Jehan is taking a nap after the Remembrance Day ceremony when he gets a phone call. He fumbles for the phone, contemplating not answering it for a second before he sees who's calling.

"Hey Feuilly, what's up?"

"Not much," the redhead says. "I was wondering if you wanted to come see this poetry reading with me on Wednesday. My friend's putting it on near the Musain."

Jehan won't lie: he's surprised. If one of the other Amis had asked him, he wouldn't have said he and Feuilly were close enough for Wednesday poetry reading outings. He'd love to go! As it is though….

"Sorry, dude. I'd love to go, but I'm hanging out with Courf on Wednesday and I've got a big class load the day after." This last bit is a lie, but Jehan wants to make the most of every second he has Courfeyrac to himself.

"Oh, that's chill."

"Yeah, sorry."

"All good! No worries!" Jehan hears Feuilly take a breath, then hold it, like he isn't sure he wants to say what he was going to. He decides to go through with it: "You're going over to Courfeyrac's place?"

Jehan's stomach dives into the depths of his torso. This has just reached new levels of awkward in terms of dealing with Feuilly's feelings for Courf. In his dazed post-nap state, he'd nearly forgotten his (circumstantial, R would say) theory.

"Yeah, we might look at some songs of his!" Damn, that was too chipper! It's Jehan's hope that Feuilly will assume this hang-out is more of a writing work-sesh than anything else (although it is also Jehan's hope that this be more than a work-sesh…)

"Cool, cool, cool." Jehan listens very closely, but he can't detect any of the burdensome sadness Feuilly seemed to feel that day Courfeyrac blew him off. Maybe he's not upset? Maybe Jehan hanging out with Courf isn't anything to worry about because Jehan must be so far off Courfeyrac's romantic radar - ok that is just sad and overthink-y, Jehan! He tells his brain to snap out of it.

"You know," Feuilly muses, thankfully helping to draw Jehan away from his train of thought, "Courfeyrac is very particular about who he shows his songs to before he performs them."

Jehan is still trying to sift for sadness in Feuilly's voice, so he's barely listening to the actual words. "Oh?"

"Oh, yeah." Jehan can practically hear Feuilly nodding sagely along with his words. "You guys must be getting pretty close, huh?" Feuilly sounds almost as if he's giggling, and this is what draws Jehan back into the conversation like a cartoon cane pulling him offstage.

"What?"

"Oh you know," no, Jehan is not mistaking the mischievousness in Feuilly's voice, he sounds like he's twirling a mustache through his fingers, "you two just seem like you're getting along like a house on fire." Jehan can't remember the last time he heard someone use that expression; it was probably his Pop.

He is very confused by this turn of events and even more so by Feuilly's teasing tone.

He asks, "So?"

There's a pause. Jehan pictures Feuilly shrugging or winking. Or both.

"Just… you know…" there'd definitely be eyebrows involved if they were having this conversation in person, "you guys are cute, that's all I'm saying."

"Riiiiiiiight," Jehan says, even as his heart and brain start running a mile a minute. Has he been wrong this entire time? "And that's all you're saying?"

Feuilly giggles. "For now. Have fun on Wednesday!" He adds a trill on the end because Feuilly is just enough of a dramatic motherfucker to pull it off.

He also has the audacity to hang up before Jehan responds, leaving a shell-shocked Jehan to wonder: what in fresh hell just happened?

Jehan manages to ring the doorbell right when he gets to Courfeyrac's; this could be called progress.

"Come on in!" Courf beckons. He and Jehan exchange a smile that sets all the butterflies loose in Jehan's stomach. He tries to breathe around them as they climb the stairs.

The Halloween decorations have been removed from the door and in their place is a simple poppy with the words Lest We Forget in cursive on a banner beneath. It looks hand-drawn – Jehan can hear Grantaire groaning in his head: "AnOTher friend with hidden art talents?!"

