January 27, 2014: Well... people told me to take my time with this chapter to make sure it was done right and I took them at their word. ^_~ Sorry for the delay, but winter session at the university ended up being a MUCH larger timesuck than expected and I ended up taking another trip up to Toronto to SEE COLM WILKINSON IN LES MIS in the middle of it. I also kind of maybe started another epically long and disturbing fic? -.-;;; ANYWAY. I have this chapter ready now, so I'm going to go ahead and post it now. Enjoy? ^_^

Follow You, Follow Me - Chapter 14
by eirenical

In spite of having made such a point of drinking only nonalcoholic beverages at the meeting that night, it turned out that Courfeyrac did not have his car with him. Combeferre had raised an eyebrow at that, but Courfeyrac had tossed him one of his most winning smiles and that was that. Subject closed. And that wasn't the only closed subject apparently. For the entire walk to Combeferre's apartment it seemed every subject was closed. It was unlike Courfeyrac to be so silent. Combeferre had never once known him to have so little to say, especially after dropping a bombshell such as the one he had dropped at the end of the meeting.

~I know who Rebus is.~

Courfeyrac was fond of those dramatic, game-changing statements, always had been. He would drop them into the middle of a conversation, smiling widely, eyes sparkling with mischief, as though daring someone to ask him how it was he knew what he'd just claimed. Combeferre had seen it happen. He'd seen Courfeyrac make these outrageous statements before, seen him challenged, and seen him decimate his opponent with brilliant deduction after brilliant deduction none of which could be denied or disproved. But then there were other times…

At those times, Courfeyrac would stutter and falter, unable to articulate how it was he had come to know what he'd just claimed, unable to lay out the logic for another to follow, unable to persuade people to his side. Combeferre hated those moments, hated seeing his passionate friend driven to the silence of embarrassment, the shame of failure. Those were the only times Combeferre had ever truly seen Courfeyrac hold his tongue, and those moments were so few and so unnatural that they brought every one of Combeferre's protective instincts roaring to the fore whenever they happened.

When they reached Combeferre's apartment Courfeyrac was still silent - still thinking, from the crease between his brows. He toed off his shoes, handed Combeferre his coat, and headed straight for the couch to plunge face first into its cushions. Combeferre sighed and hung up both coats before claiming the armchair as his own seat, heart sinking to sit uneasily in the vicinity of his stomach, if his sudden queasiness were any indication. This did not bode well. "Courfeyrac…?"

Courfeyrac, face still mashed into the pillows beneath him, made a strangled noise that could have been a laugh. It could also have been a sob. It could also have been the opening lines of Beyonce's "Single Ladies" for all Combeferre could understand of it. Reaching out a hand, Combeferre gently shook Courfeyrac's shoulder. "Hey. It can't be as bad as all that."

Courfeyrac turned his head towards Combeferre. The smile he wore was ghastly, a sick perversion of what a smile should be. The sound he made this time was definitely a laugh, but it was a bitter one. Enunciating carefully, he said, "Don't bet on it."

When Combeferre merely raised an eyebrow in response, Courfeyrac dropped his head back onto the pillow and let out a low moan. Combeferre merely steepled his fingers, resting the tips lightly beneath his chin. Courfeyrac was nothing if not dramatic and he always had a sense of moment. He would wait just long enough to give this one its due before finally saying…

"It's Grantaire."

…before finally saying, It's Grantaire. Wait. Wait… what?

"What?" Combeferre allowed himself to stare unabashedly for a moment, before clearing his throat and saying, "Would you… Courfeyrac, would you please repeat that? I'm not entirely certain I heard you correctly."

Another laughing groan. "If that's your response, then you probably did. Damn it." Punching the pillow for emphasis, Courfeyrac pushed himself upright, ran a hand through his already tousled hair. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and leaned back into the cushions, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "It's Grantaire. Rebus. Rebus is Grantaire, Grantaire is Rebus… fuck. It's actually brilliant." Courfeyrac started to laugh. "It's even more brilliant than I gave him credit for back in the beginning."

Combeferre sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're going to make me yank it out of you word by word, aren't you?"

Waving a hand in negation, Courfeyrac said, "No. I'm just… I'm still a bit in shock that I didn't put it together sooner. Rebus all but told us who he was. A rebus is a symbol used to represent a name, right? And Grantaire's name… shit. Grantaire's nickname. 'Aire. Where did that come from? I bet I can guess." He shook his head. "Grantaire… Grand-aire… Grand 'R'. 'Big R'." At Combeferre's continued look of confusion, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. "Big R, Combeferre. Big R, capital R. An initial, short for Grantaire, and a nickname all in one… and the first letter of the word 'rebus'." Waving his hand in a flourish, he said, "And what is an initial, anyway, but a symbol used to represent a name?" Another dark chuckle. "I'd not be surprised to find out that Jehan had as much of a hand in that naming, as he did in the SJWs new name."

