Courfeyrac had his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat as he was walking across the street. Little snowflakes were getting caught in his dark curls and his breath came out in little puffs of white. His glance flickered over to the Musain, the café where the Amis met almost every day, and he saw two people occupying the two seats by the window. A smile appeared on his face as he saw who the two figures were, Jehan and his best friend Alice. Courfeyrac was on his way to his apartment, but he couldn't help but watch the two of them for a little while.
If he didn't know any better, he would have said that they were twins. Both of them were sitting on their chairs, cross-legged and obviously not bothered that the awkward angle of their legs must have caused at least some kind of discomfort. Jehan had his long, thin fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of tea and was leaning slightly towards Alice, probably discussing a piece of poetry. Courfeyrac noticed that the girl's fingers didn't look much different, long and skinny digits clutching a cup of tea closely. Both of them were very pale, Jehan because his skin would never get much darker than it was now during the Christmas time, and Alice' because she preferred to stay inside most of the time. Jehan's hair was braided on one side of his head and settled against his collar bone, the ribbons and flowers he had braided into it adding a light contrast to the hair which was a nice mix between red and blond. Alice braid looked much alike, except that it was slightly longer, thicker and of a light brown color, and that she had used a different colored ribbon and smaller flowers. Courfeyrac could see that there were two notebooks lying on the table between them, quite surely filled with pages and pages of old and new poetry. Even the clothes they were wearing resembled each other. Jehan had an oversized, deep red sweater on, which was sliding of his shoulder slightly because the neckline was too big to fit on his small frame. That he had combined with dark skinny jeans that had printed flowers all over them. Alice looked much alike, but instead of the flowers being on her beige pants, she had them spread over an equally oversized light blue sweater. Together, they looked happy.
Quite frankly, ever since he had gotten to know Jehan, the young poet and his best friend were joined by the hip. At first, Courfeyrac had thought that they were a couple, but he was proved wrong soon after he first met them. Even though he had taken the kisses Jehan pressed on Alice cheek and nose as a sign that the two of them were in a relationship, he had found out within a few weeks of their friendship, that Jehan kissed everyone. A hug wasn't enough for the young man; he needed to show his affection with soft and innocent kisses. The other man had found that unusual and weird at first, but he had quickly gotten used to it. Now, his glance still resting on his two friends, he thought that what the two of them had was quite unusual itself. Jehan and Alice were so much alike and yet so different. Jehan was in love with love, watching the world through slightly rose-colored glasses and believing that somewhere out there, there was someone for each and every one of them. When it came to love, Alice was his complete opposite. She could have been described as quite a cynic when it came to love, questioning everything and wondering if there was any truth to Jehan's words.
To Courfeyrac's surprise, that didn't seem to bother the young poet in the slightest. He might have even made it his personal mission to convince the girl of the opposite. Jehan's poetry was often a depiction of how others were falling in love, Alice' focused on falling out of it. Jehan saw the good in everyone, Alice questioned it. Maybe the endless, quiet and friendly discussions that they had over this topic were the reason they were such good friends. Both of them had rather bad things happening to them in the past and were troubled by slight anxiety attacks every once in a while, but regardless of how they felt, they brought a smile to the lips of everyone around them. Courfeyrac had never seen them fight, and he firmly believed that they never had more than a little headed conversation over who was the most talented author in their eyes. For that, he admired them.
Feeling that he might be crossing a line soon, for staring at the couple for too long, he gave them one last glance and then started walking again. Jehan, his little poet. He didn't know what it was that he felt about him, but he knew that he was happy him and Alice were just friends. The young man brought a light to his life that he had never seen before.