Replacing the Poetic With the Real (3128 words) by eirenical
Chapters: 1/3
Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Characters: Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Combeferre (Les Misérables), Enjolras (Les Misérables), Grantaire (Les Misérables), Les Amis de l'ABC
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Panic Attacks, Sexual Content, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Minor Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Pining, Aromantic Asexual Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort
Summary:
There was no doubt in Courfeyrac's mind that he and Combeferre had been made for each other. Friends since they were children at play in sandboxes, Courfeyrac was blazing passion where Combeferre was gentle warmth, but they fit. They were perfect together.
All their friends said so.
...perfect.
Now, all that remained was for their tattoos to confirm it.
August 1, 2014: I started this fic back when tumblr was going gaga over soulmate tattoo AUs. And I'll be upfront... I started it with the intention of upending the trope. This is not your average soulmate tattoo AU. ^_~ But I promise the end is a happy one, even if the road to get there is long and bumpy.
Happy Courferre Week, everyone! :D
Replacing the Poetic With the Real
by eirenical
"Courfeyrac, you have got to calm down. You're ruining my concentration and I've already had to scrap this and start over twice." Bossuet looked up from the poster board he was busily gluing pictures onto and gestured with the glue stick towards the other seat. "Sit."
Pulling the chair out from the table, Courfeyrac plopped gracelessly onto it and immediately dropped his head onto the table with a low moan. "You don't understand. It's Combeferre's birthday. Tonight, when the clock strikes 8:19 PM, he'll officially have a soul mate. I'll have a soul mate. We'll be soul mates. It'll change everything. How can you possibly expect me to stay calm in the face of that?"
Ignoring Courfeyrac in favor of focusing on what he was doing, Bossuet slowly, carefully placed the last picture in its precisely labeled location on the poster board, his tongue caught firmly between his teeth as he pressed it down. Once it was in place, he let out a ragged cheer and pumped his fist in the air. "Haven't I always said so? Third time's the charm!" When Courfeyrac's only response to this raging success was a half-hearted clap, Bossuet reached across the table and gripped his shoulder. "Look. Nothing you do or don't do at this point is going to change what happens tonight. Dwelling on it isn't going to affect anything. Neither is fretting yourself into a state." When that still didn't rouse a response, Bossuet released Courfeyrac's shoulder and settled back in his chair with a frown.
They sat like that - one filled with silent worry and the other with friendly concern - for the next five minutes. Finally Bossuet slapped his hands on his thighs and rose from the table. Gripping Courfeyrac's hand, he pulled him to his feet, as well. "OK. That's enough of this. I assume that since you and Combeferre haven't sent out any invitations that you intend tonight to be a private affair, yes?" Courfeyrac nodded. Bossuet wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hugged him close. "But there's nothing that says you can't do a little pre-gaming before the main event, right?" When Courfeyrac still hesitated to agree, Bossuet jostled him. "Come on. I hate to see you so melancholy. It isn't like you." He snapped his fingers. "I know just the thing! Grantaire found this great wine bar - little hole in the wall place, but their oysters are to die for and they do this really unique stuffed carp thing that I know you'd love. We were going to head down there once I got this monstrosity" -he gestured towards the completed tri-fold poster board- "safely home. What do you say? Will you join us?"
With the promise of good food, good wine, and good company, Courfeyrac finally started to rouse from his fretting. It wouldn't help anything to get worked up. He'd called his mother again just that afternoon to confirm what words he should be looking for. He'd kept them from Combeferre so as to not ruin the surprise, but Courfeyrac wasn't above admitting that he was really looking forward to teasing Combeferre about having the words, "I found a bug! Wanna see?" tattooed on him somewhere. Lifting his gaze for the first time in over twenty minutes, he said, "Well… an hour or two wouldn't hurt, would it?"
"Surely not. Combeferre will understand, I'm sure. You can bring him home a doggy bag."