"It makes a certain sort of sense, I can't deny it… but Courfeyrac, you can't be basing all of this on a name." Combeferre leaned forwards, elbows braced on his knees, eyes imploring. Please don't let him be basing this all on a name. Please don't let this be one of those times he can't explain himself. Please… Combeferre needed Courfeyrac's logic, needed the deductions laid out to help him see this, because he wouldn't dare act unless he was certain Courfeyrac was right, even if he'd never been wrong before. The stakes were too high, especially after tonight.

Courfeyrac leaned forwards, as well. Reaching out, he took one of Combeferre's hands in his, gave it a small squeeze. When he started to talk, Combeferre breathed a sigh of relief. "It's hard to explain, Combeferre. I'm not certain what it was that tipped me off, but… you know that Rebus often messages me, even when he's radio-silent to the public. I never kept that from you, but I haven't always disclosed the content. You agreed that that should be private and I took you at your word. Some of the things Grantaire said tonight… Combeferre, they were Rebus' words. I remember them distinctly. And…" He stopped.

Combeferre prodded gently at him, squeezed his hand in return as he asked, "…and?"

Breath leaving him in a soft rush, Courfeyrac shrugged. "And… all that passion that was missing when Enjolras talked to Cosette? Jesus Christ on a crutch, Combeferre… you could have roasted marshmallows off the blaze of passion Enjolras and Grantaire were kicking off tonight. Sure, they were furious with each other, but… it was passion, plain and simple." He sighed, pulled his hand back from Combeferre's and resettled himself back against the couch cushions. "I can't explain it better than that, but Grantaire is Rebus. I'd bet my life on it."

Combeferre allowed himself a moment, just one single moment, to appreciate just exactly how screwed they were. The situation between Enjolras and Grantaire was already so volatile; how much worse would it get with the advent of this knowledge? Enjolras did not tolerate being lied to. He had as little use for liars as he did for governments who oppressed their people. This was going to explode in all of their faces.

Well. It wouldn't be the first time that he and Courfeyrac between them had contained an Enjolras-sourced conflagration. So, they would contain this one, too. Somehow. Turning back to Courfeyrac, Combeferre opened his mouth to speak… and stopped. His message delivered, Courfeyrac had settled more deeply into the cushions and was starting to list over sideways, his eyes half-lidded. That was… not normal. Courfeyrac might sham-sleep to get Enjolras to quit pushing a meeting agenda when the hours had crept on too long, but he'd never done it to Combeferre, and never when something this important was before them. For the first time in weeks, Combeferre allowed himself the luxury of truly looking at him, not just in passing… but truly looking.

Combeferre didn't like what he saw.

Courfeyrac wasn't shamming. He was well and truly falling asleep.

Seeing an odd smudge just beneath Courfeyrac's right eye, Combeferre reached out a hand, gently swiped his thumb along the high arch of Courfeyrac's cheekbone. Courfeyrac scrunched his nose and batted lightly at Combeferre's hand, but made little movement besides that. That, in itself, would have been worrying, but when Combeferre pulled his hand back, his thumb was covered by a thin sheen of nude colored make-up, as well. And, beneath that make-up were bags so dark and deep they looked more like bruises than signs of lost sleep. Combeferre winced. He really didn't wish to disturb what was clearly a much-needed rest, but he couldn't figure this out on his own. Dealing with Enjolras had always been Courfeyrac's specialty; managing Enjolras through this without his input could prove catastrophic. So, though he hated himself already, for putting Enjolras' needs before Courfeyrac's, Combeferre didn't feel he had much choice. He pushed aside his worry over this evidence of Courfeyrac over-working himself, reached out a hand and gently gripped Courfeyrac's shoulder to give it a gentle shake. "Courfeyrac… I can see you're tired and I'll let you sleep in a little while, but could you wake up again for just a minute? Please?"

Courfeyrac blinked his eyes open, then winced and scrunched them shut before blinking them wide open again and rubbing at them. Combeferre recognized that pattern. Softly, he said, "You left a lens case here the last time a meeting ran long if you want to take them out."

Courfeyrac sighed and shook his head, "I don't have my glasses with me. If I take them out, I'm stuck here until morning and I'll be useless until I put them back in."

