wearing his familiar excited grin all through dinner. The jiggling made Combeferre a little nervous and he'd have been irritated at his host for it, if it were possible for anyone to get irritated with Courfeyrac.

He probably had his reasons, Combeferre mused over his cottage pie, and knowing the man, he'd probably blurt it out any second now. Indeed, the second that everyone had finished their food, Courfeyrac pushed his chair back and announced, "Finally! Hold on, Combeferre, I shall return to you in a minute."

Combeferre shared a glance with Joly, the amused upturn of his lips mirroring hers. "Your brother is very fond of creating his little mysteries", he remarked. "They never stay mysteries for very long." There was a knowing glint in Joly's eyes, though Combeferre couldn't figure out its reason.

"But we are very fond of him for it, anyway. Aren't we?" Combeferre's lips were twitching while his eyes followed Courfeyrac, who was just returning to them. "We are", he agreed.

"My dear friend!" Courfeyrac sat down next to him; his dark, curly hair looked ruffled rather than fashionably windswept for once. His right palm was closed, like he was holding something in it. "Do you remember what we talked about this afternoon?"

"The questionable justness behind the Frame-Breaking Act?"

"No, no." Courfeyrac waved it off. "As we sat in that tree, I meant." He barely let Combeferre open his mouth before opening his palm and showing him. "I found it in my bedroom this morning - when we were talking and I was reminded of what you were like as a child, I knew I had to show you. I didn't kill it!", he exclaimed, cutting Combeferre off again before he could even get a word out. "It was like this when I first saw it on my windowsill. But it's rather beautiful, isn't it?"

Combeferre looked down onto the moth in his friend's palm, then back up at Courfeyrac. The smile on his lips seemed strangely shy all of a sudden, but his brown eyes were warm and kind when they met Combeferre's.

"It is", he replied in a low voice, somewhat belatedly.

Courfeyrac's whole face lit up. "You think so too! I'm glad. I wasn't sure if your excitement for this kind of thing survived till adulthood." They both looked down onto the moth in Courfeyrac's hand again, the spell they had been under before broken with an unsettling suddenness.

"I think it's an Emperor moth.", Combeferre declared, bowing down to inspect it further.

"It's yours. I wouldn't know what to do with it, anyway." Unexpectedly careful, Courfeyrac picked up the moth and took Combeferre's hand, opening his palm to drop the insect into it.

"Thank you." Something in Combeferre's chest was stirring - but it had to be related solely to his friend's kindness and the prettiness of the moth in his palm, not the fleeting touch of Courfeyrac's fingers. "I should, uh, get this to safety, then. Have a good night - Miss Joly. Courfeyrac."

With a bow directed at Joly and another faint smile for both of the siblings, Combeferre all but fled the dining room. "How sweet", he could hear Joly’s muffled voice as he closed the door behind him. If his cheeks were colouring at that, it surely was for her sake.

___

"We should talk about our fathers' agreement", Combeferre said one night, when he and Courfeyrac were sitting in the smaller salon and playing cards.

"Ah." Courfeyrac raised his head from his deck to look up at him, a barely noticeable crinkle between his eyebrows. "You're right, of course. I wanted to give you the chance to make yourself feel at home here first, you know - have you be comfortable around my sister and me. Since you're approaching me with this, I assume that I've succeeded in being an acceptable host?"

"More than that", he was assured. "You are impeccable."

"Well, I'm glad." The expression that he gave Combeferre was more serious than usually. "So you've made your decision?"

"Your sister is an admirable person. I don't think there was much of a decision to make, really."

"Splendid!" A sudden rush of affection for the other man suddenly flooded Courfeyrac. That was nothing he experienced rarely, but it was tinged with something else, a strange feeling in his gut - He cleared his throat and loosened his cravat a little. "You should make your proposal to her soon, then. Of course I cannot speak for her - Joly has very much her own head, as you know, which I love her for - but I think both of us and my father, too, would love to welcome you to the family."

"I could say the same."

"Oh! And in that regard - where will the two of you live, you think? I'd love you to stay here, of course. This house is so big, I'd be terribly lonely - of course there always are Bath and London, but this is home - Joly would love to stay here too, I'm sure - "

Combeferre's hand was on his forearm suddenly, gentle but firm; when Courfeyrac looked up at him, he thought he could see an amused glint in his eyes. "Thank you. But I'm sure that all those things can be discussed in time and with everyone concerned involved, don’t you?"

That small smile suited Combeferre really quite well, Courfeyrac noticed faintly. Glancing at the fireplace, he wondered how such small flames could heat up the room like that. "Of course.", he replied quickly. "Forgive me. I just get -- excited."

"Which is one of your best virtues, rest assured." The beam that Combeferre earned himself was dazzling. It took a couple of minutes until his hand vanished from Courfeyrac's arm. His warmth, however, lingered on all through the evening.

Courfeyrac left the dining room soon after breakfast the next morning when usually he would have stayed behind. He shared another glance with both Combeferre and Joly before closing the door behind himself. His sister looked happy and a little excited - Combeferre, meanwhile, beneath his usual calm demeanour, seemed nervous.

The hallway was bright when he entered it, the large window on one end letting in a flood of the morning sun. Particles of dust were swimming through the light; Courfeyrac gracefully folded himself to fit onto the windowsill and watched them dance and drown.

