Work Text:
Courfeyrac was never meant to find it. It had been a stupid idea, to take his work to the café, to leave his papers unattended. Jehan had mentally kicked himself all the way back to his flat after practically fleeing the café. He was an idiot, he decided. A complete and utter idiot.
Courfeyrac hadn’t meant to alarm him. He hadn’t meant to sound so…surprised. It was surprise, of course, because he hadn’t realized the depth of Jehan’s affection until that moment. Because it hadn’t just been the one poem, the one Jehan had been writing at the café, no, it had been the ones following it, the ones that he hadn’t seen before. Flipping through that book had been like watching Jehan fall in love, and really, wasn’t that what it was? And something in Courfeyrac had started and said, This is about me. It’s me he’s talking about. This is how he feels.
So, like an idiot, he had called out to Jehan. Jehan had taken one look at the book in his hand and had almost sprinted out of the café, not even bothering to gather his papers or to retrieve the book from Courfeyrac.
Courfeyrac spent that night thinking of what he would have said to him.
Is this how you really feel about me?
Do you mean it?
Jehan, this is beautiful.
I think I’m falling in love with you.
Jehan spent the night trying to figure out a way to explain to Courfeyrac.
I’m sorry; I never meant for you to see those.
Courfeyrac, I know you can’t possibly feel the same way.
I think I’m in love with you.
Courfeyrac tried desperately to catch Jehan over the course of the next week and a half. Jehan did everything he could to avoid him, unsure of what to do.