And that was always the problem, wasn't it? Courfeyrac's greatest fear was not being needed by his friends and he would do almost anything to avoid being useless. Combeferre sometimes wondered where on Earth Courfeyrac had gotten the notion that anyone could ever consider him useless… but in his less charitable moments, he didn't have to wonder very hard. Combeferre gripped Courfeyrac's shoulder once again and said, "You know I don't mind you staying and I don't mind playing seeing-eye-Combeferre for you, either." Though he left them unspoken, Combeferre added silently in his head, I like taking care of you when you give me an excuse to do it… please give me an excuse. The look in Courfeyrac's eyes softened then and Combeferre smiled, sensing him ready to give in. To sweeten the temptation, Combeferre said, "Perhaps, later on, I'll even read to you in lieu of watching the television you won't be able to see."

Courfeyrac snorted out a short laugh at that before shrugging and gifting Combeferre with a tender smile. "OK, OK, I'm convinced. We'll wash up and get ready for bed, then I'll get these damned things out of my eyes…" Suddenly sobering, Courfeyrac said, "And then we'll put our heads together and figure out what to do about Enjolras and Grantaire. Deal?"

Nodding solemnly, Combeferre answered simply, "Deal."

Courfeyrac rose from the couch and padded quietly to the bathroom. Just as he passed out of sight down the hall, Combeferre heard him mutter, "'Seeing-eye Combeferre'… where the hell do you even come up with these things?"

BAM. BAM. BAM.

Marius jerked awake, startled out of a very pleasant dream that slipped immediately away from him upon waking. He whimpered softly, held out a hand to stay its leaving, even though he knew that no such action could hold a dream.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

That time, Marius recognized the intrusive sound that had awoken him for what it was. Someone was pounding on the door. Loudly. Marius glanced at the green glow of his clock's digital readout and groaned. At 2:12 AM. Who could that possibly be? Groaning his way out of bed, Marius made his way to the apartment door. Whenever Courfeyrac came home late, he would leave a Post-It note there for Marius, so that he would have an easy way to assuage his worries without having to wake Courfeyrac up by checking on him. So, it was simple really. If there was no note, then the rude ingrate banging on the door was probably Courfeyrac, himself, having forgotten his keys. Marius started preparing a blistering lecture for Courfeyrac as he flipped on the table lamp in the living room.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

"I'm coming!" Marius yelled, then muttered under his breath, "My gosh, keep it together. The world won't end if you have to wait two minutes." Cursing softly as he stumbled over one of the shoes he'd kicked off in the hall earlier, Marius grabbed his foot and hopped the last few steps to the door.

…there was no Post-It note. Sighing heavily, he muttered, "Damn it, Courfeyrac… you could have texted or called. You know I keep my phone beside my bed for just such emergencies. There's no need to bust the door down!"

The moment the door was open, Marius found himself grabbed up by the lapels of his pajama shirt and roughly shaken. After a moment of panicked confusion when he was convinced he was about to die like some ignorant fool in a horror movie, Marius finally pieced together the rest of what he was seeing and figured out that though the man shaking him decidedly wasn't Courfeyrac, it was still someone he knew, and got out, "Enjolras? What on Earth-?"

Enjolras shook him again for good measure and growled out, "You're not who I want," before stalking up the hallway, calling Courfeyrac's name and turning on every light as he walked past. He was as a man possessed, with his wild eyes, tangled hair, and jerky movements. Marius didn't even bother following him down the hall, knowing from the lack of a Post-It what he would find. A moment later, Enjolras reappeared in the living room, finger pointing stiffly back down the hall and breathing heavily as he gritted out, "He's not here."

Marius yawned, knuckled at his eyes as he started turning the lights back off. "I could have told you that, Enjolras, if you had but asked politely."

Enjolras frowned. "He never came home last night?" He paused, then frowned harder, "Tell me he didn't go home with one of the freshmen. One or two of them might have been under age."

"He didn't go home with a freshman and, Enjolras, it's still last night." Moving around Enjolras to turn off the hall light, Marius added, "He was planning to go home with Combeferre, if you really need to know."

"He… with Combeferre? Courfeyrac… and Combeferre?"

Enjolras' voice was so quiet, so hesitant, that Marius turned towards him with a raised eyebrow. The look on Enjolras' face was even more priceless still. He couldn't have looked more surprised if someone had hit him in the back of the head with a board. Marius paused then, wondering, Do people really do that? Hit each other with boards? It seems to happen in stories often enough, or at least it should for how often the expression is used. Pulling his meandering thoughts back under control, Marius turned back to examine Enjolras' stunned expression. For just a moment, Marius was tempted to let him keep thinking what he was obviously thinking. Still, as entertaining as that would be, that truth would come out all too quickly once Enjolras spoke to either Combeferre or Courfeyrac and then it would be Marius on the receiving end of his anger for the deception. It wasn't worth it.

