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The meeting is finished and everyone is gathering their things and shuffling out of the café. Feuilly and Bahorel are planning on going drinking (and if Joly has to bail them out for public indecency at four in the morning, well…). Grantaire has to go to the studio and finish up his portfolio for their art-deco chapter or his GPA was well beyond fucked for this semester (and if Enjolras has been roped into being his model, well…). Musichetta is dragging Marius a local theatre because Bossuet made Courfeyrac promise that he’d help him find a present for Joly’s upcoming birthday. Poor Joly has to study anatomy and physiology. Cosette and Eponine have decided to stay in the café and catch up over coffee (Eponine’s) and tea (Cosette’s), since Cosette was finally back after her journalism internship.
As everyone is hurrying out, Combeferre leisurely stuffs papers and folders back into his bag. He imagines that Enjolras left some things, because everything fit when he left his apartment earlier that day. He sighs as his glasses slip right off his face and fall into the depths of his bag. He should probably find them, but it’s kind of hard to see anything without them. Another sigh. It’s one of thosedays.
“Need help?” Jehan’s cheery voice asks.
“My glasses…” Combeferre starts, gesturing helplessly at his bag. Within moments, Jehan plants them back on the other man’s face with an additional peck on the cheek.
“Why so blue?” the poet asks, taking a seat and patting the other side of the table, trying to get Combeferre to sit.
Unable to resist Jehan’s pleasant aura, Combeferre sits and promptly lets his head fall onto the tabletop.
“It’s just a bad day,” he replies before another sigh falls from his mouth.
“It’s just a bad day because Eponine’s been looking at Marius again and you can’t take your eyes off her or because you have a ten page due tomorrow in your philosophy class and you’ve only written three pages?”
Combeferre looks up at Jehan suspiciously, but the poet only smiles.
“Grantaire told me.”
Combeferre’s gaze doesn’t relent.
“About the paper.”
“And…” Combeferre prompts, his curiosity overcoming his lethargy.
“I noticed,” Jehan admits. “Forgive me?”
“For having eyes?”
Jehan smiles. “You don’t have to tell me. I just thought it might be nice for you to talk about it.”
Combeferre’s eyes are glazed over and he’s tired and he doesn’t particularly want to talk about it with anyone. But considering how his day is going, getting it off his chest might be nice.
“Okay.”
He doesn’t continue, if he had it wouldn’t have helped. He doesn’t even know how this happened or when he started noticing the way Eponine’s hair catches the light when she sits by the window, or the way she stifles a giggle every time Enjolras and Grantaire go at it, or her devilish grin every time she catches Jehan and Courfeyrac making eyes at each other across the room (and if he hopes she grins at him like that one day, well…).
“You’re an honest guy, ‘Ferre,” Jehan says, when he realizes Combeferre doesn’t intend on breaking the silence. He slides his chair over so he can gently massage the exhausted man’s back as he speaks. “So be honest with her.” Silence. “Why do you like her?”
Jehan can feel him shrug under his hands.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.”
Goddammit, he thinks, How can Jehan always be right?
“I-I…” His hands fumble around as he tries to find the words and tries to convey what he feels physically. Unfortunately, he fails at both, prompting a chuckle from Jehan.
“Oh sweetie,” the poet croons, “you’ve got it bad.”
Do I? Combeferre thinks, lifting his head to glance at where Eponine and Cosette had been sitting. Somehow Cosette has coaxed Eponine into letting the her braid her hair. Eponine’s soft smile makes Combeferre’s heart flutter.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath. He knows he’s fucked (Eponine won’t even look at him), but he can feel the tension in his shoulders starting to melt out of him. “I’m not even sure she knows I’m here most of the time.”
“Of course she knows,” Jehan says comfortingly.
“You know what I mean. If you noticed then you’ve also noticed how she’s still pinning after Marius. She only ever looks at him. The rare times she’s not she’s stealing glances with Grantaire because they’ve been best friends since before I knew either of them or admiring you and Courf.”
Jehan blushes, but stays silent as Combeferre continues.
“She only knows I’m here in the sense that she knows I’m in the room with her because I could pose a threat.”
“But you don’t. You’re Combeferre. You don’t even kill bugs,” Jehan remarks.
“I know, but it’s Eponine. You’ve seen what her parents have done. You’ve seen what her parents do. And everyone knows she used to be with Montparnasse, who isn’t the most pleasant of people. It’s how she’s lived for as long as she can remember. Her moving in with Cosette and Marius a couple months ago was probably the best thing that could’ve happened to her.”
Jehan sighs because Combeferre’s right. It’s no secret that between the twelve of them Eponine’s paranoia beats out everyone else’s, even Joly’s. She’s always watching, always noticing, always feeling threatened.
They both glance at where she’s sitting with Cosette. They’re laughing and chatting happily with matching braids. It’s probably the most relaxed they’ve seen her since Cosette left three weeks ago.
The two sit in silence, quietly observing the girls until Combeferre breaks the silence.
“Unless I suddenly get better eyes and a thousand freckles, she won’t even notice me.”
This isn’t usual for Combeferre at all. He’s not the picture of confidence, no, but he’s never so hard on himself. He knows he’s a good person and that he’s smart and works hard, but he can’t help it. He wonder if this is how Eponine feels; tf she compares herself to Cosette too. If she looks at Cosette and sees everything she can never be.
“What bullshit,” he mutters quietly, but of course Jehan hears him.
“What is?”
Combeferre looks at the poet, and Jehan can see something in his eyes. It’s not quite sadness, and it’s akin to disappointment, but that’s not it either.
Comebeferre pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Cosette’s great. She really is. I love her; you have to. She’s brilliant.”
“But.”
“But she’s not Eponine. They’re both smart, they’re both pretty,” Gorgeous, he corrects himself in his head, Eponine’s gorgeous. “But Cosette’s just…not…Eponine.”
Jehan smirks, and Combeferre can feel him stand up. “I’ve gotta go help Courf pick out a present with Bossuet. Wanna come?”
Combeferre stands, but shakes his head. “I’m fine, thanks.”
Jehan nods and starts to leave, but stops when Combeferre grabs his wrist.
The two look each other in the eye.
“Really,” Combeferre says, “Thanks.”
Jehan smiles and stands on his toes to press his lips to Combeferre’s temple. He doesn’t say anything, but Combeferre can tell it’s a promise. A promise that everything’s going to be okay and that his bad day will eventually end.
Combeferre waves at Jehan as the poet slips out the door.
He gathers his things with a sigh, but he rolls his shoulders, appreciating how nice his back feels after the massage.
Maybe I should invest in a masseuse, he considers as he starts heading for the door.
As he passes Eponine’s and Cosette’s table, he waves to them both and says goodbye (but he doesn’t look at Cosette. He can’t. His eyes are glued to Eponine’s face as she grins). Before he turns to go, he smiles at Eponine, and he almost can’t bite back his surprise when she smiles back (a genuine smile, the ones she gives to Marius when he isn’t looking (which is almost always)).
As he walks to his car, he can’t help but feel she’s finally seen him.
(He checks his face in the mirror once he’s in his car, just to make sure he hasn’t suddenly started to look like Pontmercy. He smiles when he recognizes his face as his own, and starts the car.)