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:
Enjolras was both everything Grantaire had said he was and everything Courfeyrac had hoped he would be. He was charming, he was gorgeous, he was passionate, and he clearly believed in what he was doing. It wasn't just a cause for him. It was personal. He was convincing as all fuck, too.

August 5, 2014: Finally got the second part edited and I'm hoping to finish and edit the last part on Friday (it's nearly there, just one more scene). It's just that... hehe. It's just that Big Bang rough drafts are due in two days and mine is not done. -.-;;; So it's possible that the last part may get posted after Courferre Week is over, but... yeah. Sorry? -.-;;; Thanks for your patience! ^_^

Replacing the Poetic With the Real - Chapter 2
by eirenical

It took weeks - who was he kidding, it took months - before Courfeyrac felt like they were back on an even keel. And those were months when he and Combeferre stepped around each other so carefully, like each was afraid that one wrong step would have them breaking through the eggshell of willful ignorance they'd built around themselves. They were months of Courfeyrac having mild panic attacks every time Combeferre was out of sight. They were months of Combeferre taking out his frustrations with Courfeyrac's continued doubts on his studies, staying at the university library until all hours of the night. They were months of screaming fights the likes of which they'd never had before and didn't know how to bounce back from. They were months of pure hell.

But they got over it. Eventually Courfeyrac stopped hyperventilating every time Combeferre didn't immediately answer his phone. Combeferre stopped staying out so late, resumed doing his studying at home. And Courfeyrac returned to his usual tricks of distracting him with come-hither looks and promises of tempting delights whenever he began to look stressed around the edges. They resettled. And if things weren't exactly the same as they'd once been, well… nothing ever was.

Courfeyrac quietly canceled the reception hall reservation and got their deposit back, but he kept tight hold of his real estate listings folder, continued adding to it whenever he found a likely looking prospect. And Combeferre was patient with him through all of it. Their friends were patient, too, even though the situation had them all on edge and in need of a distraction. Someone was bound to go looking for one eventually.

Grantaire showed up at the Corinthe one day and plopped himself down between Courfeyrac and Bossuet, a smirk on his face and the twinkle of mischief in his eye. He didn't even wait to be asked before unfolding a bright green flyer and letting it flutter down to the table. Courfeyrac turned his head to read it. Les Amis de l'ABC. He looked up as Bossuet began to chuckle, then leaned around Grantaire to pound on his back when he choked on the drink he'd just taken before starting to laugh. When he'd regained his breath, Bossuet explained. "It's a pun."

Grantaire nodded, a wide smile on his face, and said, "It's a really bad pun." He bumped Bossuet's shoulder. "Prouvaire loved it, too." At Courfeyrac's raised eyebrow, Grantaire made a shooing motion. "We'll explain later, just keep reading."

Turning back to the flyer. Courfeyrac saw that it was an advertisement for a rally. Les Amis de l'ABC was apparently some kind of student activist group. They were protesting rising costs in tuition. Courfeyrac remembered seeing an announcement about that increase and hadn't thought much of it. They were always raising tuition. As long as his parents didn't say it was a problem, it really didn't much concern him. According to the flyer, though, along with the hike in tuition, the university was also planning to cut some of the work-study programs now that their state funding had run out. And this group was organizing a rally to be held the week before that vote. When he finished reading, he shrugged. "OK, I'll bite. It seems like a good cause, but what does it have to do with us?"

Grantaire's lips widened into a smile. "I thought it might be fun to go down and see how the ruckus was going to turn out. This shit is my bread and butter. Revolutionaries." He snorted. "Social justice warriors." His smile widened. "I've been watching this guy all year. Sat in on some of his meetings. He's a regular Adonis, Courfeyrac. He could give you a run for your money in the looks department. He's also charming as fuck. And fifty bucks says his mommy and daddy pay his tuition bills and he's appropriating this cause to build a following."

Bossuet shook his head, a wide smile on his face. "You're on, R. I've met this guy. We've had classes together. I think he's the real deal."

Courfeyrac gripped Bossuet's shoulder, an eyebrow raised. "You sure you want to do that? Fifty bucks could feed you for almost two weeks and you do not have the best luck, my friend. You can't afford to part from that money."

Bossuet shrugged. "Always bet for people, never against them, Courfeyrac. My dad taught me that. Because when you bet against people, you lose twice. And I've got a feeling about this guy. I think he's worthy of a little risk."

Something about the earnest belief in Bossuet's eyes lit a warm spark in Courfeyrac's chest. For the first time in months, a small fire began to burn. Now that his hopes for a soul mate had crashed and burned so hard, he needed something new to believe in, and as far as they'd come and no matter how much he wanted to, he'd been hurt too badly to be quite ready to believe that hard in Combeferre again. This could be just the thing…

"I'm in, too. And I'll spot you the fifty, Bossuet. Can't have you starving on my account. Let's go see what this Enjolras is all about."

