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For the first time in his life, Feuilly had a job he didn't hate.
He didn't exactly love his job, either -- it was retail, after all, which brought with it off kilter work schedules and difficult customers -- but as such jobs went, it wasn't bad. His manager was fairly easygoing, and made sure he had the two nights off he needed to attend his classes over at Bunker Hill. He also got to sample the merchandise on a regular basis -- the merchandise being expensive, hand-crafted chocolates.
Feuilly started the job right after the New Year --his good friend Bahorel worked part-time at the attached cafe, and had wrangled him an interview, so he happily gave notice at the dysfunctional department store job he'd endured through Christmas and showed up at the store first thing in the morning on January 2. The duties were fairly straightforward: help customers with their chocolate selections, then box them up and ring up the order. The chocolates were expensive, but beautiful in both taste and appearance, and Feuilly took great joy in wrapping the gift boxes for the customers, creating works of art their customers would swoon over.
For the first few weeks, business was slow, and when the shop was empty Feuilly would bring his book and read, or chat with Bahorel if he was working. But as soon as February hit, the store kept getting busier and busier, as well-heeled Bostonians came in to purchase Valentine’s Day gifts. Feuilly was always enthusiastic with his customers, but he sometimes felt the strain: after all, it had been several years since he had someone to celebrate Valentine’s Day with, so he felt a bit wistful as he witnessed so many people buying something beautiful and delicious for their beloved.
He ended up spending Valentine’s Day with Bahorel, who had managed to snag a couple of tickets to a Bruins game. Feuilly wasn’t much of a hockey fan, but spending a few hours drinking beers with his best friend in the last row of the upper deck managed to take his mind off the holiday -- and the fact that he wished there was a man in his life who would have bring him chocolates on Valentine’s Day.
**
The next day Feuilly was scheduled to work the opening shift at the chocolate shop, where he was put to work assembling a table of half-priced boxes of chocolate. As he went to unlock the doors to the shop, he noticed a young man standing outside waiting for them to open -- an unusual sight, particularly on such a frigid day.
“Good morning,” Feuilly said, as he cracked open the door to let him in. “Can I help you find something?”
The man doffed his hat, revealing a tumble of dark curls. “I’m looking for your half-price chocolates,” he said, flashing a brilliant smile at Feuilly. “It’s my favorite part of Valentine’s Day.”
“Right over here,” Feuilly said, walking him over to the table he had just put together.
The dark-haired man frowned at Feuilly’s carefully stacked boxes. “I haven’t a clue where to start,” he confessed. “Can you recommend something?”
“Well, who are you buying these for?” Feuilly asked, bracing himself to hear about a lover -- or perhaps several lovers.
“For myself, actually,” the man replied. “I have a terrible sweet tooth. And it shows,” he said, patting his belly.
Feuilly laughed. “It’s totally worth it,” he said, struck by Courfeyrac’s natural charm. “Let me get you a few samples.”
As he busied himself preparing a tray, Bahorel wandered over to see what was going on. “Mr. de Courfeyrac! What the hell are you doing here?” he shouted, slapping Feuilly’s customer on the back.
“Hey, half-priced chocolate day is my favorite day of the year,” Courfeyrac replied, pulling Bahorel into a hug. “How the hell are you? Do you miss law school?”
“Fuck no,” Bahorel scoffed. “The day I left that shithole was the best day of my life. You still there?”
“Three months to go,” replied Courfeyrac, as Feuilly brought them the tray of chocolates. “Thank God.”
“So you’ve met my friend Feuilly,” Bahorel said, wrapping an arm around Feuilly’s narrow shoulders and taking a piece of chocolate off the tray. “Feuilly, this is Courfeyrac -- without him, I never would have made it through that one semester of law school.”
“It’s good to meet you,” Feuilly said, offering him a truffle. “Anyone who would put up with Bahorel must be pretty special,” he joked, ignoring Bahorel’s rolled eyes.
Courfeyrac’s laugh resonated through the empty store. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he purred, taking a bite of the piece of candy Feuilly had offered him -- and moaning orgasmically, his eyes never leaving Feuilly’s face. “Damn, that’s good. Give me three boxes.”
“I’ll leave you in Feuilly’s very capable hands then,” Bahorel said, winking at a flustered Feuilly before slipping back to the cafe.
“So how do you know Bahorel?” asked Courfeyrac, as he handed over his credit card.
Feuilly shrugged as he ran the card through the reader. “We live on the same street. He was working on a political campaign, and he recruited me to help go door to door. Chat up the neighbors, pass out leaflets -- the usual.”
“And you’re reading Howard Zinn?” Courfeyrac asked, nodding toward the book that sat on the back counter.
Feeling suddenly flushed, Feuilly handed back his credit card. “It’s really interesting. We never learned about any of those things at Charlestown High,” he said.
“Maybe we can talk about those things some time when you’re not working,” Courfeyrac said as he signed the credit card slip. “I wrote my number on there -- if you’re interested,” he said, handing the paper back to him with the pen -- his eyes lingering on Feuilly’s for a long moment.
Feuilly swallowed hard, then looked away. “I’ll--I’ll think about it,” he managed to croak.
But as soon as Courfeyrac was gone, he copied Courfeyrac’s number to his contacts
**
An hour later, Feuilly was sitting on his stool, staring at his phone, still thinking about his encounter with the young law student. “So are you going to go out with him?” Bahorel asked.
Feuilly practically jumped out of his skin. “Go out with who?”
“With Courfeyrac, of course,” Bahorel replied, leaning up against the display case. “He texted me as soon as he left to ask all about you.”
“And what did you tell him?” Feuilly eyed him suspiciously.
“How amazingly smart you were, how kind you’ve always been to me,” Bahorel said. “How single you are.”
Feuilly shook his head -- he felt sure he should just forget about the whole thing. “I don’t think it’s a very good idea. Besides, I’m sure a guy like him can do much better than me.”
Bahorel drummed his fingers on the case. “See, here’s the thing, my friend -- there is no one better than you,” he said with a kind smile. “Text him. It’s better than sitting around alone, right?”
Feuilly had to admit to himself that his friend was right. “I’ll think about it,” he muttered.
But he shoved his phone in his pocket -- and shoved the handsome law student to the back of his mind.
**
When his shift was over later that day, Feuilly took the train back to his apartment in Charlestown, where he instantly turned on the TV, hoping to fill the space with white noise -- and quell that overwhelming feeling of loneliness that so often came over him at night. He shuffled around the apartment for a while, cooking himself dinner and putting away his laundry, until he finally collapsed on the couch and closed his eyes.
No sooner had he done so than his phone buzzed with an incoming text. “These chocolates are AMAZING,” it read -- and included a selfie of Courfeyrac popping one into his wide-open mouth.
Feuilly smiled, knowing that Courfeyrac must have asked Bahorel for his number -- and that any further resistance to their machinations was likely to be futile. “Want to bring those over here to share?” he wrote.
“I’ll be right over,” came the return text. “Best half-priced chocolates day ever.”
Feuilly laughed in agreement -- and he went to await his new friend’s arrival.