Somehow, Combeferre's nervousness seemed to have been passed on to him. He couldn't quite explain it to himself. After all, he knew that Joly was going to say yes (some things between them needed no words, they were twins, after all). Was she in love with him? Courfeyrac doubted it, thinking back on all the times he'd suspected her to be smitten with one of the lords - and ladies - they had been introduced to. Comparing the way Joly looked at Combeferre with the way she had once looked at that soprano from Italy they had seen in concert in Bath - Musichetta had been her name, he thought - there obviously was fondness, but no romantic feelings.

But Combeferre would make a good husband to her. This Courfeyrac knew for sure, having observed the man's behaviour sometimes subconsciously, sometimes with this specific question in mind. And while he always was quick to take people close to his heart, the matter was that it had been so easy with Combeferre, like he had belonged there from the start. They differed greatly from each other in some aspects, but Courfeyrac had begun to cherish all of him without a fault, without an exception: the dryly amused tone his voice took on occasionally and the sincerity of his laughter, despite it being rarer than Courfeyrac's or Joly's; the profound knowledge he harboured and always worked on deepening not just for the sake of it, but as a means of utilising it in the appropriate moments, although it sometimes meant contradicting himself; the way his gold-rimmed glasses usually sat a little crookedly on his nose, and how Courfeyrac had taken a liking to them, no matter how unfashionable he thought them ---

He startled when the door down the corridor opened and Combeferre and Joly emerged. The latter, upon spotting him on the windowsill, exclaimed, "Brother! Always the cat, sneaking around and securing yourself the sunniest spots.", then approached him on Combeferre's arm. She used the cane a lot less since he had arrived, Courfeyrac noted.

"Joly", he replied amusedly. "Pray tell: is that a new accessory to be worn on your arm, or is it just Combeferre?"

"Both." Courfeyrac grinned, slinking off the windowsill with natural ease and kissing both of Joly's cheeks, then clasping Combeferre's arm. "I'll be honoured to welcome you into the family soon, then.", he stated, looking up at him with some of that warmth familiar from the previous night returning to his stomach.

Combeferre's eyes met his calmly, but with a startling amount of intensity. "And I am honoured that you would have me."

___

Combeferre had always thought himself to be a man of reason and good morals, or at least, he was striving to be such a man - perhaps not a perfect, but hopefully still a true gentleman. Apparently, this was now to become his downfall.

They were all sitting in the salon as it had become custom in the evenings between the three of them, either to play cards, read, or to talk (or all at once). Of course, after the accepted proposal that morning three days ago, the ever-present topic of conversation were the preparations for the upcoming wedding. And it was not that Combeferre wasn't excited for it - quite the opposite - but just this once, between hearing all about flowers and dresses and newspaper announcements, his concentration was starting to crumble.

That was how, rather than listening to Courfeyrac talk about where to find the finest muslin, Combeferre found himself observing him instead - watching him gesticulate wildly and noting the small crease between his brows when he was following a train of thought, or the way his tongue darted out every once in a while to wet his lips in between sentences. Only hearing his own name mentioned made Combeferre snap out of it.

"...a good dancer, Combeferre? Of course, we can't have a dance too lively at the wedding if we want the bride to be able to participate - but since it will take place in summer, I do think it would be quite wonderful." Combeferre blinked.

"I fear I am just below passable - I learned the basics, of course, but - "

"Joly, dearest, could you play us that song we studied together just a few days ago?" Before Combeferre had any time to protest or register what was happening to him, he was whisked off his chair and whirled into the room by Courfeyrac. He wanted to protest and tell him that neither Joly, nor anyone else should be advised to attempt to dance a tango at their wedding, but then Courfeyrac let go of him and instead positioned himself opposite of Combeferre on the carpet, one hand stretched out.

"I'm waiting", he said with a smirk, and Combeferre needed a few moments to register what he was implying.

"Oh", he managed, then, and took the hand he was being offered. "May I?"

The song that Joly was playing on the pianoforte was lovely and certainly executed without any mistakes. But Combeferre, despite having his back to her, could see her snickering silently to herself in his mind all while he was attempting to remember how to dance and not step on Courfeyrac's foot at the same time.

"You have much still to learn", Courfeyrac noted, too. "Your posture is good - but you lack knowledge of how to move your body more efficiently."

"That is some rather vague advice", Combeferre replied, his eyebrows raised.

"Well, I'm not a good teacher with words as you are, you see - my skill lies in teaching with the body." And surely Courfeyrac wasn't - he couldn't be implying --

"Is that not what we're doing right now, though?"

"Ah, how I wish our dances weren't so stiff! I would show you many ways to move, my friend, if only this salon was a b- " Courfeyrac seemed to falter for a second, but perhaps it was only a trick of the light. " - ballroom. Either way, you should be fine; and with a real lady by your side, anyway. I haven't the proper attire."

"But you have the moves", Combeferre remarked, which made his friend start to grin again. "Indeed. I have the moves."

They nearly collided in the corridor outside both their bedrooms that night.

Combeferre startled when he noticed Courfeyrac right in front of him all of a sudden, but he didn't stumble as the smaller man did. With all the effortless grace he had put on display before, Courfeyrac caught himself easily. Still - out of reflex more than anything else - Combeferre brought his hands to his shoulders to help steady him.