Marius shook his head and said, "They said there was work to be done for Les Amis and that even with you otherwise occupied, it still needed doing." He shrugged. "They must have finished late and Courfeyrac decided to stay over rather than brave the elements, again." He didn't add, 'As any sane person would have decided to do,' and felt very good about himself for keeping that addition behind his teeth, given the current circumstances. Enjolras slumped, fell back against the door as though he were a marionette whose strings had been cut. Marius reached out a hand to steady him, fretted over how pale he looked in that moment, with those high points of color standing out in his cheeks from his earlier tirade. Hesitantly, he asked, "Enjolras… is everything all right?"

Letting out a low moan, Enjolras covered his face with his hands and muttered, "No. No, it isn't all right. I made a mistake. I… a big mistake, and I need to talk to Courfeyrac."

Marius watched Enjolras for a minute, weighing his decision carefully. If Combeferre had convinced Courfeyrac to stay over, absent his books, absent his glasses, and absent any other work or distraction, then Courfeyrac would get a good night's sleep. And Marius was not blind, nor was he dumb. It was a good night's sleep which Courfeyrac badly needed. If Marius sent Enjolras over there, any chance of him actually getting that sleep would be gone. Making a swift decision, Marius said, "Well, there's nothing for it. Courfeyrac isn't here, so you've two options. You may await his return - for he will surely be back by morning, as he'll need to collect his books before class - or you may talk to me."

Enjolras' eyes gave away his answer before he even opened his mouth.

Marius responded to those quickly flitting eyes, intercepting them with a snap of his fingers before Enjolras' body could follow his gaze and make for the door. "Going to Combeferre's and interrupting their sleep as you did mine wasn't a choice, Enjolras. You wait until morning and speak with him upon his return, or you speak with me, now."

Marius gave Enjolras another minute to think it through before casually raising an eyebrow. Enjolras' face heated, a blush overtaking his fair skin as he ducked his head and answered, far more meekly than Marius would have ever suspected he could, "Do you think he'd mind if I slept in his bed?"

Marius smiled, emboldened enough by Enjolras' current shyness to pat his shoulder in as reassuring a manner as he could. He said, "Not in the slightest. I'll bet he wouldn't even mind sharing his toothbrush if you needed it."

Enjolras finally smiled in return. "No… I suppose he wouldn't. Thank you, Marius. I… I'll turn out the lights and go to sleep, in a minute."

Marius nodded, turned to go up the hall, then turned back, a question in his eyes. Enjolras just shook his head, "No… I… thank you, but no. I just need some time to think."

Thus dismissed, Marius turned to go back to bed. He had a feeling he'd need his strength up to deal with whatever problem was brewing in Enjolras' mind. The last thought Marius had before finally falling back asleep was to wonder if said problem had a name… and if its name was 'Grantaire'.

Enjolras paced the living room, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, alternately burying his hands in his hair, then crossing them over his chest, then rubbing them harshly at his face, before repeating the process over again. His chest felt tight, his heart was still beating far too fast. He'd made a mistake. He'd made a terrible mistake. He knew that now, could see it now that he had some distance on it, but how did you fix a mistake like this? Courfeyrac would know. Courfeyrac had more experience with kissing, had more experience with people, had more experience with everything, really. He would know what to do, he would know what to say, he would know how to fix it.

…but Courfeyrac wasn't here.

Enjolras pulled out his phone, considered it for a moment before putting it back away. It was late. It was far too late to call Courfeyrac, far too late to call anyone, really. Feuilly was the only one who might be awake this late and only if he were working on some important-yet-borderline-illegal project. And Enjolras certainly wouldn't want to interrupt him if that were the case. What Feuilly did was important, took bravery that Enjolras wasn't sure that he had. It might only be a few strokes on a keyboard, but the effects those strokes had were real. They changed lives in ways that Enjolras was unsure his actions had ever managed. So, he wouldn't interrupt that, wouldn't risk it, even if Feuilly had more common sense than all of the rest of Les Amis put together and might be the only person apart from Courfeyrac who could actually help.

Sighing heavily, Enjolras turned out the last of the lights and went up the hall to Courfeyrac's bedroom. It was a moderate to large-sized room, but it never appeared so, for it was dwarfed by the gigantic bed that took up most of the available floor space. Courfeyrac had leered at Enjolras' blush when he'd showed it off that first time, waggled his eyebrows and made all sorts of suggestions for what one could do with a bed that large, but Combeferre had put a stop to the teasing before it went too far.

