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When Courfeyrac let himself into the room Combeferre now shared with Enjolras, he was met with a look.
He’d seen this particular look from Combeferre before, all narrowed eyes and pursed lips, typically accompanied by a sharp, annoyed breath through the nose. It usually meant one of a few things: “Courfeyrac, go away I’m studying” (which Courfeyrac cheerfully ignored); “Courfeyrac, can you at least knock before you barge in? (which Courfeyrac cheerfully ignored); “Courfeyrac, I’m not drinking with you” (which Courfeyrac cheerfully ignored); he’d seen the spectrum.
So Courfeyrac was, again, fully prepared to cheerfully ignore the look, shedding his coat and cravat and tossing them to the desk, flouncing over to the mattress and readying to fling himself next to Combeferre, to sprawl out until Combeferre smacked him with his book and Courfeyrac could grab it out his hands, forcing Combeferre to rest for a while.
He stopped short at the edge. Oh. So, that was the reason for the look.
Combeferre was sitting cross-legged, hunched farther over his book than seemed comfortable, his glasses slipping down to the edge of his nose. Enjolras was curled up against his back, his knees pulled up to his chest, a blanket tucked around him, his ear pressed to the nape of Combeferre’s neck, his nose buried in his shoulder. A book lay open, loosely, in his fingers. He was fast asleep.
Courfeyrac grinned.
“For all that is sane, Courfeyrac, please be quiet,” Combeferre whispered, his eyes returning to the pages of his book. Enjolras, presumably feeling the vibration of Combeferre’s voice against his side, curled tighter.
Courfeyrac lowered himself gently to the mattress, kicking his shoes off and propping himself up against the wall. He crossed his arms against his chest, his ankles one over the other. “How long?” Courfeyrac asked, keeping his voice low.
Combeferre’s whole body seemed to sag in relief. He pushed his glasses up with his thumb. “A little over an hour, and that was a chore, getting him to even sit on the bed.”
“An hour in that position? Your back must be all knots.”
“It’s fine,” Combeferre said firmly, and Courfeyrac knew there was no arguing with him. Enjolras had been running on fumes for days, studying long into the nights for his examinations, letting Bahorel pull him about the city, meeting this group and that, gathering contacts, recruits, for their fledgling society. When Courfeyrac left for the evening, Enjolras would often be awake at the desk, poured over some pamphlet or essay or political text, his eyes straining against the dim candlelight, Combeferre fighting sleep across from him, wanting to keep his friend company. If Courfeyrac returned in the morning, he’d find Combeferre fast asleep, and Enjolras in the same position.
So it was nice to see the younger boy catching up on some well-deserved rest. His hair was a tangle of waves against Combeferre’s back (he really needed a haircut, Courfeyrac thought, but Enjolras seemed fond of it long, and Courfeyrac was wont to allow him that small, youthful indiscretion), and his cheeks and the tip of his nose were flushed pink, warmed from sleep and much healthier looking than the pale, pinched face he’d seen on Enjolras earlier in the day.
Still, Courfeyrac could tell that Combeferre was stiff, holding his shoulders still and rigid, trying not to move for Enjolras’s sake. “Yes, but much longer like that, and he won’t be able to move his neck in the morning.”
Combeferre sighed and closed his book. He leaned his head back, so it was resting gently against Enjolras’s, and called his name softly.
Enjolras murmured and pressed closer.
Courfeyrac pushed himself up onto his knees and brushed the hair back from Enjolras’s face with his palm. “Out of the arms of Morpheus, my dear friend, if only for a moment.”
Enjolras shifted and blinked, staring hazily at Courfeyrac’s chest for a moment before flickering his eyes up to Courfeyrac’s face. “You’re not Combeferre.”
“Oh, Blondeau must give you top marks for your observational skills,” Courfeyrac said. “And I thought my disguise was so clever. But ah, Enjolras, you can’t be fooled.”