"My apologies", he said quickly, tugging at his nightshirt with some embarrassment. Courfeyrac, he noticed, was still in his trousers and shirt, though he had lost his cravat and was barefooted. Over his regular clothes he was wearing a silk banyan, the appearance of which didn't surprise Combeferre much. He knew of Courfeyrac's habit to meticulously keep up with fashion by now, and, though he would only ever admit this to himself, had come to grow fond of this habit amongst all others, too.

"I am being terribly rude, roaming about my hosts' house like this well after midnight. I couldn't sleep."

"Me neither." They looked at each other, both smiling. "Our little dance in the evening left me quite more awake than I would have wished to be.", Courfeyrac explained.

"Ah. Yes. What a strange little dance that was."

"Care for a repeat?"

"Here?" Combeferre frowned, taken aback. "And now?"

"Maybe it'll tire us enough to be able to go to bed afterwards."

"I - you might have a point. But we haven't enough space here."

"We'll make do." Courfeyrac's expression was the one of a smug cat again.

"There is no music, either", Combeferre added and felt like the heroine of a cheap novel for doing so.

"I have recently learned a new dance. It is quite unknown yet here in England, and I believe even Byron was scandalised by it - "

"I am frightened to learn the nature of such a dance, then.", Combeferre remarked dryly.

"Ah, but how can it be scandalous if it is done in private? Don't worry - your virtue will stay intact. What kind of friend to you take me for?" He chose not to answer that. Courfeyrac offered his hand again, the smirk softening on his face. "May I?" After having glanced down corridor and assuring himself that no one was likely to interrupt - Joly slept in a different wing of the manor, the cook and the few other servants lived downstairs - Combeferre sighed and took it.

Suddenly, Courfeyrac was very, very close, one of his hands on Combeferre's hip and the other clasping his and raising it into the air.

"Byron thought this indecent?", he repeated weakly, making Courfeyrac snicker. They were not moving yet, but in the near-dark corridor and with Combeferre not wearing his glasses, his face was blurry either way.

"Just follow my steps." The whole thing was a little awkward, as the space they had was narrow and Combeferre didn't always move correctly, resulting to more feet being stepped on, but the dance itself was easy enough. Averting his eyes from the wall and looking into Courfeyrac's (however blurry) face proved a much more difficult task. When he finally convinced himself to glance down, their eyes meeting as he did so, Combeferre could feel the now familiar feeling of something warm arise in his gut, up to his chest.

Courfeyrac was still smiling up at him, and a scary realisation washed over Combeferre, nearly making him trip and let himself be backed up against the wall - and oh, he did not dare to think about a scenario like that right now – Nevertheless, he remained calm and let Courfeyrac repeat the steps another few times before stopping the both of them. Now it was Courfeyrac who really did tumble into him, but just as he had a few minutes ago, Combeferre brought up his hands to steady the other man by his shoulders.

"Are you ready to go to bed yet? Has my company tired you this quickly? For once, I ought to take pleasure in that - "

"It hasn't", Combeferre interrupted him, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze despite how shaken he was feeling. "But I should - we both should - it is hardly an appropriate time of day for this. I need to rest, I'll see you in the morning."

___

Courfeyrac had bid him goodnight and looked after him as he walked back down the corridor, disappearing into the guest room again. He sighed heavily, swearing to himself to commit this peculiar waltz to his memory, and went to bed himself.

In the morning, he immediately knew that something had to be up by the way that Joly and Combeferre were looking at him as he entered the room. Combeferre was dressed fully in the clothes he had worn at his arrival, and a dark suspicion gripped Courfeyrac.

"I must take my leave today", he was told when he had sat down, and his fears were proved right. "I am deeply grateful for your hospitality, of course, and I hope I shall return soon enough, but my presence is required in London."

Courfeyrac frowned, displeased. "Was there an incident of any sort?"

"No, nothing to worry about. It's business. My father simply needs my assistance."

"We'll miss you bitterly back here."

"I will miss you both, too." And that only soothed Courfeyrac a little bit, but he couldn't help but to smile at Combeferre. He had found it was hard to keep from doing so anyway, at all times. Not that he was trying very hard in that matter. Combeferre left right after breakfast, and it hurt Courfeyrac a little to imagine that perhaps he had been packing his belongings just after their dance last night. And what if that had been the cause -

But when he voiced his concerns, Combeferre was quick to wave them away. "Don't worry about this, Courfeyrac. You did nothing to alienate or offend me, I assure you." "But if I overstepped any boundaries - " Combeferre clasped his hand and shook his head decidedly; but his smile looked a little tired, Courfeyrac thought.

"You have not." The carriage arrived and Courfeyrac caught himself wishing for something foolish to happen, like an axis breaking or a horse suddenly bolting away. None of it came true. Combeferre bid his farewells to Courfeyrac and Joly, assuring her he was still looking forward to the marriage and handing Courfeyrac a card with his address in London, telling both of them to come visit him whenever they were in town - and soon he was gone almost without a trace, except for the smile on Joly's face and a stirring in Courfeyrac's chest.