It was 8:03 when Courfeyrac finally got back home. He, Bossuet and Grantaire had opened more than their fair share of bottles between them and none of them had been in any shape to drive when they'd finished their repast. As such, Courfeyrac had been forced to resort to public transit, and that was difficult and unreliable enough when one was completely sober. But the important thing was that he'd made it. He was there. The minute he was through the door, before he'd even had a chance to remove his coat, Combeferre was there, too, pressing kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his hands. They were frantic kisses, released on little puffs of air, stamped into his skin around words like, "I was worried," and "Where have you been?" and "For a minute there I thought you might not make it."
Courfeyrac kissed back for all he was worth, the carefully wrapped food falling from his hands as he entwined his fingers in the soft wool of Combeferre's sweater. As Combeferre backed them into the apartment, helping divest Courfeyrac of his outer garments as they moved. Courfeyrac could feel Combeferre's hands shaking as he fought with the buttons of his shirt. He fought with it for barely a moment before giving up and grabbing it from the bottom to tug over Courfeyrac's head. It wasn't like him to be this wound up, this nervous, and Courfeyrac felt immediately guilty for having left him alone. Combeferre would have none of his apologies, shook them off with a quickly muttered, "It doesn't matter. You're here now."
Courfeyrac still wasn't convinced that he shouldn't be on his knees begging forgiveness, but he let himself be swayed by Combeferre's need. They didn't make it any further than the couch, but it certainly wasn't the first time that had been the case. Both were well-acquainted with how two long bodies could fold into that small space to best effect. And for a brief, blissful moment, Courfeyrac completely forgot that there had been any reason to worry. He was here. Combeferre was here. There was no doubt in his mind that they'd been made for each other. Friends since they were children at play in sandboxes, Courfeyrac was blazing passion where Combeferre was gentle warmth, but they fit. They were perfect together.
All their friends said so.
Perfect.
Courfeyrac was so caught up in Combeferre's desperation that it wasn't until Combeferre was buried deep inside him, pressing him down into the cushions of the well-worn couch as he rocked into him, that Courfeyrac remembered that there was something more important than sex that was supposed to be happening… until his eyes caught on the slowly darkening spot on Combeferre's arm. After that, he was so focused on trying to read the words that it threw him completely out of the moment, all thoughts and feelings of pleasure lost. Combeferre climaxed inside him and for the first time ever… Courfeyrac didn't fall over that edge with him. He was too busy staring transfixed at the words forming on Combeferre's arm, ringing his bicep and almost dainty In their swooping calligraphy.
"Today, for the first time since the existence of societies it is a question of organizing a totally new system; of replacing the celestial with the terrestrial, the vague with the positive, and the poetic with the real."
When Combeferre, exhausted from his worry and his passion of moments before, tumbled softly into the deep sleep of the blissfully ignorant against Courfeyrac's chest, Courfeyrac didn't wake him. He didn't have the words. He didn't have the heart. His own was too busy breaking.
Courfeyrac didn't sleep at all that night and, come morning, extricated himself from Combeferre's hold before he could wake up. It was cowardly of him, but he couldn't face Combeferre. He couldn't do it. Combeferre wasn't his soul mate. He wasn't Combeferre's soul mate. They'd been inseparable since they were five - sixteen years, for fuck's sake - but apparently that didn't matter. Destiny didn't care that they fit together like they were born to it. Destiny didn't care that they finished each other's sentences, that they knew every nuance there was to each other's every facial expression. Destiny didn't care that Combeferre just touching Courfeyrac could calm him down when he was at his most wound up or that Courfeyrac was the only person who'd ever been able to get Combeferre to unwind and be a little wild. Destiny didn't fucking care because the man Courfeyrac loved above anything else on this Earth was destined for someone else.