“Right here,” Combeferre said, and Enjolras pulled away, surprised. He shivered, his warm body readjusting to the chill in the room, and pulled the blanket closer.
“The time?”
“A bit after midnight, when I last checked,” Courfeyrac said.
Enjolras shook his head, as if to clear away the fog. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep, Combeferre.”
“In the middle of some vital reading, then?” Combeferre’s voice had a wry edge to it. “Come, tell me what text absorbed you so.”
Enjolras picked up the book that had fallen from his fingers. “A History of Syphilis.”
Courfeyrac laughed. “Illuminating, I’m sure. But remind me, in which lecture is that required? I’m a horrible law student, you see, and I’ve missed so many – ”
“Alright, enough,” Combeferre said, as if he could sense Enjolras blushing behind him.
“Did you replace this in jest?” Enjolras asked.
“Not at all,” Combeferre said. “I seem to recall you pacing around the room, and when I implored you to sit down, because you were making me tired, you grabbed the nearest book off the desk and insisted it was imperative that you finish it by the end of the night.” Combeferre bumped his head lightly against Enjolras’s. “I can’t imagine you got very far.”
“I.” Enjolras set the book aside and stared at his hands. “I might be more exhausted than I let on.” His eyes narrowed. “I do have an essay to finish, though, I should…”
“Ah, ah, ah.” Courfeyrac grabbed Enjolras’s wrist before he had a chance to move. “A nap, at least. If you’re hell-bent on finishing your writing tonight, we’ll wake you in a few hours. Will you consent to that much?”
Enjolras took a breath, and nodded. Courfeyrac smiled and stretched out again, pulling Enjolras down to rest his head on Courfeyrac’s thigh and planting a hand in his hair. “Besides,” Courfeyrac said, “you won’t be idle. Your locks are tangled beyond reason. If you’re going to allow yourself this horribly unfashionable style, Enjolras, at least take proper care of it. I simply must fix this disaster before you’re seen in public again. Even the angel of the people must occasionally shine his halo.”
Enjolras wrapped a hand around Courfeyrac’s knee. “May I have my book, please?”
“You agreed to sleep,” Combeferre reminded him.
“Reading helps me to doze off.”
“Liar.”
“Oh, Combeferre’s medical texts will absolutely help with that, though” Courfeyrac shot Combeferre a knowing smile before grabbing the book and laying it on the bed in front of Enjolras. “I give you ten minutes before that winged daemon carries you off into the night.”
Enjolras was asleep again in five.
“You have no intention of waking him, do you?” Combeferre stretched, his back popping as he reached toward the ceiling.
“I’ll rub the knots out of your back later,” Courfeyrac said. “Lest you become insufferable.”
Combeferre smiled and smoothed the blanket out over Enjolras.
“You’re quite fond of him already,” Courfeyrac said. He’d introduced Enjolras and Combeferre only months ago, but their friendship had sprouted and blossomed far more rapidly than even Courfeyrac could’ve predicted. They spent every evening together, pouring over Robespierre and Danton and Saint-Just, helping each other study, debating this and that and everything. It was only logical for Enjolras to move in, to help alleviate rent costs, and to avoid the long, often treacherous walk across Paris in the early hours of the morning.
“Hmm,” Combeferre replied. “So are you.”
“He makes it very hard not to be,” Courfeyrac said, his fingers working at a particularly stubborn tangle. “He just seems to…”
“Shine,” Combeferre said.
“He’d be a far dimmer star without you around, mon ami,” Courfeyrac said. At Combeferre’s blush, he laughed. “I knew I’d coax a little health into you. Sleep, Combeferre, you look weary as well.”
Combeferre scooted up to sit next to Courfeyrac, so they surrounded Enjolras on both sides. “One of us should do the reading,” he said, and held up his book, Rousseau’s Discourse on the Origin and Basis of Inequality Among Men.
“Intolerable, you two,” Courfeyrac said.
Combeferre smiled and draped an arm over Enjolras’s side.
All three were asleep within the hour.