As it was the customary and proper thing to do so, the two still relatively freshly engaged upheld regular correspondence. From the day of Combeferre's leave on, every morning in the Courfeyrac's household was full of suspense on if a letter had come from London for them or not, and if it had, what news it brought about their former visitor. There always were separate letters for both of them enclosed, and Courfeyrac had to admit he was impressed by the punctuality to which Combeferre managed to always send not just one, but two replies back to them at once.

Despite his own general aversion towards too many written words at once - as his own writing, though elegant and quite respectable in its wording, often took to blur before his eyes after some time of bundled concentration - Courfeyrac soon started to become an eager writer himself. It was a natural process; there always were so many thoughts and tales coming from London he simply had to reply to them, and to some in great detail. It warmed his heart to notice the amount of thought Combeferre seemed to put into his lines to him. Knowing him, he could probably care less about the latest fashions the men wore in the city - and yet, there never was a letter without some anecdotes clearly catering to Courfeyrac's interests. And although he recognised Courfeyrac’s dandyish tendencies, he did not seem to think him vain for it.

'I truly admire the vast knowledge you have in this subject', he had written in his latest letter, 'and I believe you have made it a science in its own right, preceded by your skill in observing and assessing other people without any malicious intentions behind the act whatsoever.'

To that, Courfeyrac replied in his next letter: 'You are right - there is nothing spiteful in the way I observe, yet I fear that you bestow more intellectual reason upon me than I am worthy of. I observe because I am interested, yes. But that interest is not as scientific as I must have made you believe; rather, it is born out of simple enjoyment of looking at a person because they are well-dressed or have a striking complexion or are dear to my heart, or just because they have caught my attention. There can be beauty in both the manner a man would dress and present himself, and in his raw nature, were he stripped bare of all that. I found that it truly proves beneficial to do this every once in a while, by the way - to strip bare and explore myself. It brings body and soul into unison and makes for a harmonious character overall, or so I believe. Of course, this thesis is purely based off of my personal, certainly biased studies. After all, my mind is nowhere near as scientifical as yours, my friend.'

___

Combeferre, having first read Joly's letter and now studying Courfeyrac's while he was sat in his small study in London – the sky was just beginning to darken outside the window - had to read over one particular part of its contents several times to convince himself that he had not just misread.

'To strip bare and explore myself' - how could he possibly not take it a certain way? Perhaps Courfeyrac had intended this. Had purposely chosen that phrasing, fully aware of the effect it would have on Combeferre –

And it was having an effect indeed, albeit one he had to will away, pushing it down in his mind decidedly instead of doing so with his hand. It didn't help much with keeping his dignity intact, but at least it was not as shameful, never having descended into the realm of physical reality.

He reached for a fresh sheet and his pen to take down a reply, his handwriting more shaky than usual. It was no matter; he would have to re-write the letter in its entirety later, anyway.

'Courfeyrac --- I must disagree with you in one point. Science, as you depict it, sounds like a cold, unfeeling thing. It is not. Its driving factor for me is the same as it is for you in much of what you do: curiosity and passion. Your form of it is as valid as anything I study in my free time - even more so, I daresay, as it may be a form more accessible to everyone.'

He hesitated before writing down the next part.

'Thank you for your explications and for letting me have this insight. Maybe we could further each other's research together sometime.'

His written exchange with both Courfeyrac and Joly continued to flow rapidly back and forth between London and the countryside. By now, Combeferre had started the habit to always open Joly's letters first and skim them (seldom without a little smile on his face), then, although guilt-ridden, inevitably reading through Courfeyrac's much more carefully.

He made sure to only read them when he was without company, dreading the thought of anyone seeing his face flush while he did so; as without warning and in the middle of a description of his everyday life, Courfeyrac would suddenly mention things like that he was 'writing this letter in complete nudity because the summer heat has gotten the better out of me. Is it so hot in London, too?'

(Yes. If one were to ask Combeferre in these moments, it was.)

Combeferre was not dense. He had already begun to suspect some time ago that Courfeyrac was dropping these comments deliberately. Sometimes he had even succumbed and replied in an equal manner - more subtle as he hoped, but ultimately the exact same sort. This encouragement was all Courfeyrac needed, though, and Combeferre knew it. He knew and did not cease it.

It probably spoke volumes of how far their relationship, however strange, had developed when Combeferre one day received a letter and blanched less at the image of Courfeyrac taking a naked bath in a nearby lake at midnight, than the declaration of his intent to come to London very soon.

'Sadly Joly cannot come, as this horrendous summer heat would be too much for her in a stuffy city like London, but we both hope to welcome you back here not just as a visitor soon. Thankfully, she will still be in good company! My father has returned to the countryside for the time being and brought back with him two guests, Mr Lesgles and his wife Musichetta from Italy, whom Joly has been acquainted with in Bath a while ago. They all like to frequently go down into the village together, often to meet a certain Miss Grantaire, I believe. You will be happy to hear that Joly's health has been improving enough to allow this. I think the company and the gentle exercise are becoming her very well.'

Joly's letter was saying much of the same thing. She apologised for not being able to come, but told him she hoped for his early return as well. Courfeyrac was full of anticipation for London, she added at the end.

