Work Text:
One day, Jehan just doesn't get out of bed. Courfeyrac wakes at six-thirty to shower and get ready, as he does every weekday. He has to be at the high school by eighty-thirty at the latest, but he likes to get there earlier. He and Jehan are both morning people. They like to eat breakfast together in their homey kitchen, Courfeyrac downing a mug of coffee and then preparing another one in a tumbler while Jehan drinks tea.
But every so often, Jehan decides to sleep in. Sometimes he's up late writing, and sometimes the bed is just too soft and too warm for him to leave. Technically he doesn't have to be at the bookstore until ten, so it's not entirely out of character for Courfeyrac to spend a morning alone. This morning, however, something is off.
Jehan is still, breathing shallow and shaky, which is not how he normally sleeps. There is tension in his shoulders. Courfeyrac notices it almost immediately, but Jehan's eyes are closed when Courfeyrac tries to check in on him, so he leaves him be for the moment. When Courfeyrac has had his breakfast and coffee and it's almost eight o'clock and he absolutely must leave but Jehan still hasn't moved, he begins to worry.
"Jehan?" He crouches next to the bed and puts his hand on Jehan's forehead. It's cool. "Are you sick?" He asks anyway, and Jehan ignores him. No, it's worse than that. It's like Jehan doesn't even realize he's there.
"Jehan?" Courfeyrac knows he sounds frantic, and he brushes a hand across his face. Jehan flinches, and Courfeyrac jerks his hand back like he's been stung. Jehan turns over on his side and pulls the blanket higher, holding it close like he can't get warm. It's winter and the room is dark. The sun is weak that morning, but their apartment is actually pretty well insulated, and they splurged on their bedding, so Jehan shouldn't be cold.
"Please, you're starting to scare me," Courfeyrac pleads. It feels like there ice deadening his limbs, but Jehan still doesn't respond. He's silent. He's entirely silent and Courfeyrac has never been so scared in his life.
He's not going to work today, he knows, so he leaves the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him to call in sick. He's sitting at the table, staring at the ring his coffee mug left stained on the wood when he remembers.
There was a phone call. The clock beside their bed read something like three-fifteen am when Jehan's cell phone rang, and he had woken up, answering groggily. Courfeyrac was just barely conscious, already starting to go back to sleep when he registered that he wasn't needed.
All Jehan had said was, "When?" and then, "Okay." before he hung up, and laid back down. Now that Courfeyrac thinks of it, Jehan probably didn't go back to sleep. Usually they sleep nestled together, limbs tangled and Jehan's hair tickling his nose. But Courfeyrac slept cold last night, and woke up quite the same.
He can't think who the phone call could have been from, what they might have said. But Jehan has been awake and alone with his thoughts for too long, and Courfeyrac won't let him retreat into himself. It's the one thing Courfeyrac can't bear to see.
He toes off his shoes and walks back into the room, shutting it behind him again. Jehan is still in the same place. Courfeyrac pulls off his jacket and neat work pants, pulling back on his soft, worn cotton pajamas and sits on the bed.
"Jehan please," he says softly, but there is a firmness in his tone that he knows Jehan won't ignore. "Tell me what happened."
Jehan doesn't move; his eyes are open now but he doesn't even look up at Courfeyrac, but he does answer. "My sister called." He is entirely inflectionless.
Courfeyrac wants to ask what she told him, but he's afraid that if he speaks, Jehan won't.
"My dad died."
Oh.
He reaches out instinctively, but Jehan just says, "Please don't touch me," so soft, like he thinks Courfeyrac will do it anyway, and Courfeyrac just lets his hand fall back into his own lap. All of a sudden he's fighting back tears and his hands clench into tight fists. He feels useless. He can't touch, and Jehan is punishing himself, or both of them, with his silence. He doesn't know what to do. He was never prepared for this.
He should feel satisfied, he thinks. Jehan's father is-was- a bastard. He is responsible for every scar Jehan carries. Jehan's skin is unblemished, but Courfeyrac knows him well enough to see the marks that aren't visible, the ones that cut deeper than anything in flesh could. So he should be satisfied, but he isn't.
Jehan's hair is lank across his forehead, and Courfeyrac wants to brush it back but he's afraid to make any movements.
"Please tell me what I can do," Courfeyrac begs. He needs to know that he can do something, but it's more to comfort himself than Jehan. He's not sure if Jehan can be comforted right now at all.