…not to say that that teasing hadn't fueled Enjolras' imagination. It had. Enjolras had thought a lot about that bed, about convincing Courfeyrac to bring him back here to make use of it. He'd thought about it more than he should have, thought about pressing Courfeyrac back against those scores of mounded up pillows, thought about the way two bodies could make a nest of them once sated… he'd thought about that bed a lot. But, damn it, he'd always thought about having Courfeyrac in it with him when doing so!

Of course, those days were over now - the days of kisses on his birthday, the days of more than kisses… that one night that had nearly been everything. It had been an experiment, nothing more, one designed to help Enjolras sort out a sexuality which had been slow to present. And Courfeyrac had been willing - a little reticent sometime, perhaps, but willing - and Enjolras had taken advantage of that willingness for years… but no more. Not since he turned 22. Combeferre had pulled Enjolras aside on the morning after his 22nd birthday, when Courfeyrac had still been sleeping off his indulgence and their activities of the night before, to tell him that whether he was satisfied or not, it was still over… because Courfeyrac deserved better than to be lead on when Enjolras had no intention of ever truly following through.

Enjolras had been horrified at the implication. He hadn't seen, hadn't realized, hadn't ever thought that Courfeyrac might view their explorations as more than just an experiment. He would never have put Courfeyrac in that position, if he had. So, he'd agreed with Combeferre. It was one thing to experiment when it was just two friends exploring their sexuality together - it was another thing entirely when one of those friends was in love with the other and those explorations turned into cruel usury. But that hadn't stopped Enjolras from wondering. After all, they might have progressed farther than kissing that night, but they hadn't gone as far as Enjolras had secretly hoped Courfeyrac would allow them to go.

Burying his hands back in his hair, Enjolras deliberately turned away from the bed and its red satin sheets - red, for goodness sake! - and began to pace again. He hadn't understood what it meant, when Courfeyrac had looked at him with those shining eyes, so full of need and want, had thought it just part of the close friendship they'd shared. How was he supposed to have known the difference? Courfeyrac had always looked at him like that. Enjolras hadn't understood what it meant to love another without being loved the same way in return. He hadn't wanted to understand. He did, now. He understood what it meant to love and have that love unreturned, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he owed Courfeyrac an apology for abusing that love, now that he knew how badly it could sting.

Enjolras took a deep breath, let it out. It had taken him far too long to understand, far too long to see the greater picture of his interactions and draw the right conclusions, but with tonight's forcible reminder, he thought he understood now. He understood what is was to have one's love be unrequited. He'd seen in Grantaire the same thing he'd seen in Courfeyrac and he'd exploited it without consideration for how that would feel on the receiving end. He'd done it for what he believed to be a good cause, but that didn't excuse it, not when he could imagine all too well how he would feel if Rebus, for example, had treated him in such a manner. And that was a more apt comparison than he was really comfortable with… because Enjolras was in love with Rebus. And though that realization was new, it felt right. Rebus infuriated him, taunted him at every turn, but he was brilliant. He was quick-witted - quicker on his feet than Enjolras, and more well-acquainted with the human condition to boot - and he was knowledgeable about so very, very many things. And, like Feuilly, he was grounded in the real world, in the practicalities of things, and Enjolras admired him for that, even as he wished he could have had Rebus separated from his very real world cynicism.

Flopping down on the bed, Enjolras covered his eyes with his arm. It was all too ridiculous. Even he knew how ridiculous it was. How could he love a man he hadn't even met? How could he love a man whose voice he had never heard, whose touch he had never felt, whose eyes he'd never gazed into? How could he feel so deeply for a person who might not even be real? Combeferre and Courfeyrac had been right to be concerned all those months ago. Enjolras knew well that people could hide their true selves online and that the real Rebus might not be like his online persona, at all. But how would he ever know if Rebus would not consent to meet?

Enjolras rolled over onto his side, then toed off his shoes so that he could tuck his legs up onto the bed. And there was Grantaire to think about. He had made a dreadful mistake tonight. Grantaire hadn't deserved that. No one deserved that. But Enjolras would deserve it if Prouvaire found out and decided to carry out one of his myriad threats. Still… Enjolras hadn't realized the depths of Grantaire's feelings. He'd thought Grantaire's interest in him to be purely physical in nature or in some other way lesser to how Enjolras felt about Rebus. Certainly they didn't get along well enough, didn't have anywhere near enough in common, for Grantaire to be in love with him, not as Courfeyrac had been with him, not as he was with Rebus. Such things should be reserved for one you knew well, shouldn't they? Someone you at least got along with?