Combeferre held both letters in his hands, his eyes tracing the different signings at each end of the page, and suddenly felt terribly torn. He knew he had to make a decision. Now that he was going to see Courfeyrac again face to face, he would have to choose his words and actions more carefully, but most of all, he had to determine how he stood to Courfeyrac for himself. Courfeyrac, who was going to be his brother-in-law -

He sighed and set the pieces of paper onto his desk. It would all sort itself out somehow, or so he hoped.

Two days later Combeferre's mind was still restless, always wandering back to the letter and its possible significance, which was now weighing down the pocket of his coat while he was walking back towards his lodgings.

He had paid his visits to Enjolras this morning, talking about politics and what his friend was wishing to accomplish. While Combeferre was not directly involved with these things as Enjolras was, he knew his opinions and his knowledge were still valued in their discussions, or at least made for a conversational partner who could listen and reply appropriately.

The nature of these conversations with Enjolras never differed much; that was presumably why Combeferre was so astonished to be asked if his fiancée and her family were in good health. It appeared to be impossible to escape thinking about that topic lately.

"Do you have any doubts about it?", Enjolras had asked him bluntly.

"I - no. Joly is a wonderful young woman.", Combeferre had replied, but something had to have been showing in his face, causing Enjolras to reach out and pat his shoulder.

"I never suspected you to be someone to be swayed by your feelings so easily when it would come to marriage. Did you not say it was a suitable arrangement?"

"It is. And at the very least, I will be marrying a good friend." It wasn't the lack of friendship between him and Joly to let doubts arise in Combeferre - it were the much more inconvenient feelings for Courfeyrac he had been harbouring for quite a while now. They were driving him to distraction. Maybe he ought to try pushing them away at least for some time, he pondered as he entered the house.

- and promptly ran into said object of his affections.

"Oh, Combeferre! I am so glad to meet you here. I left a card with my address in the city, but you've returned just in time - "

"Courfeyrac? What are you - I did not expect you here this early." Courfeyrac beamed up at him, looking as flawless as usual. But there was something dishevelled about him as well, his hair wilder than usual and his cheeks flushed. Most likely it was from the journey he had behind him; Combeferre thought the look suited him well.

"I came earlier than I had planned, I know. But I missed London - I missed your company, too."

Combeferre's heart warmed at the words. "Come in again, then. Let us talk in my study."

The city that previously had been so grey to Combeferre became much brighter and colourful with Courfeyrac there. Any thought of trying to suppress what the other man was sparking in him became absurd, if not impossible.

All he had to do to know this was take a look at Courfeyrac sitting opposite of him, talking about the countryside and the events that had taken place during his absence. And Combeferre knew he had missed this too. He had missed the grand gesticulations Courfeyrac was prone to and his voice when he was full of bubbling excitement for what he was about to report and his face and his ridiculously well-polished shoes, and everything else about him.

" - but what about you? You came here to assist your father in matters of business. Is he in good health? Well, he must be, as only the servant was there to receive my card earlier. But forgive my rudeness, I should not simply assume - "

"No", Combeferre interrupted him suddenly, his voice firm. "I am the one who ought to apologise."

"What? What for?"

"I was not at all honest with you." He straightened his back and caught Courfeyrac's eye. "My father is back home in Lymington and did not need my assistance at all. I left your house under false reservations, which was a cowardly and uncivil thing to do."

"But - why?" Courfeyrac's expression was a display of confusion rather than affront.

"I could not - at that time, I thought it to be the best option for all parties involved."

"How could that be? We loved having you there - and what about the engagement?"

"That was the greatest factor for my hurried departure. Not out of the intend to not keep it, but out of fear I would not be able to were I to stay."

"Have we done anything to offend you, my dear friend? I could not forgive myself if I had done anything to drive you away." "No - no. Quite the opposite, believe me." Combeferre cleared his throat awkwardly. "I do not know what words to put this into. I could not write it down, either, nor show you. You know me to be a man of reason, Courfeyrac - in matters of the heart, however, I am at a loss."

"You, at a loss for words! Who has managed to do this to you? What fair lady -- "

"You."

The word hung heavily in the air between them. Combeferre sat still in his chair, observing Courfeyrac closely. Maybe he had been misinterpreting the wistful look on his face when listening to Combeferre speak of love. Maybe this had been a great error.

"I could not have - ", Combeferre began, then shook his head and started anew. "To become good friends with the person I was to take as my wife was all I could have wished for. To form a bond just as deep as that with her brother was even better - but I fear I have ventured too far in what I have long thought to only be brotherly love."

There was a pause again, Combeferre starting to get restless. But then Courfeyrac smiled, his eyes crinkling and his lashes dark against his cheeks.

"I have been trying to leave you some signs all the time. It was all very exhausting, you see, and now you come along and talk of it all still as if clueless. I am deeply offended."

Combeferre hesitated. "You mean, you..."

"I have been putting myself at stake, attempting to make advances on you, yet you never once acted upon them, yes. I had started to assume you had no such predisposition."

"You were wrong. I did notice, though I did not know how to broach the topic - and your letters - " Courfeyrac's smile turned into something too innocent to truly be that.

"Ah, yes. You ought to have picked up on it by then at long last."

"I did, but I still, I... how could I betray your sister in such a manner? I know I shouldn't; that doesn't change me from wanting you."

"Say that again. Please." Suddenly, Combeferre wanted nothing more than to pull him close and kiss him, show him what he could not begin to put into words.