Courfeyrac dressed as quietly as he could, ignoring the tears falling from his eyes as he stuffed his feet into his shoes, crushing the heels because he couldn't take the time to untie them. He grabbed his coat and the fallen bag of now-spoiled leftovers from the Corinthe and crept from the apartment. He didn't know where he was going to go and he didn't care. He just knew he had to get away. He had to postpone that moment when he would see the desire and curiosity that would take root in Combeferre's eyes when he realized that his soul mate was someone who would quote philosophy at their first meeting. Courfeyrac didn't want to see that. Ever. He didn't want to meet this person who had him so outclassed before he even knew their name. He didn't want to watch as Combeferre's soul mate fell in love with him, as they slowly discovered all the wonderful things there were to know about Combeferre, as his and Combeferre's things became Combeferre and someone else's things. He didn't want to step back, falling from lover and beloved back to best friend. He didn't want to paint a smile on his face when he agreed to be Combeferre's best man, because that was what best friends did, wasn't it? Because that's all he'd be from now on… it was just a matter of time. And Courfeyrac intended to put that day off for as long as possible.
Unfortunately, Combeferre had other plans.
Courfeyrac's phone dinged with a text message before he was more than five blocks from the apartment.
~Courfeyrac, are you all right? Where are you?~
And then another.
~JFC, that was stupid. Of course, you're not all right. I'M not all right. Please just come home.~
And then another.
~Or tell me where you are and I'll come to you.~
~Please, just tell me you're OK.~
~Courfeyrac?~
~Please.~
~I love you.~
For one brief moment, Courfeyrac considered turning off his phone and ignoring the messages, but he didn't have it in him to do that. He really didn't. He looked up, looked around, caught sight of a street sign, and sent back, ~Meet me at the Musain in thirty?~
~I'll be there in twenty.~
Though his heart felt like it was breaking all over again at the concern and mild disapproval radiating out of that last text message, still Courfeyrac smiled. That was Combeferre. He was always far more worried about others than he was about himself. He'd want to make sure Courfeyrac was all right. He'd want to make sure that Courfeyrac had a place to go, someone to look out for him, until he got over this. He'd gone through that trouble for exes before he and Courfeyrac had finally given in and fallen into a relationship last year.
One year…
It had been a glorious year.
Courfeyrac's breath caught and a high pitched whimper emerged from his throat despite his best efforts to knock it back. He ducked away from the door to the Musain towards the alley, unwilling to enter their favorite café when he was two seconds away from bawling, again. Unfortunately for him, he was spotted before he'd gotten himself completely out of sight, and when he didn't go in, Grantaire came out.
Grantaire had a wide grin on his face, looked ready to clasp Courfeyrac to him in a back-thumping hug of congratulatory glee… but it didn't take him long to figure out that something wasn't right. Courfeyrac watched his eyes flitting around, taking in all the various signs of exactly how wrong things were. He saw the rumpled state of Courfeyrac's clothing and that it was the same clothing he'd worn out the night before. He saw the bags beneath Courfeyrac's red-rimmed eyes, eyes that were once again beginning to leak tears despite his best efforts to get them under control. And when he saw those tears, he turned the back-thumping hug into an a gently cradling embrace before Courfeyrac had a chance to step away.
Grantaire didn't ask. He didn't have to.
Courfeyrac clung to Grantaire for all he was worth, sobbing into the worn denim of his jacket until he had no more tears left to cry. This was going to be a disaster. They'd have to tell their friends. They'd have to tell their parents. Fuck, they'd even put down a deposit on a reception hall for their wedding. They'd have to get that back. And Courfeyrac could probably throw out the folder of house listings he'd gathered over the last few months in preparation for convincing Combeferre that they could afford to upgrade their accommodations. It would all have to go. He'd have to look for an apartment. He'd have to move out.
Courfeyrac's breath started coming in wheezing gasps, panicked little breaths that were too small to drag in any useful amount of air. He didn't even notice as Grantaire shifted away and a different pair of arms settled around him. He was too busy trying to breathe.
Those arms tightened around him briefly before releasing him and pulling back, giving Courfeyrac the space he needed to brace against the wall and try to get the panic under control. Gentle hands began rubbing circles on his back, and a voice started speaking. Courfeyrac couldn't make out the words, but that voice and those hands could normally soothe him out of anything… but not this time. This time, Courfeyrac was far too aware that that voice, those hands… they didn't belong to him anymore. He had no claim on that voice, no claim on those hands, no claim on Combeferre. He started gasping again, unable to even articulate what was wrong. He sank down against the wall, huddling in on himself, away from the voice, away from the hands, away from the body, away from the love he no longer had any right to. Combeferre followed him to the ground, sat beside him, hovering but not touching, having figured out that he was somehow making this worse instead of better but unable to walk away.
