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It’s not long, now.
Enjolras sits between Combeferre and Courfeyrac, letting their body heat sink into her in the chilly winter night. She rests her head on Combeferre’s shoulder, and Combeferre slings an arm around Enjolras’ own, pulling her closer. Courfeyrac presses in on the other side, wonderfully warm and solid.
The three of them are huddled together on a lonely bench, gazing up at the clear night sky, their breaths little puffs of fog in the winter air There’s a gentle breeze, but considering the thick coats the cold has them swaddled in, it’s nothing a scarf— a scarf that Combeferre had forced on her— can’t handle.
If you ask Enjolras, it’s far too cold to be out here at night, but Courfeyrac had insisted and Combeferre had agreed, and after that, how could she possibly refuse?
“We should make resolutions,” Courfeyrac declares suddenly. “Hopes and wishes for next year.” She pulls away so she can prod Enjolras’ arm, then Combeferre. Enjolras has to bite back a whine at the sudden disappearance of her warmth, and burrows her way further into Combeferre’s side. Courfeyrac ignores this. “We’ve got to do something for the new year.”
“We’re watching fireworks,” Enjolras points out. “Is that not good enough for you?”
“You can watch fireworks literally anytime,” Courfeyrac says. “Come on. Make a resolution. It’s not even like anyone’s expecting you to actually keep it.”
Enjolras makes a noise she thinks could be reasonably interpreted as a no.
“You can make new resolutions anytime, too,” Combeferre says, her voice low and soft and reasonable. “You don’t have to limit yourself to the new year, you know.”
Courfeyrac groans. “That’s not the point.”
Enjolras shrugs. “Combeferre’s right.” The familiar temptation to dive into a rant about the consequences of sticking to tradition strikes, but the gentle rise-fall of Combeferre’s chest as she breathes in tandem with Enjolras is enough to stave it off.
“You don’t count,” Courfeyrac announces, flicking Enjolras’ arm. “You’re dating her, of course you’re going to agree.”
She can’t argue with that, she supposes.
“Be quiet and enjoy the fireworks,” she says instead. “Isn’t that what you dragged me out into the cold for?”
“It’s what I’m sitting in the cold for,” Courfeyrac agrees. “You, on the other hand, are currently attached to Combeferre, so you really can’t talk. Must be warm.” She presses a hand to her heart, but Enjolras can see the corners of her mouth twitch in a smile. “Oh, how it must feel to be able to steal someone else’s body heat.”
Enjolras blinks. She thinks about offering to move, but she doesn’t really want to do that, if she’s being honest. Combeferre really is quite comfortable. Besides, Combeferre doesn’t seem to mind Enjolras leeching off her warmth. “Do you want my coat?” she asks instead. “I could probably—”
Combeferre’s arm tightens around her shoulders, cutting her off. “Courfeyrac has her own coat,” she chides gently. “If you give her yours, you’re only going to freeze.”
“I have you,” Enjolras protests. “You’re warm, aren’t you?” Where their hands are clasped together, she can feel the warmth radiating off Combeferre to her own icy hand. Maybe there’s some merit to putting on as many layers as Combeferre insists on after all.
She knows Combeferre is rolling her eyes without even having to look. She has to bite down a smile at the thought. “Your coat will keep you warmer,” Combeferre says. “We wouldn’t want you freezing to death before the year even starts, would we?”
Enjolras shrugs a little, choosing to bury her face into the crook of Combeferre’s neck. Combeferre’s body shakes with soft laughter when she does, and when she presses a gentle kiss into Enjolras’ hair, Enjolras can’t even pretend she’s not smiling too.
“You are disgustingly in love,” Courfeyrac proclaims, off to Enjolras’ left. “I hope you know this is painful to watch. Agonising. Torturous.”
“I appreciate the use of slightly fancier vocabulary,” Combeferre says, her voice warm with amusement.
Courfeyrac says something at about that moment, but it’s about this time Combeferre starts running her hands through Enjolras’ curls, and though she’ll probably feel bad about it in the morning, Enjolras forgets to listen to Courfeyrac right then and there.