…but if that were true, then where did it leave Enjolras with Rebus?

Enjolras balled his hands into fists, beat them uselessly against his head. He was no good at this! He needed Courfeyrac. Damn it.

Enjolras rolled back into a sitting position, pulled his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them. He would get no rest tonight, not until he was able to talk to someone, to begin to sort this out. He briefly considered waking Marius and belatedly taking him up on his offer, but changed his mind almost as quickly as he'd set it. Marius was caught in a round robin platonic circle of "dating" two women who were in a relationship with each other and had no interest in dating him and he didn't even see it. What possible help could he be?

After a few minutes more of thought, Enjolras' eyes fell on Courfeyrac's laptop, which he'd left sitting on his desk. He shouldn't. It was a breach of privacy. He really shouldn't… but he knew Courfeyrac's password, or could at least guess it within two guesses. And surely, Courfeyrac wouldn't mind… He would stay out of Courfeyrac's files. He just needed… no. He shouldn't.

Ten minutes later, Enjolras couldn't decide if he'd won or lost the debate with himself, but either way, he was sitting cross-legged on the bed and had Courfeyrac's laptop open in front of him. It had taken Enjolras four tries to guess Courfeyrac's password and it had rattled him. Time was, he wouldn't have even had to guess. He would have just known what Courfeyrac was using as a password. Enjolras stopped for a moment, hands hovering over the keys. Apart from Les Amis activities and classes, he couldn't remember the last time he and Courfeyrac had just… spent time together. And that… that wasn't right. It made Enjolras more determined than ever to pin Courfeyrac down to talk. Friends like he and Courfeyrac didn't just grow apart. They just… didn't.

Enjolras lifted his hands and slapped them briskly against his cheeks. There was nothing he could do about that now. But, he'd definitely have to make it up to Courfeyrac another time. Perhaps he could talk Combeferre into helping him plan to take Courfeyrac out for a nice dinner somewhere - maybe that new French restaurant that he'd been raving about back in September. That would be good. Courfeyrac would like that, having both of them to himself and not having to be the one to cook them dinner for a change. Yes. That would be good. They'd just all been busy and Enjolras had been preoccupied. It would be sorted out in no time. Satisfied that he'd solved the problem, for now, at least, Enjolras pushed it to the back of his mind.

Feeling much better, and far less guilty, Enjolras opened up a web browser and logged in to tumblr. As expected, there were quite a few messages in his Inbox. He slogged through all 118 of them, hoping to find one from a certain individual… and ending up sorely disappointed. There were no new posts from him, either. Enjolras scrolled down his dash, saving posts to his drafts to look at in more detail when he had the time and inclination, silently mentally responses to some of the reblogged Amis posts he was seeing, debating what to do next… when a soft ping startled his train of thoughts right off the rails. What-?

There, in the bottom right corner of the screen, was a small text box. The top half was orange; the bottom half was white and read, "Huh. Wasn't expecting to see…" and it was from Rebus. Utterly dumbfounded, Enjolras clicked on the box before he'd even considered what he was doing and read the rest of the message.

~Huh. Wasn't expecting to see you still awake. Thought for sure you'd be turned in to rest up for Valentine's tomorrow. The meeting that dull?~

Rebus.

Courfeyrac… and Rebus.

They were on Skype with each other? Ignoring the stab of betrayal he felt at this obvious evidence of collusion behind his back, Enjolras clicked on the text entry box and typed: ~I'd say it was pretty eventful, actually.~ On a whim, he then added: ~Wouldn't you?~ and then sat with his heart pounding, awaiting a reply.

Seconds ticked by, then minutes. Eventually, another message pinged up on the screen. It read, ~…what makes you think I would know?~

Elated at that well-thought out evasion and the feeling that he was finally on the right track, Enjolras shot back, ~Because you were there, weren't you? You're always there.~

Enjolras wasn't sure when that suspicion had become certainty, but it undoubtedly had. The way Rebus talked, the things he said… there was no way he could know what he knew about the Amis' inner workings if he didn't at least attend meetings. And that made it even more maddening that Enjolras hadn't been able to figure out who he was.