"Where do you find the time to make all your door ornaments?" Jehan asks as he sets his tote bag down. "I can barely find the time to clean my bathroom!"

Courf snorts at that. "I drag Marius into helping me draw AND find supplies. It's the price he pays for being late with the rent on numerous occasions."

"I didn't know you lived with Marius!" Jehan feels a little embarrassed. He's been here before, for all the gods' sakes! But he hadn't paid the other door in Courf's hallway any mind.

"Oh he's rarely here." Courfeyrac moves into the kitchen and Jehan dutifully follows. "Do you want some hot chocolate? I know how to make it all frothy!"

Maybe it's Courfeyrac's excitement about his hot chocolate making skills, but Jehan takes him up on the offer and doesn't even feel too bad about it.

"Yeah, anyway," Courf goes on as he grabs the fixings and begins pouring and stirring, "Marius is too busy stalking Cosette most of the time to be here with his lonely roommate." Jehan purposefully ignores the emphasis he places on lonely.

"Please tell me you're exaggerating? He doesn't actually stalk her?"

"Following her around to figure out what classes she's taking so he can take the same ones is coming very close, don't you think? He's besotted, poor boy. But she must see something in him."

Poor Eponine, Jehan thinks. He wonders if Courf is as perceptive about that struggle as he is about Grantaire and Enjolras.

"How hot do you like your chocolate?"

"Lukewarm, please."

Courfeyrac gives him an affronted look and Jehan laughs. "You asked."

Courf just shakes his head, smiling a little smile that makes Jehan wish he could sequester it away in a treasure chest to look at when he's feeling sad.

Courf's hot chocolate is really good. His conversation is even better. They're hitting all the highlights from the Halloween party and the four meetings Jehan has been to since. Courfeyrac heaps mounds and mounds of praise on Jehan for his newspaper article and his idea of pairing the writings with testimonials from other students (apparently Musichetta's article is stirring up some of the faculty too – Courf and Enjolras think this is a good thing, Jehan is on Combeferre's side in being not too sure about that.) It's enough to make Jehan squirm, but he manages to change the subject with grace to Grantaire's birthday shenanigans.

He's finishing the tale when he gestures vehemently with his hot chocolate mug, and instead of splashing the entire kitchen table, finds it empty. Courfeyrac takes it and his own mug to the sink with a smile.

"I have a question," he says as he comes back to sit, "and I hope you won't take it the wrong way." There are few things Jehan hates more than difficult conversations that begin like this, but it's Courfeyrac and he's at his place because they are FRIENDS GODDAMMIT. And so Jehan can handle whatever comes next (he hopes).

He spreads his hands in what he prays is an inviting gesture: "Hit me with your best shot."

Courfeyrac blows some air out his mouth. "How come you're so comfy smoking but not drinking?" Jehan's not sure what his face does just then, but it must contort as he's still processing the question. Courf scrambles to say, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I'm sorry, but I'm curious…"

"It's ok," Jehan finds himself saying. To his surprise, he means it. "I appreciate your frankness." He thinks about Grantaire's face, a little ashamed as he tried to explain why he wanted to challenge Jehan to smoke and a lot confused about why smoking would provoke such a different reaction from Jehan than drinking. Grantaire has all of Courfeyrac's curiosity, probably more, but none of his balls to straight up ask Jehan about what he feels. Jehan has had none to address it himself with his best friend, but this moment now with Courfeyrac feels fundamentally different.

"Um. I hung out with the stoners in high school, like I said. That's how I met my," deep breaths, Jehan, "ex boyfriend. He was sorta on the edge of that clique or whatever, sorta on the edge of a few of them." If Courfeyrac is surprised that Jehan has one (1) ex, he has the grace to hide it. Jehan is just proud of himself for maintaining decent eye contact – Courf's beautiful brown eyes are keeping thoughts of those familiar green ones at bay, for the time being.