Three hours later, Courfeyrac was transfixed, and Grantaire had coughed up the fifty he owed to both he and Bossuet. Enjolras was both everything Grantaire had said he was and everything Courfeyrac had hoped he would be. He was charming, he was gorgeous, he was passionate, and he clearly believed in what he was doing. It wasn't just a cause for him. It was personal. He was convincing as all fuck, too. Courfeyrac and Bossuet had already signed up with his second, Feuilly, to attend the next meeting.

Prouvaire, who had also joined them for the fun, had signed up, too. He was up in the front of the crowd, waving a sign and chanting for all he was worth and loving every second of it. Bossuet, whom Prouvaire had taken the sign from after he'd nearly had it blown out of his hands twice, had retreated to the stairs behind them. He was keeping company with a pre-med student who was handing out bottles of water to everyone involved in the rally, making sure no one got dehydrated. They seemed to be getting on quite famously, periodically looking at each other and just breaking into giggles.

Grantaire had rolled his eyes at the whole business, but he hadn't left and as close to the vest as he thought he was playing things, it was pretty clear why. Every now and then he'd look up from his conversation with Bahorel - another of Enjolras' group and an old acquaintance of Grantaire's - to just… stare. And Courfeyrac would wince. Because though it was clear that Grantaire was smitten with this Enjolras - and really, Courfeyrac should have guessed that that was Grantaire's real reason for wanting to come here long before now - it was just as clear that they two of them together would be oil and water. Or oil and a match. At least it Grantaire seemed to realize that, too. For though he looked, he kept his distance, content to admire from afar.

Courfeyrac, on the other hand… he couldn't get close enough. Feuilly was the one to make the actual introduction and, though Courfeyrac kicked himself for it later, the only thing he could think to say when face to face with Enjolras for the first time was, "That hair of yours is amazing. You have to tell me what you use."

Enjolras hadn't been pleased at the diversion of his attention from the rally, but once they got over that initial bump and started talking Courfeyrac and Enjolras got on like a house on fire. They quickly lost themselves in a fierce discussion about the rally and the reasons for it. Within an hour of meeting the guy, Courfeyrac had already reevaluated his opinions on several issues and developed no small amount of shame at his former apathy. They were so involved in their discussion that Feuilly ended up coming over and sternly telling them that if they weren't going to be helpful, they could at least get themselves out of the way of the people who were. Grinning sheepishly, they moved to the back of the crowd, continuing to compare political views and histories. Enjolras was dual majoring in pre-law and political science. He'd come from money - Grantaire had been right about that much - but his friends were predominantly middle and working class and this issue was hitting them in a place they couldn't afford to be hit. And Enjolras was not above using what influence his name carried to try to sway the university their way, because while he was ultimately in this to better society, he couldn't ignore the fact that there were real people who would be hurt by this decision. It wasn't a game, not to him. If Courfeyrac weren't already deeply in love, he'd have fallen in love with Enjolras right then.

They all retired to the Musain after the rally, the two groups mingling as if they'd been one from the start. The only hitch of the night was when they found out that the reason the Musain was their default post-rally meeting place was because Bossuet's pre-med student, Joly, was the soul mate of the Musain's proprietress, Musichetta. When that came out, both Courfeyrac and Bossuet flinched back as though they'd been hit. Soul mates were still a sensitive subject for Courfeyrac, one he avoided discussion of at all costs, and it was clear to him that Bossuet had become more than a little smitten with Joly even in the few short hours they'd known each other. Knowing exactly how Bossuet felt, Courfeyrac's heart went out to him. It was hard - harder than he cared to admit, even now - to love someone you knew unquestionably was fated for someone else. Courfeyrac wouldn't have wished that pain on anyone, but he would have wished it on Bossuet least of all.

The others were curious about their reactions, but Grantaire and Prouvaire deftly shifted the conversation away from the source of that curiosity, much to Courfeyrac's relief. He liked Enjolras. He really did. He liked Feuilly, Bahorel and Joly, too. But that didn't mean he was ready to explain the current disaster which was his love life to them.

They passed the rest of the evening in a round robin of discussions, both political and personal, and when Courfeyrac finally left, he had four new numbers in his phone and felt like he'd been friends with Enjolras for ages. He couldn't wait to tell Combeferre all about him, because he had a feeling Combeferre would love him, too. When he finally got home, though, it was nearly midnight and Combeferre was already in bed. When Courfeyrac stripped down and climbed under the covers with him, he barely cracked an eye open wide enough to see that Courfeyrac was there before closing it again and sleepily shifting closer. He mumbled, "You had fun?"