Seconds ticked by, again, then minutes. Enjolras could picture Rebus, now, sitting back from his computer, long fingers - because of course they were long, and elegant, too, as nimble on the keyboard as they would be on a stylus, or a pencil, or whatever drafting tool he used to draw those damned political cartoons - drifting back and forth over his lips as he debated how to answer. Finally, the little pencil on the screen began to move, indicating typing. The sentence that popped up when it stopped read: ~Does Courfeyrac know you've usurped his laptop, Enjolras?~

If Enjolras' heart had been racing before, it all but slammed up into his throat and stopped when he read that last sentence. Mouth going utterly dry as his cheeks flamed with color, he typed back, ~What makes you think that?~

~You don't sound a thing like him and no one else but you would have had the opportunity and audacity to respond to a message meant for him. How could I not know?~

Enjolras frowned at that flippant response, somehow more upset than was reasonable at the idea that he'd been differentiated from Courfeyrac not because Rebus recognized him, but because Rebus recognized that whoever was speaking wasn't Courfeyrac and then had reasoned out the rest. It took more effort than he liked to convince himself that the stabbing pain in his chest at that thought wasn't jealousy.

It also took more effort than Enjolras liked to tamp down that instinctive response and come up with one more civil, but he finally managed to say, ~We have an understanding, Courfeyrac and I. He doesn't mind when I use his things.~

Another pause. The next words Rebus typed dropped like stones into the pit of Enjolras' stomach to churn uneasily with the guilt already sitting there.

~You're very good at using things that don't belong to you.~

It was too close. Like many things that Rebus said, those words hinted at a knowledge that he couldn't possibly possess unless he was someone close to them. Enjolras stared at those words, wondering at the myriad ways they could be interpreted. And for a moment, just a moment, in the kind of insight known only to those who had committed an act for which they felt guilty, Enjolras was suddenly sure that Rebus was talking about what had happened with Grantaire that night. But that was ridiculous. It was beyond ridiculous. Rebus couldn't possibly be referencing that, even obliquely. And even if he was… so what? It didn't mean anything. He didn't even know Rebus. It wasn't as though they were dating. And it had just been a kiss. One kiss. Two kisses? In any case, if he and Rebus weren't dating - and they weren't - then why would he care if Enjolras had kissed another. So why was Enjolras even feeling guilty at all?

~I kissed someone, tonight.~

For a moment, Enjolras stared at the words on the screen and wondered why Rebus would be telling him that. Then he realized… the name next to the words was not Rebus, it was LovesLaboursWon. Enjolras had typed those words, not Rebus. What aneurism had ruptured in his brain to allow that? Enjolras stared in horror at the words before hastily adding, ~I have no idea why I just blurted that out at you. I'm sorry. I'm sure you have no interest in whom I kiss.~ Enjolras ruthlessly quashed the little voice which piped up from the depths of his mind which insisted that he almost hoped Rebus did care.

This answer was much more quickly wrought than the last two had been, arriving within seconds of Enjolras' addendum. ~On the contrary, it's of great interest to me. Congratulations. Who was the lucky girl?~

Enjolras felt his cheeks warm at the question Rebus shot back. It was harder, this time, to convince himself that Rebus' easy acceptance of this hypothetical girl hadn't induced a stab of jealousy. For, if Rebus was so accepting of Enjolras having kissed someone… how many people must he be kissing? And behind Enjolras' back, no less! Silently fuming over his own jealousy and embarrassment, Enjolras finally answered, ~It wasn't a girl. It was a boy. His name is Grantaire. He's… I don't know what he is. He comes to our meetings when he clearly has no interest in the cause. And he argues with me constantly.~

~We do our fair share of arguing, too, Enjolras. Maybe you just bring that out in people.~

Enjolras sighed, rubbed his hands briskly over his face, again. ~This is different. This… I don't even know how to explain it. It seems he argues with me just for the sake of arguing. When you and I argue, there's a purpose to it. You boost my signal. You bring me to an audience that wouldn't find me on its own. Even if we don't always agree, at least you believe in me enough to help. Grantaire… he doesn't believe in anything. Not one thing. And worse than that, we've had civil conversations before, he and I, and we'd been getting on just fine these past few weeks until he just went and tossed it all away on a whim! It's infuriating.~

~…so naturally, the answer to what to do with this fury was to kiss him.~

As unastute as Enjolras generally was in matters of emotion, even he could read the dryness in that statement. No doubt, Rebus' eyebrows were drifting up into his hairline even as Enjolras sat there and thought about it. And put that way, it did sound ridiculous… but wasn't that the point? Enjolras knew he'd made a mistake. He knew he'd done the wrong thing. What he needed was for someone to tell him how to fix it.