"Just leave me alone," Jehan says, and closes his eyes tightly, and Courfeyrac wishes he could erase each and every line that creases Jehan's face. His skin wasn't made for anguish. It twists and becomes something unrecognizable. Jehan's skin was made for spring mornings and tea with cream, for eventual laugh lines and distinguished elegance. In this moment, Courfeyrac isn't sure he's ever going to see that.
He gets up without another word and leaves the room. He doesn't want to leave, but he doesn't want to force his presence on Jehan either. But maybe Jehan will feel freer if Courfeyrac isn't there to see him break. He's glad he left yesterday's pants on the couch, because he doesn't want to go back into the room again to change. He puts them on and slips on his shoes, grabbing his key and locking the apartment as he leaves.
He's not sure where he's going, but he calls Combeferre, because out of everyone, Combeferre always knows what to do.
When Combeferre meets Courfeyrac at the cafe, Courfeyrac look frazzled, and worried, and he has a bouquet of white lilies in his lap.
"His dad died," Courfeyrac blurts before Combeferre even sits down. That explains it. Combeferre doesn't know as much as Courfeyrac does, none of them do, but they have known each other for years, and there are few secrets, if any, amongst their group of friends. The only person who knows as much as Courfeyrac does, and perhaps possibly more, is Grantaire. Grantaire's parents acted in the same vein as Jehan's, and sometimes Jehan needs to hear someone say, "Fuck them, fuck them because you are worth more than they'll ever be," because Jehan won't ever say it himself, and Grantaire is bitter and angry and open about it. Grantaire coaxes the anger out of Jehan, albeit in a much healthier way than he deals with it himself, and it's something Jehan needs that Courfeyrac can't give him.
"I just don't know what to do," Courfeyrac sounds helpless and Combeferre feels sorry. "I bought these flowers, because he likes flowers and these are mourning flowers but now I'm looking at them and they just look so stupid and I feel so stupid."
Courfeyrac looks up at him. "He told me to leave him alone. I've never not known what to do before. I don't know how to fix this."
Combeferre sighs, puts his hand on Courfeyrac's and feels comforted when Courfeyrac squeezes it tightly.
"There's no fix for this," Combeferre says gently. "There's nothing you can say that's going to make him feel better. His father was abusive," Courfeyrac flinches at hearing it said aloud but Combeferre continues on. "There's no right way to react to this. You just need to let him react whatever way he does, but do you really think he wanted you to leave him alone?"
Courfeyrac looks miserable. "No," He admits. "He never wants to be alone when he's upset. He hates the quiet, it suffocates him."
"Then you should go to him," Combeferre suggests. When Courfeyrac moves to leave the flowers, Combeferre stops him. "Bring them."
Combeferre gets up and pulls Courfeyrac into a fierce hug. He's not usually that physically demonstrative, but he knows Courfeyrac needs it right now. Courfeyrac hugs him back gratefully, and leaves.
Combeferre sits back down and orders a large coffee, pulls out his phone and dials Enjolras. Enjolras will need to tell Grantaire, and tell everyone else to stay away for a little while.
When Courfeyrac unlocks the door and lets himself in to the apartment, the first thing he hears is the shattering of glass in the kitchen. Jehan is no longer in their bed.
Courfeyrac sets down the flowers and his coat and makes his way into the kitchen. He realizes that every windowsill in the apartment is empty, and he knows what Jehan is doing in the kitchen.
There is another shattering of glass, and Courfeyrac catches sight of Jehan. The kitchen is a mess. There are water and flowers all over the floor. Jehan had dumped out every vase they had, and the empty mason jars are on the table. Well, some of them are. The rest are already in pieces on the floor.
Jehan is standing next to the table, and he reaches for a jar, pulling his arm back as if he is drawing a bow, and throws with all his strength at their perfect white cabinets. The jar shatters on impact and Jehan doesn't even flinch at the glass that flies everywhere.
"Jehan-" Courfeyrac starts to say, but he is stopped short when Jehan whirls around to face him. He is crying. His eyes are red-rimmed and his hair is pulled back haphazardly from his face, no longer curled gracefully but tangled, as if Jehan had tried to rip out every flower that was braided there. Courfeyrac is sure he did.
Jehan just looks at Courfeyrac then grabs another jar, throwing it as he turns. The cabinets are no longer white now, or beautiful. They are littered with marks where the glass has chipped the paint and wood away, and with each jar thrown, with each cabinet destroyed a little more, Jehan's scars show more and more starkly.
But Courfeyrac makes no move to stop him. Combeferre said to let Jehan react whatever way he did, and to support him no matter what, no matter how unnatural it feels. And it does feel so wrong. Jehan is rarely angry, and now he looks livid.