When Courfeyrac nodded enthusiastically and started to explain, Combeferre just smiled softly and pulled him close, placed a soft kiss on his lips and said, "That's nice. Now, shhhhhhh. It's sleepy time."

Courfeyrac huffed out a soft laugh under his breath at that reminder of far earlier days and shared naps. Back then, it had been code for "shut up so the adults don't catch us playing when we should be napping." Now it was code for "I acknowledge that you're excited and want to share something with me but can it wait until morning because I'm exhausted?"

Courfeyrac leaned in and placed another soft kiss at the corner of Combeferre's lips and answered back, simply, "Right. Shhhhhhh."

Combeferre smiled in response, pulled Courfeyrac closer and fell right back asleep. He'd clearly had a long day. Courfeyrac's excitement would keep.

Courfeyrac's excitement had kept… at least until both were properly awake the next morning. Then, he'd babbled at Combeferre about the rally all through their shared shower, babbled at him about the rest of Les Amis as Combeferre made coffee and he made breakfast, then babbled at him about Enjolras the entire way through the meal and as they got ready for classes. He finished off with, "You have got to meet him. Seriously. Combeferre, you'll love him. He quotes those French philosophers you like. The communists."

Combeferre shook his head. "Socialists, Courfeyrac. Utopian socialists."

"Right. Them, too. Anyway. He quotes them. In regular everyday speech. He's like a walking master class in rhetoric. You'll love him."

Combeferre's answer was quieter this time, more subdued. "So you've said."

Courfeyrac looked up from where he was tying his shoes, a small frown on his face. "I'm talking too much, aren't I? At least I'm talking too much about him."

Combeferre laughed then, a self-deprecating huff of air that barely qualified as a laugh. "A bit. If I didn't know you better than that, I'd be jealous."

The was a pause, then, a pregnant silence. It happened sometimes, both of them becoming aware, once again, of the elephant now always in the room with them - that they weren't soul mates, that they'd never be soul mates… that they might be "destined" for other people. For as afraid as Courfeyrac was that Combeferre would someday find his soul mate, so too was Combeferre afraid that someday Courfeyrac would grow weary of that fear and go looking for his own. Courfeyrac rose slowly from his seat on the bed, and walked over to adjust the lay of Combeferre's collar before cupping Combeferre's face in his hands and indulging in a slow, deep kiss that would have led to something with a lot fewer clothes involved if they didn't both have classes. When he pulled back, he said simply, "I love you."

Combeferre let out a breath and responded, "I love you, too."

This, too, was code. It was code for the fact that they both acknowledged the elephant, that they both acknowledged the fear, and that they weren't going to let it get the best of them. Not that day.

Courfeyrac leaned in for another kiss, intending to keep it light and brief, but the tension was riding too high between them. It needed an outlet. When that second kiss was over, Combeferre's tie was gone, his shirt was unbuttoned, and Courfeyrac was already moving to push it off of his shoulders. Combeferre tried to keep it on, probably hypersensitive to the short sleeved nature of his undershirt and what that would reveal, but Courfeyrac insisted. Once his shirt was off, Courfeyrac lifted Combeferre's arm and slowly licked his way around his bicep, tracing the graceful calligraphy of his tattoo. Given how that tattoo had changed everything, nearly destroyed it all, Courfeyrac's obsessive need to focus on it bordered on truly unhealthy, but Combeferre never complained. They were both far too aware that someday - someday soon - Courfeyrac might have a similar tattoo for him to obsessively trace, and neither knew how they would handle that if it came.

So, when Courfeyrac lifted his mouth, lips plump and red from pressing so deeply against Combeferre's skin, and pushed him backwards towards the bed, Combeferre didn't argue. He said nothing when Courfeyrac stripped back out of his meticulously selected outfit for the day, throwing it to the floor to lie in a crumpled heap. He said nothing, but he shimmied out of the remainder of his own clothes and inched himself far enough up the bed to grab the lube and a condom. He still said nothing when Courfeyrac straddled his hips and reached forwards to grab both from him… and then tossed the condom back on the night table.

At that, Combeferre still said nothing, but his breath caught. He had known when Courfeyrac canceled the reservation for their wedding and he'd said nothing about it, because neither had truly proposed yet. They'd been waiting - even now, Courfeyrac cursed himself for that. And he'd said nothing when they finally resumed sexual relations just to have Courfeyrac insist on condoms again when they'd gone mostly without for the six months prior. And he said nothing now, letting Courfeyrac dictate the pace of their relationship as he had since the day Combeferre turned twenty-one. Courfeyrac had a feeling that that passivity was hiding a truckload of guilt that Combeferre didn't deserve to be heaping on himself, but he was a coward. He didn't want to call him on it and risk raising the subject when they'd both become so deft at avoiding it. But the things that were real between them, this… this Courfeyrac could do.