~No, that… Kissing him was a mistake. I know that. I shouldn't have… I let my emotions get the better of me. I just get so frustrated.~ Enjolras sighed, then typed the next sentences in clipped rapid succession. ~He has such potential, Rebus. He's smart, but he's clever on top of that. He sees things I don't. He finds the flaws in my logic before Combeferre has even looked. He has such a unique, grounded viewpoint and he's brilliant and instead of using it to help, like you do, he uses it all to undermine me!~

Another pause, and this time the sarcasm was so thickly implied that it could have been cut with a knife. ~…so was kissing him a mistake or not?~ There was another pause before Rebus continued and Enjolras could practically hear the exasperation radiating from the screen. ~Enjolras, do you have any idea how confused you sound? He infuriates you and he frustrates you and you're fed up with him, but you admire him and you see value in him that he doesn't see in himself and you want him to work with you, but you want him to leave you alone at the same time and you-~

There was another pause during which the pencil on the screen began moving once again, then stopped and made erasing motions, then writing, then erasing, then laid itself down to indicate that Rebus had stopped typing altogether. Enjolras stared at it, willing the little pencil to lift up and start moving again. When it didn't, Enjolras typed, ~…yes? And I, what?~

The little pencil finally began moving again. Rebus' next words were: ~You're in love with this boy.~

~I AM NOT!~ The reaction was so gut-deeply instinctive that Enjolras couldn't have held it back if he'd tried. He was not in love with Grantaire. The very thought was ridiculous. It was… it was impossible. It was impossible because… ~I'm in love with YOU!~

The second Enjolras had hit 'Enter' on those words, the minute they appeared on the screen, he desperately wished he could take them back. He couldn't backpedal over those words, couldn't yell "April Fool!" and be done with it. And worse… Enjolras groaned. And worse… it was 3:33 AM on Valentine's Day. How awfully clichéd could he get? Cringing in absolute horror for this second, larger screw-up, Enjolras placed his hands back on the keyboard, cursed as his fingers fumbled on the keys and he was forced to erase several glaring typos, giving Rebus a chance to get in an answer before he could explain.

So, of course, he did. And his answer was just as final as Enjolras' had been to Rebus' statement about Grantaire.

~No, you aren't. You don't even know me, Enjolras. That's no less true now than it was when you first asked to meet with me all those months ago. I'm not sure you even know what love IS.~

Enjolras' heart began racing once more at those words, shaking his head at the finality implied in those statements. Rebus was brushing off his feelings as though they meant nothing, as though Enjolras meant nothing. And it felt every bit as awful as he'd feared it might. He had to respond. He had to say something. Anything. Just… anything so Rebus wouldn't go, so those wouldn't be the last words he would say. ~I do know what love is.~ When Rebus' pencil started moving again, Enjolras quickly shot out, ~Please don't say anything!~ and then, ~Just let me explain.~ And finally, ~Please.~

Rebus' pencil moved for a moment, then revealed the noncommittal words of, ~All right.~

Heart racing, Enjolras typed and sent his next sentences as soon as each was finished. ~Love is the way my heart races when I see your name in my notifications. Love is the way nothing makes me happier than when you agree with something I've said. Love is how nothing makes me sadder than knowing I've disappointed you. Love is how I think I'd be content never meeting you as long as I know that you'll still talk to me. Love is knowing that I'll gladly take whatever affection you're willing to dole out to me as long as I know you won't disappear again. Love is the fact that whenever I see something I know you'd like, I wish I could send it to you. Love is wishing I knew your favorite color so I could change the background color of my blog to match it so every time you visit it, it will make you smile. Love is… it's about care… and about trust. I… Rebus… I know what love is. And I know I love you. And, if you don't love me…~ Enjolras had to stop then, embarrassed to catch his breath hitching, more embarrassed still to feel wetness beginning to roll down his cheeks.

On a whim, Enjolras opened Courfeyrac's Skype profile and clicked "Change picture." When the webcam booted up and revealed what a mess he truly looked to be at that moment, Enjolras decided that no amount of play-acting was necessary. He hit the "take a picture" button and let his sorrow speak for itself. When he switched back to his chat window with Rebus, it was with that picture now replacing Courfeyrac's in the profile. ~If you don't love me… I can live with that. But, please… I'll never bring it up again, if you don't want me to, but please, don't shut me out.~

It was a full three minutes before Rebus finally answered with, ~I am nowhere near sober enough for this conversation. I think I may decide to forget we even had it in the increased haze of early morning drunkenness I'm about to indulge in. Enjolras… I bid you good night and a happy Valentine's Day, and next time you want to attempt a similar debacle of a Skype conversation, kindly do it from your own address.~

And with those final words, Rebus signed off.

Enjolras was still staring in dismayed horror at the screen nearly three hours later when the sun rose. He hadn't slept a wink.