"I want you", he repeated. "I desire you."

"And you know I feel the same." Combeferre returned his smile with a soft huff.

"This is not what was supposed to happen when I came to visit you." Courfeyrac shrugged.

"It happened anyway. And to be honest with you, I would have it happen again were we able to go back."

"You know I will have to take up my promise to Joly eventually."

"I can hardly expect you to marry me, can I?" They both went silent again, overcome by joy and sorrow alike.

"I should get back to my lodgings", Courfeyrac declared at last, rising from his chair. Combeferre followed him, stepping a little closer immediately. "Will I see you tomorrow?" "

I certainly hope so." On an instinct, he reached out to press Courfeyrac's hand. Courfeyrac looked up at him, worrying a lip between his teeth. "And may I ask for a second thing?"

"Anything."

"A kiss."

Combeferre cupped his cheek with his other hand and leaned in until their noses were nearly brushing.

"Certainly."

Courfeyrac's lips were soft on his, their kiss sweet and almost chaste. Clearly he was more experienced than Combeferre was; but it didn't seem to matter in that moment, as he sighed and covered Combeferre's hand with his.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, breathing the same air. At last Courfeyrac pulled away, his eyes dark and his cheeks flushed, and Combeferre wanted to commit the sight to his memory.

"Well, then. Until tomorrow."

Courfeyrac left him behind with a reeling mind and a nagging conscience, watching the night descend on London outside his window.

___

When he arrived at Combeferre's house the next day, Courfeyrac was out of his breath. He had been walking the way there with long, determined steps, hurried by an idea that had been forming in his head since the last night. It was almost noon, but Combeferre was looking tired when he greeted him - perhaps he'd had as much trouble falling asleep as Courfeyrac.

He blurted it out as soon as the servant had left the room.

"Come run away with me."

Combeferre blinked. "Excuse me?"

"A cousin of mine lives in Ireland - I am certain he'd receive us there, let us be his guests for a while. What do you say?"

"I - Courfeyrac, we can't."

"But why not?" He took a look at Combeferre's face and exhaled deeply.

"Just for some time, before you get married. What other chance will we ever get?" It was an unmindful enough question, but leaving both of them to be assailed by a sudden realisation of there was none to begin with.

“We could also just stay in London.” Combeferre’s voice was calm as ever, anchoring Courfeyrac, filling his chest with warmth.

“London is horribly stuffy. Lord Byron also – “

”You are no Lord Byron.”, Combeferre interrupted him gently. “None of us is. What do you wish me to say, Courfeyrac? I am engaged to your sister. To run away would be to do a disservice to all of your family as well as to mine. If I saw any use in it I would run away with you in the blink of an eye, believe me. But I ran already and you followed me here – how much further can I expect you to follow me? It is not fair to anyone.”

He was right, Courfeyrac had to admit, nodding along slowly. “I would follow you wherever.”, he said quietly.

“I am beginning to believe you would.” The fond look on Combeferre’s face made his heart beat up to his throat. “A couple of weeks ago, I would have given anything to stay in that tree with you. Now, I still wish for everything to be easier, but I know I cannot avoid my responsibilities forever.”

”If only there was a solution to this. If only I was my sister.”

“There is nothing we can do to change it. You are to be my brother-in-law instead, we will still be close – “

“But not close enough to be allowed to do this.” Courfeyrac stepped closer, seeking his eyes to silently ask for permission, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Combeferre’s mouth. “I do not know if I can spend a lifetime alongside the one I want and cannot have. But if this is the only way, I will accept it with gratitude.”

Combeferre ran a hand through his hair; his movement had something frantic to it. “I never wished for this to happen, and still I would always do it again. If I will have to repress my feelings for you, at least know that I never regretted feeling them at all.”

“Me neither.” Courfeyrac sighed and looked at his feet. “Is this what we’ll have to do now? Move forward without regrets, on the simple grounds of there being nowhere else to go?”

“I fear so.” He was given a miserable little smile and this was horrendous already, for all Courfeyrac wanted to do was lean in again and kiss the sadness off of Combeferre’s face.

“In any case, I suppose I should soon return to the countryside to meet your father. Will you come with me?”

“Not yet, though I will follow you at a later date.”

For all he had been in such good spirits at the beginning of his visit, Courfeyrac left the house in a downtrodden mood. All through the rest of the day, he kept catching himself look back on their conversation and wanting for it to have gone differently. It had no use, however. He could not allow himself to look back now.

___

The whole ride back to the Courfeyrac’s mansion, Combeferre was plagued by similar thoughts.

They would not cease, no matter how strong his willpower: not as he was watching the green landscape passing by outside, not while he was being welcomed by his host, the aged Admiral Courfeyrac, and not even when finding some minutes to talk to Joly in private. She was busying herself with some needlework in the salon, but looking rather frustrated with it, brightening up when she saw him come in.

“You must have met my brother in London! I had assumed the two of you would come back here together.”

”Oh, I would have loved to. It was some unfortunate timing, that was all.” He was not at all certain that it was convincing, but quickly continued talking. “Are you quite well, then, Miss Joly? I see your other guests have taken their leave already.”