"He drank and smoked a lot, so I drank and smoked a lot around him, it was easier that way. I'm lucky, it was never a 'I need to have this stuff to function' sitch, but. I think it was for him. Or it…it grew to be. His home life was pretty rough." Jehan can hear his voice getting quieter and quieter. He clears his throat in an effort to make the words come easier, but the thickness there has nothing to do with mucus and everything to do with all these things he's stuffed inside rising up after so long.

"He was always pretty intense when he drank, but at our grad party it got wayyyyyy out of control. Too out of control, he scared m- us all. And I…yeah. I blocked his number and wrote him a letter 'cause I wasn't sure if he'd remember me breaking up with him in his state and yeah…Haven't drunk or smoked since. Well. Hadn't smoked since." Jehan realizes he's shaking his legs and forces them to stop. He gulps and looks back up at Courfeyrac (that last bit was too much for his limited eye contact ability.)

"But of course I trust R and I had fun Sunday! I just…alcohol seems like a much more slippery slope to me, I dunno. I hate what it can do to people."

Courfeyrac reaches out and grasps Jehan's clasped hands for a second; Jehan tries very hard not to startle, and feels his heartbeat somehow simultaneously settle down and pick up again for an entirely different reason than its previous break-neck pace.

"Jehan, that's so valid. Thank you for telling me." He shakes Jehan's hands in his own like he needs to impress how much he understands what Jehan is saying. "I'm sorry that happened."

Jehan shrugs. "Wasn't your fault, wasn't really anyone's fault…" Courf raises an eyebrow and Jehan tapers off into silence, caught in the burn of the other man's eyes. This happens so much to Jehan, you'd think he'd stop getting caught off guard by them, but no: their beauty overtakes him every time. Jehan finally remembered the folklore creature that Courf's eyes remind him of: it's the Samodiva, a Bulgarian wood fae-like thing that lures men to death with it's charms. A Samodiva's eyes aren't the most enticing thing about them, but Jehan thinks if one were real, it would have eyes like Courfeyrac's.

He's not sure what Courfeyrac is thinking. He also isn't speaking, just gazing back at Jehan.

Then he asks softly, "Have you told Grantaire yet?"

"No." Jehan doesn't feel like elaborating further.

"Then I'm even more honoured!" Courfeyrac gives Jehan's hands a final pat and then lets them go. "And hey," now he leans back, all cavalier and ready to change the mood, and Jehan feels a fierce burst of fondness, "tell Grantaire I'm sorry I couldn't go out with him, Bahorel, and Feuilly Saturday. Feuilly's mom needed someone to watch the kids and I thought Feuilly needed the night out more than I did."

Jehan imagines Courfeyrac has lots of nights out, Courfeyrac is definitely the kind of person who likes nights out (Jehan's never had friends like that before and now he has more than two, apparently, if he's counting Feuilly as well.) Maybe if Jehan went out on the town with Courfeyrac he may actually enjoy himself…

Then Courf's words register further and something slides into place, clicking neatly into Jehan's brain.

"Do you help Feuilly and his mom out like that a lot?" he asks.

"When I can. I used to do it a lot more when Feuilly and I were dating."

What.

The rest of Jehan's thoughts and mental imaginings freeze over.

Courfeyrac lets out a loud laugh, as if the foundations of Jehan's thought process for the last month and a bit haven't just been annihilated: "Date nights were often just us home alone with the kids while Charlie worked."

Jehan can feel his eyes bugging out of their sockets in spite of himself. His brain is still struggling to compute.

Courf registers his shock and looks away quickly. "The break-up wasn't too bad, and it was in high school, so." He flutters his hands, Jehan's not sure what the gesture is supposed to mean, but he thinks he should lay off guessing about anything from now until eternity because never has he been so blind and so-close-to-right-but-so-wrong about something.

"We've made our way back to being friends, though it wasn't the easiest. Feuilly says the kids miss having me around, they don't have a lot of stability in their lives, right? So I try to babysit when I can."