Courfeyrac had no idea how long they sat there, Combeferre silent and worried and Courfeyrac trying and failing to get himself under control, when Grantaire returned. Courfeyrac hadn't even noticed him leaving. The next thing Grantaire did, though, Courfeyrac noticed. Holy hell, did he notice. Grantaire shoved something under his nose and Courfeyrac got a huge whiff of it before he figured out that he could turn his head away. Coughing and spluttering from the unexpected influx of input from a sense he'd been ignoring, Courfeyrac found himself grounded rather abruptly back into the present. He stared accusingly up at Grantaire. "What the hell?"
Grantaire offered him an unapologetic grin and closed the bag of coffee. "You weren't going to snap out of it on your own and I've been told that slapping people out of panic attacks is now considered old-fashioned and inappropriate." He shrugged. "Besides, why are you complaining? It worked." When neither Courfeyrac or Combeferre had an answer for that, Grantaire sighed. "Now, asking if you're OK seems like a pretty stupid question. You're obviously not. But... is there anything I can do? Or is this my cue to get off?"
Wordlessly, Combeferre slid his right arm out of his coat and pushed up the short sleeve of his shirt. Courfeyrac turned away. He didn't need to see those words again. They were indelibly etched into his memory as it was.
Grantaire let out a low whistle. "Well. That… was not expected, was it? Damn. Courfeyrac, I'm-"
Courfeyrac lurched to his feet, pushed between the other two so quickly that Grantaire nearly toppled out of his crouch. Courfeyrac didn't care. If he heard the words "I'm sorry" come out of anyone's mouth today, he was going to lose it for good. But, they caught up with him before he made it through the doors and Combeferre's arms were back around him, pulling Courfeyrac back against him. Courfeyrac put up a token struggle, but the truth was… he'd take whatever he could get from Combeferre for as long as he could get it. He wasn't strong enough to pull away before he absolutely had to, even if that made it worse in the end. Turning around, he buried his face in Combeferre's chest and said quietly, "Please tell me this is just one fucked up dream. This can't possibly have really happened." After pausing for a moment to catch his breath, Courfeyrac continued. "I love you. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you- It isn't fair!"
Combeferre's arms tightened and Courfeyrac felt it as his breath hitched in his chest. When Combeferre spoke again his voice was rough; he sounded as close to tears as Courfeyrac had been all morning. "No. It isn't fair. You are my soul mate, in every way that matters. Twenty-four hours ago, we knew we were made to be together. Twenty-four hours ago everyone agreed our relationship was as close to perfect as it's possible for a relationship to be. We worked hard to make that true and it took years of groundwork. You know that. I know that. And I don't care what some fucking tattoo says… Twenty-four hours later, those things are no less true."
Pulling back slightly to meet Combeferre's eyes, Courfeyrac said, "What… Combeferre, what are you saying?"
Combeferre's arms tightened again and he leaned in to press a firm kiss against Courfeyrac's lips. When they pulled apart, he said, "I'm saying that I don't care if my 'soul mate' is out there somewhere. I don't care if I meet them someday. There will never be anyone more perfect for me than you, and I am not giving you up."
"You mean that?" Courfeyrac hated the way his voice sounded in that moment - breathy, uncertain… broken. It was how he felt, but he hated that everyone else could hear it so clearly in his voice.
…he hated that Combeferre could hear it, too.
"I mean that."
This time when Courfeyrac moved to go inside, Combeferre and Grantaire went with him. They curled up in their favorite corner while Grantaire called the rest of their friends, paving the way so they wouldn't be inundated with the same conversation over and over and over again. Their friends stopped by to visit over the course of the day, but once Courfeyrac was curled into Combeferre's side in their favorite oversized chair, arms and legs entwined, he wasn't moving. He wasn't talking. He was too busy trying to convince the shattered pieces rattling around in his chest that they were still a heart and dreading what tomorrow would bring.