Jehan picks up something else, but it's not a mason jar. It's their vase, the chipped vase that Jehan loves and Courfeyrac hated at first but now can't live without. It shouldn't be there, it should be in their room but Jehan had taken it out to fill it with fresh flowers yesterday and so it's on the table, and in his fury, Jehan doesn't distinguish it from the others.
It's out of his hand and smashes against the cabinet before Courfeyrac can stop him. He can't help the startled sound that comes out of his mouth though, and all of a sudden Jehan comes back to himself. He looks at the remains of the vase on the floor, and at Courfeyrac, who tries to school his expression but can't help the face he makes.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, horrified. "I'm sorry, oh my god, Courf, I'm so sorry," he keeps saying it, over and over again, and he drops to the floor and starts frantically trying to collect the pieces, saying again and again how sorry he is.
Courfeyrac can't move, just watches numbly as Jehan apologizes and sifts through the broken glass on the floor. But then Jehan cries out, cutting his palm on a particularly jagged piece of glass and Courfeyrac runs and drops to his knees in front of Jehan, pulling him close without another word.
It is the tipping point. Jehan all but collapses into Courfeyrac's arms, and Jehan is sobbing huge, wracking, broken sobs. He sounds just like a child and Courfeyrac's heart breaks and he never, never wants Jehan to feel this way again.
"I hate him so much," Jehan heaves, "I hate him, I hate him, I fucking hate him," and Jehan can barely get the words out because he's crying so hard, but Courfeyrac hears him and hold him tighter.
Courfeyrac hates him too. He hates Jehan's father like he's never hated anyone before. He hates him for what he did to Jehan, and he hates him for dying now and bringing everything back up again. He hates Jehan's sister for telling Jehan, he hates that anyone ever made Jehan feel this way, but most of all he hates himself for not being able to fix it.
He holds Jehan until Jehan is no longer gasping for breath, until the tears are dry, salty and itchy on his face. Then he helps him up, carefully avoiding any more glass, and takes him to the bathroom. He sits Jehan down on the toilet seat and pulls out their first aid kit. Jehan goes willingly, like a marionette with it's strings cut, and Courfeyrac hates it.
Courfeyrac cleans the cut and bandages it as painlessly as he can, but every so often, fresh tears will fall silently down Jehan's face and Courfeyrac isn't sure it's from the physical pain.
He takes Jehan to their bed and helps him into fresh pajamas, then brushes and braids his hair. Jehan relaxes with each knot that is untangled, and by the end of it, he's asleep in Courfeyrac's arms.
Courfeyrac falls asleep not long after, but not before remembering to call into work and say that he'll be out for the rest of the week. They are understanding, and Courfeyrac switches his phone off and presses his nose into Jehan's neck.
When he wakes up, Jehan is not in the bed. Courfeyrac's initial response is to panic, but he forces himself to stay calm as he walks into the living room. Jehan is not there either, and neither are the flowers he'd brought home. He walks into the kitchen gingerly, unsure of what he's going to find, but he's relieved to see Jehan sitting at the kitchen table.
The floor is spotless; all the broken glass and water and flowers are cleared away. The cabinets are still ruined, but they can paint over those. Courfeyrac's eyes take stock of the rest of the room and what he sees tells him that the worst is over, that they can get through this. There are no vases or mason jars left in their house, and Courfeyrac is sure they will replace those eventually, but there is something else.
Jehan has taken Courfeyrac's lilies and cut the stems off, placing no more than three or four floating in each of the clear bowls that are lining their windowsills now. There is one last lily that has been secured in Jehan's braid, and Courfeyrac wants to cry for a different reason.
He doesn't ask Jehan if he's okay. He sits down across from Jehan and takes Jehan's hands in his own and recites a poem. When he's finished, he looks back up at Jehan and Jehan is smiling, but it's a sad smile. He thinks that Jehan might be closer to that dark child from the poem than any of them will ever know. But Jehan is also the stable of gold in his mouth, and when they are both veiled at dawn, they will be at least be together.
Jehan is no longer unblemished. There is a slash upon his palm, and sometimes, when Jehan gets quiet, which happens every so often now, Courfeyrac will catch him running his thumb over it. He hates it, because now there is a constant reminder, a physical reminder for everyone to see, that Jehan is not just the carefree poet that they all like to think he is.
So Courfeyrac makes sure to tell Jehan every day that he loves him, even when they are fighting. He learns more poetry to make up for what Jehan won't write down, though Courfeyrac catches him whispering to him at night, when he thinks Courfeyrac is asleep.
They survive, as they have survived everything before this, and everything else that will come to pass, and eventually, there are flowers on their windowsill again.