”Yes, sadly. But now you are here again.” She took his arm and let him lead her towards the table in the dining room. “Would you like to accompany me down to the village tomorrow afternoon? I promised a dear friend to come visit her soon again, but father does not like seeing me walk down the hill by myself. He is too busy for that sort of thing most of the time, so it can be difficult to pay my visits if we’re not welcoming any guests.”

Combeferre agreed readily, and they sat down for supper. It was a rather strange situation to be in, sitting opposite of Joly and her father and talking about the upcoming wedding. He had been in this situation before, but everything felt twisted now, with the older Mr Courfeyrac leading most of the conversation instead.

As soon as it was polite to do so, Combeferre rose from his seat to retire to his bedroom with the excuse that he was tired from the long journey. He could feel Joly’s eyes on him, following him as he left the room. Surely there was a conversation to be had between the two of them, but that would have to wait for now. They were going to have plenty of opportunity to talk once they got married.

The next day’s afternoon approached with a blue sky and a mild climate. “Perfect weather for our walk”, Joly declared, and so it happened.

If Combeferre had been a little tense as they had left the house, he was laughing and giving light-hearted replies to whatever Joly was commenting on by the time they had reached the foot of the hill. Joly’s friend lived in a plain house next to the post office.

She turned out to be dishevelled-looking woman in her twenties or so, her wild hair pulled into a haphazard knot at the back of her head and the hem of her skirt looking muddy. Her smile was crooked when she greeted them and welcomed them in, but her eyes were warm. Joly introduced them to each other: Combeferre as her fiancé and Grantaire as the niece of her former governess.

“I hadn’t seen her in a while since she had stopped working with us – my health would not allow it. But when I did, finally, it was to find out she had fallen ill herself”, Joly had explained during their walk down from the mansion. “I was quite ashamed for not having come sooner. She had nobody to take care of her, except for another poor, friendly woman, who occasionally brought her food and medicine. Can you believe that! So, of course, I contacted her closest relative, which was Miss Grantaire, who thankfully was able to move here from her parents’ household. We have become good friends since then.”

That much was evident. Grantaire talked loudly and occasionally with a sailor’s tongue, making some near-inappropriate comments about her visitors’ upcoming marriage, but the affection existing between Joly and her was clear. Her aunt was currently asleep, she told them, so she would not be able to pay her regards.

“You will have to make do with my humble company”, she told them. “But either way – to be burdened to talk with one peasant woman or with two, what difference does it make?”

“Grantaire, my dear friend, you know I would prefer your company over any nameless baroness’s or duchess’s.”, Joly scolded lightly. “Just come sit down with us and have some of the cake I brought.”

During their conversation over tea and cake, Combeferre occasionally tuned in and gave his opinion whenever it was needed, but mostly he stayed quiet.

”I should give the two of you the chance to talk in private, without my presence hindering you”, he told them courteously after some time, and walked towards the door.

“Oh! We by no means meant to drive you away – I have been very curious about my darling Joly’s husband to-be.”, Grantaire proclaimed immediately, but Combeferre knew when to take his cue.

“I have never been able to properly take in the village, so it is no trouble on my account”, he assured both of them. “I will come by later again.”

It was gratitude he saw written in Joly’s face, he assumed. If she had never been allowed to come down here without a chaperone, there would hardly have been any opportunity for her to spend some time alone with her friend.

And he was anything but sure about this, but observing the two of them he had pondered – there had been something familiar about the way that Joly was looking at Grantaire. A few months ago, Combeferre would not have been able to recognise it for what it was, but he knew that look from Courfeyrac’s face, too. It brought up memories of the glance he had given him after that kiss, the first one, in his study in London. Perhaps Joly was not aware of this herself. But the possibility, Combeferre concluded, was at hand.

After having wandered about the village a little bit, nodding politely at the other people on the streets and having bought some ink from one of the shops there, he returned to collect Joly from Grantaire’s little residence.

Her face was flushed when she opened the door to him, and it remained that way as she kissed Grantaire’s cheek and bid her goodbye.

The path they took led them away from the village again. They were on the outskirts of it as Combeferre cleared his throat and spoke.

“You should know that I very much cherish the friendship that has formed between us”, he said. “and that I consider it your greatest gift to be brought into our marriage.”

“You sound like you’ve planned a speech”, Joly teased, but she was listening to him with an alert, almost sombre expression.

“Perhaps I have”, Combeferre admitted a little sheepishly. “It is a matter of great importance to me.”

“Go on, then, and spill.”

“Thank you. As I just said, to enter the state of matrimony with a woman I can be proud to call my friend is all I would ask for. Living with you would be harmonious; we would adjust well to each other. I think we could be happy, even without having children, which is a matter that I believe should be addressed at a much later time – and only under the premise of your health allowing us to even think about it.” He took a deep breath.

“This friendship – the hope for a marriage like this, albeit arranged, but with the potential to be a fulfilling one – is nothing I’d wish to betray for whatever the reasons. For everyone’s sake, I’d contend myself with doing the right thing, my feelings aside. You must know this before you hear my suggestion.” Joly nodded, making him wonder how much she could already guess.

“It would not be a betrayal if both sides agreed on an understanding like this.”, Combeferre went on. “We could be mutually contended in a matrimony built on our friendship, and both pursue love in other places.”