“You should wear your hair down more often,” Combeferre hums. “It’s nice.”
Before Enjolras can even respond, Courfeyrac makes her existence known again. “Quit flirting,” she complains, although Enjolras can hear a smile in her voice. “I refuse to third wheel harder than I already am.”
Combeferre’s hands still in Enjolras’ hair, and instead of acknowledging Courfeyrac, Enjolras quickly makes her displeasure about this known. Combeferre laughs a little, soft and sweet, then finally starts again.
Courfeyrac groans. “I give up. Just please don’t start making out when I’m here. Please.”
“No promises?” Enjolras offers, though she has absolutely no intention of doing that. Definitely not where Courfeyrac can see.
“Have some patience,” Combeferre says. “We came to watch fireworks, not to traumatise Courfeyrac.”
Courfeyrac seizes the opportunity. “Yes!” she says. “Yes, of course.” She tugs on Enjolras’ arm. “And you can’t watch fireworks when you’re too busy staring into each other’s eyes, so sit up.”
Unfortunately, Combeferre seems to agree with Courfeyrac here. She tucks a hand under Enjolras’ head, gently pushing her up into a slightly more upright position. And although Enjolras will never admit it— and certainly not to Courfeyrac, she’d never hear the end of that— she’s pretty sure she makes a quiet whine when she does.
“I’m not even the oldest here,” Courfeyrac complains. “Why did it have to be me making sure you behave? In what world is this fair?”
“You knew this was going to happen,” Enjolras says. Her head is no longer pillowed on Combeferre’s shoulder, but at least she’s still holding her hand, and it makes her happy enough for now.
“Mhm,” Combeferre hums, squeezing Enjolras’ hand. “It was you who said Enj gets clingy when she’s tired.”
“I’m not clingy,” Enjolras protests. “I’m just cold, that’s all.”
Still, she makes a point of not letting go of Combeferre’s hand after that, even when the fireworks burst into the sky in their sprays of colour and light. Combeferre’s grip doesn’t loosen either.
“New year in two,” Courfeyrac announces. “You sure you don’t have any resolutions? Promises, at least? Wishes?”
She can promise to be here, like she always has and always plans to be, Enjolras thinks, but she doesn’t think she needs to voice that for either of them to know. They’ve all been there for each other for years— though how Courfeyrac managed to stay sane in their school years when all Enjolras did was pine for Combeferre, she will never know— and that’s not changing now. She doesn’t need a resolution to promise herself that. She’ll be here, new year be damned.
“No,” she says. “I’m good.”
On her right, Combeferre cranes her neck down a little to press a light kiss to Enjolras’ cheek. Enjolras can feel herself blush, as always. “I’m good too,” Combeferre says softly, reaching over to squeeze Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “This is enough for me.”
Courfeyrac watches them for a long moment, then leans into Enjolras’ side. “Good,” she says. “Last year, I wished that you two would quit pining and just do something, you know. Good to know it didn’t go to waste.”
“I thought the new year was for resolutions, not wishes,” Enjolras says dryly.
“I was thinking outside the box,” Courfeyrac says. “Thought you would like that.”
Combeferre, ever the peacemaker, interrupts. “I’m glad we did, in the end. That we did something about it, that is.” She tucks a loose curl behind Enjolras’ ear. “I wouldn’t trade you for the world,” she says, too quiet for Courfeyrac to hear. “You know that, right?”
“Mhm,” Enjolras murmurs, her eyes fluttering shut even as Courfeyrac counts down to the new year beside her. “I know.”
—
That night, when they’re back inside and away from the bite of the cold, and Courfeyrac has gone to bed so they can “make out in peace”, Enjolras goes to bed curled into Combeferre and with Combeferre’s arms around her.
“G’night,” she mumbles into Combeferre’s neck. “Love you. Sweet dreams.”
And just as she’s about to drift away, she feels Combeferre press a kiss onto her forehead, short and sweet. “Goodnight, Enj,” she hears her whisper. “Love you too.”
Enjolras falls asleep smiling.