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It was the morning after Jehan came and confided in him that he was doubting himself — the morning after Courfeyrac kissed his forehead and told him he was mighty — that Courfeyrac figured it out. He actually woke up the next morning and it hit him. Groaning loud enough to make Enjolras come into his doorway and stare at him quizzically, he cried, “I’m in love with Jean Prouvaire!”
And Enjolras snickered at him and said, “Yes. I know.”
And so Courfeyrac threw a pillow at him and yelled, “How the fuck did you know?! AND WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”
Enjolras had calmly dodged the pillow and was stirring his coffee. “I thought you knew,” he said. “I mean if I knew, it was pretty obvious.”
And Courfeyrac bellowed like a deranged cow and told Enjolras to go away.
That was a month ago. A month of silent longing to touch and taste every tiny crevice of Jehan’s body, of aching to tell him, to love him. A month, and Courfeyrac in agony the whole time.
And now it’s fucking Valentine’s Day.
And Courfeyrac would totally take this very great opportunity to make a move, except Jehan is too precious to lose and Courfeyrac isn’t sure Jehan wants a relationship right now. He is still sort of half seeing someone, after all.
But Courfeyrac wants him oh, so dearly. He wants every inch of him, every good thing and every flaw and every fear and hope and desire, he wants.
But he resolves not to do anything yet. Jehan needs to want it too, and Courfeyrac doesn’t know what Jehan wants.
The problem is, Jehan might not either.
Therefore, tonight’s Valentine’s party at Feuilly’s and Bahorel’s might not be quite as fun as Courfeyrac would otherwise hope.
As it turns out, it’s not. There are plenty of people there: almost the entire gang and a few plus-ones. Grantaire is grinding with some girl he’s brought whose name Courfeyrac didn’t quite catch while Enjolras grinds his teeth on the far opposite side of the room (and seriously, Courf thinks, if he was obvious, what isthis?), and Feuilly and Bahorel both brought dates too, while Joly and Bossuet are, as usual, wrapped up in each other. Marius and Cosette are the only ones missing because they’re out to a very romantic dinner, but they promised they’d join up later. Combeferre and Eponine are chatting in the kitchen and seem to be getting along well, which leaves Jehan — lovely, gorgeous Jehan, who’s wearing hearts and flowers head to toe and whose hair is up in a loose bun today with wisping curls falling over the back of his neck and his ears, one lock drifting over his forehead — alone by the windows. Courfeyrac catches his eye and he smiles warmly before turning and opening the window to climb out onto the fire escape, glancing back at Courfeyrac as he goes like he wants him to follow.
And suddenly Courfeyrac’s resolve to not kiss him falters drastically.
Feuilly’s and Bahorel’s is on the top floor of the building and it’s very easy to climb up on the roof from the fire escape, an opportunity Jehan is taking advantage of when Courfeyrac gets out there. So Courfeyrac follows. It’s a relief to get out of the smoky apartment (Enjolras is a stress smoker, Bahorel and Grantaire are social smokers, and Feuilly’s just an addict, which means there are four people smoking tonight in a rather small living area), and it’s a relief to be so near Jehan.
As he climbs up, Jehan flashes him another dazzling smile, and Courfeyrac is glad he’s in the middle of hoisting himself up on the roof because it feels a bit like his heart might stop.
When he gets up there, Courfeyrac slides up next to Jehan and reaches out to brazenly take his hand, entwining their fingers together and pulling Jehan’s hand into his lap, feeling a rush of hope as he hears Jehan’s breath hitch. He leans into Jehan’s arm and presses a kiss into his shoulder, rubbing circles into the back of his hand with the fingers not tangled in his.
“So are we not supposed to talk about it?” Jehan breathes.
Courfeyrac looks up at him. Jehan’s frowning, but like he’s trying to work through a difficult problem. Courfeyrac can almost hear his heart beating. “About what?” he asks carefully.
Jehan turns and boldly meets his gaze. “Us,” he says. “You, and me, and…whatever this is between us. I don’t really know the rules, are we not supposed to talk about it?”
Courfeyrac wants to melt into him, to kiss him silly and not have to talk about it because it’s just them and them and nothing but them. But that’s not how life is, so he wets his lips. “We can talk about it,” he whispers.
“Okay,” Jehan breathes back, but then neither of them say anything.
Finally, Courfeyrac lets out a huff of air. “I don’t know what to say,” he says and Jehan’s eyebrows knit together. “I guess I have something to ask.”
“Yes?” Jehan prompts softly, and Courfeyrac can’t help but notice his thumb is starting to brush up and down over Courfeyrac’s hand.
“What do you want?” he asks, his voice still a whisper.
Jehan closes his eyes and makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I wish I knew,” he breathes. “I’ve just been so…lost lately, I can’t tell anymore.”
Courfeyrac frowns, holding tighter to Jehan’s hand without meaning to. “You don’t have to,” he says. He almost volunteers to know for him, but of course he can’t. “Can I tell you what I want?” he asks instead. “Would that be all right?”
Jehan fixes an almost relieved stare on Courfeyrac. “Please,” he whispers.
Courfeyrac gently smiles at him. “I want you,” he breathes and smiles wider when Jehan shivers. “But I don’t want a casual thing with you, I don’t want just a piece of what this could be.” He laughs breathily. “At the risk of sounding like The Little Mermaid, I want more.”
Jehan lets out a little airy giggle at that too. Then he becomes suddenly very sober again and asks, like it’s the most important thing in the world, “Why?”
And maybe it is. Maybe it’s the most important question Courfeyrac will ever answer. And he wants to be honest. But he also doesn’t want to scare Jehan. So he lets go with one hand in order to run it through his hair and he sighs.
Jehan is still searching him, though, desperate for his answer.
“I’m not sure if I know the rules either,” Courfeyrac says slowly, trying to give one to him, “but I do think you’re not supposed to tell someone you love them when you’re not actually dating them yet.”
Jehan’s face opens up in surprise. “Oh,” comes out in a rush of air.
Courfeyrac smiles — almost apologetically.
They stay tucked in that moment for some time, breathing and tingling and hoping. Jehan reaches up with the hand that’s not still held between Courfeyrac’s, and very slowly brushes his fingers against the soft of Courfeyrac’s neck.
Courfeyrac lets out an involuntary sound like a whimper in his desire. And Jehan surges forward and presses his nose against Courfeyrac’s face. He smells of grass and of cherry blossoms and Courfeyrac gasps and very nearly swoons at the sudden nearness, the sudden taste of him.
Then Jehan whispers a rush into his cheek. “Because I prayed this word: I want”
Courfeyrac clutches at him. He feels like he can’t breathe but for cherry blossoms and poetry and love love love.
“I’m almost there,” Jehan breathes, nose still pressed against Courfeyrac’s face, fingers light on his neck or pushing into the bones of his hand.
Courfeyrac leans further into him, letting his eyes squeeze shut. “I’d wait for you forever if you wanted,” he promises, meaning it completely.
Jehan is so close, he can feel him smile. “I don’t want that,” he says, and then there is the ghost of his lips brushing over Courfeyrac’s cheekbone and he’s gone, pulling his hand out of Courfeyrac’s grasp and standing, lightly touching Courfeyrac’s shoulder as he leaves to slip down onto the fire escape and go back inside to the party.
The sudden absence of him swallows Courfeyrac, and he knows for sure, like he never has before, that this is it. He will wait for as long as Jehan needs, for forever if necessary, because this is it.
Because he prays this word: I want.