It was a near terrifying thing to say out loud, but Combeferre’s heart grew tremendously lighter as soon as a smile started to spread on Joly’s face.

“I believe”, she said, linking their arms together, “We will get along as husband and wife just splendidly.”

___

The wedding was to take place in two weeks when Courfeyrac returned to his family’s mansion.

He knelt down to greet William, a fat grey cat, by petting him, grateful for any sort of delay before having to walk into the house and see Combeferre.

Hearing two pairs of feet approach on the gravel of the courtyard, however, took all his hopes for some respite – of course, it was Combeferre and Joly. They looked like quite a respectable couple together, he thought. Most of all, they looked happy.

“Brother!”, Joly exclaimed and embraced him as soon as they stood face to face. “I missed you. There is so much to tell you – come on, get inside! You need something to eat and maybe some rest, and then there is some catching up to do.”

Courfeyrac couldn’t help but to smile back at her, ruffling her hair fondly. “I missed you too, little one.” His gaze inadvertently travelled over to Combeferre, the sight of him inciting both longing and discomposure in him. Combeferre looked back at him as imperturbable as ever.

“Good afternoon, Courfeyrac”, he said finally, his voice even and smooth.

“And?”, Courfeyrac replied, trying to gain some of his usual insouciance back. “Did you miss me, too? The cats sure did. I have a feeling that they would all grow vagabonds if I was gone for too long – George Gordon would become a true Byron, then, although I doubt he would just give up his weekly portion of liver – “ Courfeyrac kept on talking until they arrived at the house, dimly aware that he was probably babbling nonsense.

It was only as they went inside, Joly having gone ahead of them a little, that Combeferre interrupted him finally.

”Yes”, he said. “I did miss you.”

All through the afternoon and the evening, Courfeyrac was haunted by these words.

‘How can you call yourself a just man?’, he wanted to ask Combeferre, at the same time trying to will his brain into forgetting his touch as it had felt back then in London. He was unsuccessful, however. It made a certain itch arise in him, the need to keep on talking in order to stop thinking.

That was how Courfeyrac filled in most of the blank spaces in their conversation at dinner, his father shooting amused yet exasperated looks at him; it was how he kept this going even after dinner, when everyone withdrew into the salon; and finally, it was what caused him to stand up from the settee he had settled down onto just a couple of minutes ago, declaring he needed some fresh air and fleeing outside to keep from making an utter fool out of himself.

July was nearing its end, which meant it was still bright enough outside, the moon a faint crescent on a clear sky. Courfeyrac deeply inhaled some of the warm summer air and wished he could only enjoy the season for what it was worth.

Without aim, he started to walk. It was too late to go for an actual stroll about the countryside, but their garden would suffice to ease his urge for some movement and would hopefully help clear his head, too.

It was foolish nostalgia that compelled him to climb into the apple tree, to rest his head against its bark and close his eyes for some moments, peaceful and wistful at once.

“Don’t fall.” The sudden surprise of hearing Combeferre’s voice below him made Courfeyrac almost do just that, flinching wide-awake immediately.

”Combeferre! Dear lord, where did you come from?”

“I followed you.” He appeared almost sheepish, but Courfeyrac could just have imagined that from up his branch.

“You know, to kill the bride’s beloved brother by shocking him enough to fall down a tree would not be a good omen for the wedding.”

“You would not die so quickly of a fall like that”, Combeferre replied with an amused tinge to his voice. “Or maybe I could even have caught you.”

“Careful, I might just put that to the test.”

“Do you trust in me so highly?” Courfeyrac swallowed.

“This is less about how much I trust you – it is more so a question of how capable I esteem your body to be to catch me properly.”

“You would rather put my strength to the test than your trust, then. In that case, let me give you a hand instead.”

Courfeyrac took it without much thought, even though he would have had no trouble simply jumping down from his branch and probably land on both his feet. Expecting Combeferre to let go of his hand as soon as he safely arrived on the ground, he was surprised anew when he didn’t, instead using it to pull him in closer.

“I spoke to Joly.”

”Oh?”, Courfeyrac mustered, letting his eyes roam over his face and trying to take everything in. With Combeferre so close, he felt more anchored and calm despite his rapidly beating heart, less frantic.

“Yes. We came to an agreement.”

He frowned in confusion. “What kind of agreement?”

“A mutually beneficial one.” Combeferre took one more step towards him, taking the other one of Courfeyrac’s hands now, too.

“While she is to be my wife, I would take you as my lover”, he muttered, seeming to search for any sign of reaction on Courfeyrac’s face. For once, Courfeyrac was speechless.

“If that is what you’d – “, Combeferre added, but he was cut off by Courfeyrac surging forward and kissing him on the lips – deeper than they had kissed in London, laying all his affirmation into the action.

“I would”, he replied once they had parted, resting their foreheads against each other’s. “And I would follow you to France, if you asked – to Spain, to Turkey – “

“I only ask you to stay here.” Courfeyrac grinned brightly and kissed him again, and again, on his mouth and his jaw and his nose, finally.

“That I can assure you of, my love.”

They settled against the trunk of the apple tree eventually, mumbling something to each other every now and then and trading kisses. The sky grew darker, but they stayed there for a while; the stars came into view, blinking down to them, and it felt like a promise.