Combeferre let out a low moan as Courfeyrac finished with the lube and shifted backwards, taking him to the root in one smooth slide. He tossed his head back and began rolling his hips in a slow, languorous motion meant to draw this out as long as possible. This was still perfect. Here, in this bed, they understood each other. Here, there was no phantom specter of an unknown soul mate haunting their every move. Here, they still completely, unabashedly… worked.

They climaxed together, more perfectly in sync than they'd been since this whole fiasco had started, and Courfeyrac stayed in place until his clenching muscles had milked every last drop of Combeferre's orgasm from him.

As they both gasped for air, Combeferre pulled Courfeyrac as close as he could. Neither cared about the mess they'd made or anything beyond one simple truth - this was code, too. This was code not for "I love you" but for something far more precious.

I trust you.

Neither of them made it to class that day.

Life proceeded on as normal after that - their new version of normal, anyway. Every moment counted, no matter how banal. No "I love you" was taken for granted, no kind gesture went unnoticed. It was different… it was better. The only part of Courfeyrac's new normal that wasn't quite falling into place was this: no matter how he tried, Courfeyrac could never quite get Combeferre to agree to meet Enjolras. He was always busy in the lab, or he had a test to study for, or he'd promised a professor that he would help out with the freshman anatomy class. And considering what a large part of Courfeyrac's life Combeferre was and what a large part of his life Enjolras was fast becoming… it was a glaring oversight. Courfeyrac half-suspected Combeferre of avoiding that meeting on purpose, but as was more and more becoming the case when Combeferre was hiding something, Courfeyrac was never quite brave enough to call him out on it. So, Courfeyrac got more and more involved with Les Amis on his own, even finally got Prouvaire to explain the joke of their name and laughed himself sick when he realized that Enjolras had come up with it to begin with. Puns. The man wrote his own puns. Seriously, could he be more perfect?

…and that was when it hit him. In two weeks, Courfeyrac was going to turn twenty-one. In fourteen days, if he was destined for a soul mate of his own, he was going to sprout a tattoo somewhere on his body, just like Combeferre's. And the only thing he knew for certain about that tattoo was that it wouldn't read, "Is it a moth? I really like moths."

With that realization, suddenly, Combeferre's avoidance of Enjolras made a little more sense. After just a few months, Courfeyrac and Enjolras were almost as close as Courfeyrac and Combeferre had always been. And the more he thought about it, the more terrified Courfeyrac became that two weeks from now, at 6:29 AM, he would wake up with the words "There's a time and a place, sir, and this is neither," tattooed on him somewhere. And then he didn't know what he'd do. He loved Enjolras already, he really did. But… Combeferre. Combeferre was his everything, had been his everything since he was five.

That night, Courfeyrac had his first panic attack in four months. Joly was the one who found him, curled up on the floor of the Musain's bathroom, hands clenched in his hair and rocking back and forth, terrified pants issuing from his lips interspersed with soft moans. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. Not now. Not when things had finally gotten back to normal.

Enjolras had joined them in the bathroom, concern written deep in his eyes. The way he hovered, hands softly patting at Courfeyrac's hair and back, eyes shining with a suspicious glint of wetness, showed clearly that he would help if he could, but he didn't know how. And that just made it worse. After several unsuccessful attempts at calming him, Joly finally thought to call Bossuet… which would have been a brilliant idea if it weren't for the fact that after a lifetime of bad luck, Bossuet had finally hit the jackpot of luck when it turned out that he was soul bound not only to his precious Joly… but to Joly's Musichetta, as well. And another soul bond was the last thing that Courfeyrac needed shoved in his face right then. Clever, clever Bossuet, though, had thought of that before he arrived. He brought Grantaire with him. And while Grantaire went into the bathroom to try to calm Courfeyrac down, Bossuet pulled Joly and Enjolras back outside of it to explain a few things, including what he thought this might be about.

It took another twenty minutes to get Courfeyrac breathing anywhere close to normally again, and another ten after that for him to be ready to emerge from the bathroom. By then, Enjolras and Joly had been filled in on his situation and both looked like they'd like to say something reassuring and couldn't think of a single thing. Courfeyrac waved them off when they tried. "Just… don't. I'm just gonna go home. I… I need to see Combeferre."

Enjolras nodded and let him go, though his eyes spoke clearly that he wished he could do more. He always wished he could do more. He was a wonderful person that way. And right at that moment, Courfeyrac couldn't stand the sight of him.