Jehan feels like his brain is working through layers and layers of mud. Defrosting mud.

He mumbles, "That night you called Feuilly about your Tinder date…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, exactly. I was backing out of time with the kids for a Tinder date." Jehan thinks this is the first time he's seen Courfeyrac properly blush. It's as radiant as everything else about him, no shock there.

"You must think I'm a terrible human being."

Jehan locks onto Courfeyrac's Samodiva-like gaze. Jehan wonders if he's also blushing now, the room feels very hot. Something about this moment suddenly feels very important, like it has more weight than all the other moments that came before it in this conversation.

"Not terrible," Jehan says, "just a human being."

Courf beams. Then he launches himself to standing as if nothing they've been talking about is of any consequence. "Let's go into the living room!"

Jehan follows him, still reeling from the litera he just went through in that conversation.

"I thought we were going to look at some of your songs," Jehan says as he carefully steps over the beanbag chairs to follow Courf.

"We can do that here!"

There is a guitar propped up in the far right corner, Jehan will give him that, but otherwise the comfort-filled room doesn't look like it's going to offer much in the way of productivity.

"Sit, sit! Sit anywhere!" Courfeyrac gestures. Jehan hesitates for half a second before plopping into a pink beanbag chair with orange and blue daises – it's quite the eyesore. Jehan's gaze is inevitably pulled to it whenever he's in this room (well, like the one time previous.)

Courf seats himself in a paisley-patterned beanbag chair close to Jehan with his guitar in hand. It's not the one he plays at showcase, so he must have multiple.

"Good choice," he nods to Jehan's chosen seat. "You can tell a lot about someone by the beanbag chair they choose."

"Oh really? What does this say about me, then?" Jehan is joking, but Courf scrunches up his face like he's taking the answer seriously.

"That you…like bright colours," Jehan nods, that's kinda a given, "and that you go with your first impulses a lot and sometimes you regret it." Ok, damn, getting deeper here, Jehan thinks. Courfeyrac is getting into his analysis idea now and picks up speed: "You're kind and sweet and you try to be honest and you often pick the odd one out of something because you feel like one yourself!" He shoots Jehan a shrewd look. "How'd I do?"

Jehan feels like whatever he says next will reveal too much. So he goes with his old stand-by: deflection!

"This doesn't look like working on your songs…"

Courf groans. "Ugh, fine!" He digs in his pocket and throws a folded piece of paper at Jehan. He plucks out some random notes on the guitar as Jehan reads.

"This is just a bunch of your song titles, right?"

"Yeah, I need you to help me pick which three to do at the November showcase."

Courfeyrac is still fiddling (guitar-ing?) with his guitar. Jehan gawks.

"Courf," is that the first time he's addressed him by his nickname? "today is Wednesday." Courfeyrac nods. "The showcase is tomorrow." He nods again.

"I know all those songs by route, just pick the three I haven't played at showcase in a while, you'll know best."

Jehan blushes, thinking this is Courf teasing him about his pristine showcase attendance, but Courf is still just strumming absently.

"Ok…" he peruses the list. He can't believe Courfeyrac doesn't have his set chosen yet…Jehan would be a puddle of nerves, but clearly this is just routine for his friend. Some of his favourite songs Courfeyrac has written are on the list, but Jehan restrains himself and only suggests one of his favs, plus two others that were some of the first songs he ever heard Courf perform.

"You know what I'd really like to hear you do?" Jehan says, after Courfeyrac praises him for his set list construction, "The new one you did in October, the unfinished one. Something about fire?"

"I've Seen Enough Fire?" Courf pretends to puke over the side of his beanbag chair.

"Nooooooo!" Jehan pokes Courf's knees with his toes three times before he second guesses himself. "I loved that piece!"

Courfeyrac won't meet his eyes. "It's not finished."

"So? You played it before!"

"I don't like it, Jehan, it's a dead end."

