Work Text:
„Joly? Joly, where are you?“
Damn rush hour. People were pushing and jostling through the tunnels that connected one platform to the other, trying to reach their trains, and in all of this Combeferre had lost sight of Joly. Which was shit, because he was the one carrying their ticket. Group tickets were cheaper, so they had decided to share, but now his ticket and lab partner had been swept away by the crowd.
What made it even worse was that Joly was so short it was almost impossible to spot him in a crowd.
Combeferre had by now stopped in his tracks, which earned him a few pushes and more than a few choice swearwords from the bustling crowd: “Joly!”
“I'm here,” came a voice from off to the side, and then Joly was pushing through the crowd and back to Combeferre's side. He gave a huff: “Being short in a crowd really sucks.”
“I thought I'd lost you,” Combeferre said with a grin, “and then you'd get on the train and get caught with no ticket.”
“The perils of ticket-sharing,” Joly quipped.
“Well I'm not losing you again.” With that, Combeferre grabbed Joly's hand and began pushing through the crowd again, towing Joly along in his wake.
–
It quickly became thing with them. Rush hour, concerts, conventions, anywhere there was a crowd, Combeferre would at some point reach out to take Joly's hand: “Can't lose my lab partner. Not halfway through the semester.”
Joly just laughed. He didn't mind being anchored to Combeferre. He had always been a little anxious in crowds. It was probably a short person thing. You never really knew where you were, surrounded by a forest of shoulders and heads you couldn't look over. Having Combeferre to hold on to was calming, and he liked Combeferre a lot.
–
They had been out with their friends, and had just said goodbye to Courfeyrac who was the only one that shared a bit of the way with them.
Descending the stairs that led down to their platform, Combeferre slipped his hand into Joly's as they walked side by side.
“Combeferre?”
“Hm?” Combeferre half-turned his head to look at Joly.
“You know there are barely any people around, right?”
Combeferre blinked, looking first around the almost deserted station and then down at their hands.
“You've done that a few times now,” Joly went on, looking up at Combeferre, his eyebrow raised in curiosity.
“I didn't notice,” Combeferre said with a sheepish smile, fidgeting a bit: “I guess it's become habit?”
There was something in the way Combeferre was looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and how he didn't let go, that gave Joly's heart a little tug.
Because he had noticed. Every time this had happened, he had noticed. And he had noticed other things, too. The way Combeferre looked at him when he thought Joly wasn't paying attention, and then looked away when their eyes met. How he always tried to snag the seat next to Joly when they were out with their friends. How his face lit up when Joly walked into the room.
“Or,” Joly said, his voice gentle and almost careful, “it's because you like holding my hand?”
Combeferre swallowed visibly, his stance tightening at the same time as his fingers were beginning to unfurl from Joly's hand.
But Joly wasn't about to let him do that. Gripping Combeferre's hand, he moved a step closer so that they were only a few inches apart. He smiled up at Combeferre: “I hope it's that, because I like it, too.”
Combeferre released the breath he had been holding, the tension that had gripped his body leaving him together with the rush of air.
“We should do it more often, then,” he said, leaning down towards Joly.
“Mhm. Agreed. In fact, we should do it everywhere.”
Joly turned his hand and laced his fingers with Combeferre's, smiling before stretching up to kiss him.