"It's not…"

"It is!" Courfeyrac sets the guitar down more forcefully than Jehan was expecting; he thinks this is the most aggravated he's seen Courf outside of social justice meetings. "I tried writing it a million different ways and nothing worked, sometimes that happens. It was too frustrating."

Jehan is not convinced, but he decides to let it drop.

"Fair enough." They're silent for a few beats. "Can you play me the one we worked on a little, then?" Jehan tries. "I'm very curious!"

Courf's face splits into a smile again and, just like that, everything is fine once more.

That's how Jehan gets private concert of a song he helped Courfeyrac write (barely, but still!) Jehan doesn't think he's even going to try writing a poem about this moment; no words would do it justice. So he just sits as much in the moment as he can, watching Courf's fingers create chords and trying to commit every word to memory.

"I love it!" he says, immediately after Courf is done strumming the last chord (it might come off as too enthusiastic, whatever.) Courf bites his lip, unsure.

"Thanks, I like it too. Once you helped me get unstuck, the rest of it just kind of…flowed out." Jehan nods. He loves when that happens when writing. It makes all the (many) frustrating times worth it.

"Can I ask you a question now?"

Courfeyrac looks at him expectantly over the bridge of his guitar. "Yeah, shoot."

"How come you don't write any love songs?"

"How do you know I don't write love songs?" is the sly reply. "Maybe you've just never heard any!" Jehan wants to roll off the beanbag chair backwards and faceplant into the floor in the face of his idiocy; he only just restrains himself.

"I…that never even occurred to me," he chuckles. Courf chuckles too, gracious host he is.

"The club showcase really isn't the place for them, ya know? That's for all my 'stick it to the man' stuff." Jehan bobs his head once, twice, to show he's not such an idiot that he can't grasp that. "And a lot of my love stuff is pretty old, I haven't felt like writing in that vein for a while now. I kinda…have to be in that mood or in a relationship for those songs to work for me? And I do NOT want to be in a relationship right now, I'm nowhere near in the right headspace for that."

The temperature in the room plummets like a stone. It feels as if the sun is setting all the faster after those words. Nowhere near in the right…I do NOT want…Jehan makes a valiant effort to recover his heart and his jaw from the floor, to save face after such a statement.

"F-fair enough, man."

Mercifully, it is getting late. As Jehan has to walk home, he leaves shortly after, and doesn't think it feels too sudden to his friend. Courf asks him to text him when he gets there, but even this casual way of saying 'I care about your safety' doesn't cheer Jehan up. He walks home in a fog.

Of all the bombshells to end on, he thinks later that night when he can't sleep, why did it have to be that one? And it wasn't even a bombshell, was it? That's the worst part, it was the casual destruction of the flights of fancy Jehan'd been constructing since learning Feuilly and Courf weren't into each other (anymore.) He hadn't had time for a lot of elaborate constructing, true, but Courf's confirmation that Feuilly wasn't in love with him was the most sturdy ground Jehan's dreams had ever had to stand on. So the destruction of those dreams, flimsy and built on supposedly sturdy ground as they were, was not a bombshell, not compared to everything else that had been said. But it's the thing keeping Jehan up tonight.

He turns over on his side. He could watch something or write something…would Grantaire still be awake after midnight? He could call him…but no. There's no escaping these thoughts, this sadness.

It shouldn't be a big deal! Nothing really has changed – it shouldn't be this earthquake-level devastating. But all of the goodness and warmth of the earlier parts of the evening have been scooped out of Jehan's chest and been hidden somewhere else, somewhere he can't reach them. Jehan feels he has no right to let the few tears escape his scrunched eyes, but escape they do. He has no right to this loss (there is no loss! What has he lost? Nothing but dreams, it's fine.) And maybe it would be fine, maybe none of this would hurt as much as it does, were it not for one terrible fact: the closer a friend Jehan becomes with Courfeyrac, the closer he is to falling in love with him.