The Shadow Begins to Lighten"
The next day, Samuel went to school feeling vaguely apprehensive. At last he was going to meet Combeferre.
He had been thinking of it as 'at last meeting' for a long time now, hardly realising it until it became natural. The last time he had met Combeferre he had been a child, an entirely different person--now he was going to meet Combeferre all over again. But despite the apprehension, he really couldn't wait at all. He remembered the very moment he'd left Combeferre's room, and couldn't believe it had only been a little over a month. It seemed like years and years of living away from home.
He /did/ pay attention in his classes, but only just barely; remembering to take down notes but not to take them down in a particularly legible handwriting.
And after school he found a place by the doors and waited anxiously, until finally he saw Combeferre, surrounded by Courfeyrac--acting just as insane as usual--and Joly, and lanky Bossuet trying to keep them from smothering him.
"Combeferre!"
"Enjolras!" Courfeyrac cried. "You're at last seeking us out! And I must say, it's about time! What do you mean, avoiding us for so long? Honestly, you come, you give us a lecture, and then you go like smoke on the wind! See what you've made me do? I'm using obnoxious similes! Do come along and have a drink with us, now that you're back!"
"No," Samuel said firmly, but not without a little laugh. "I want to talk to Combeferre."
Bossuet gave him a sideways look of surprise, and he tilted his head. But Bossuet didn't attempt to address him, merely saying, "Well, Courfeyrac, if he wants our philosopher from us, we mustn't stop him."
"Oh, but I will stop him!"
Meantime, Combeferre had edged over to Samuel. "You wanted to talk to me?" he smiled, but now Samuel didn't feel any lightheadedness; only a little pleasant feeling. Of course he still loved Combeferre's smile. He was only reacting to it differently, because he was no longer a child.
"Yes, but privately. Perhaps we might eat supper together?"
"Certainly. I should just like to stop by home and leave my things."
"Of course! I shall too."
"Ah, Enjolras! You're forsaking us /again/! First for Feuilly, and now for Combeferre? You're a hardhearted man."
Samuel turned, wondering how on earth Courfeyrac knew he'd been staying with Feuilly. It wasn't as though Feuilly would ever mention it. He wasn't that sort. He might have given Courfeyrac a lightening-quick, sarcastic smile if he'd heard him wondering where Samuel was, but anything more would have been uncharacteristic. And Courfeyrac didn't seem the sort of person to realise the truth from a look.
"Simply busy," Samuel murmured, and for once Courfeyrac did nothing more than scrunch up his nose sulkily.
Joly sighed. "Courfeyrac, do come along. We agreed anyway that you needed to be looked over."
"Oh, /that/. Yes, you're right." Courfeyrac perked up again. "Let's off! I haven't since I was a tiny wee babe had a doctor poking me and prodding me and looking in my ears. Let's do that!"
"Courfeyrac," Bossuet informed them amiably, "may be the victim of what he is fondly calling The Great Disease of the Revengeful Ear. He says Bahorel has ranted at the top of his voice so many times that his ear is revolting and aching painfully. I believe Joly is rather jealous. At any rate, he's going to try to cure it. He's enlisted my help for some reason."
Smiling greatly, Combeferre said, "Well, we shan't keep you. Do make sure Courfeyrac comes out of it all right."
"Joly will know what he's doing." Bossuet bowed and trotted after Joly and Courfeyrac.
Combeferre bit his lip. "Do you think Courfeyrac will be all right?"
Even after all this time and growing up, Samuel did not really like Courfeyrac, and he could not say that he would be particularly upset if the man lost an ear. "Likely." He caught from Combeferre the same look of reproach he'd received the day he first met Courfeyrac.
"But," said Combeferre, as though he hadn't given it, "you were saying supper?"
"Yes."
"All right. Shall we meet at Café Chanson in, perhaps, half an hour?"
"That's fine."
And they parted.
Samuel could hardly believe it had gone so well. He hadn't been embarrassed or frightened: he had just spoken to Combeferre and invited him to supper the way any ordinary man might do. He was so pleased that he was at Chanson in a quarter of an hour, and then had to wait and be glanced at impatiently by the waitress until Combeferre arrived.
They had only ordered and the waitress gone off when Combeferre looked at him curiously, and said, "You've changed. I thought at first you were still Dimitri, and then you laughed to Courfeyrac. You never did that before. Were you really staying with Feuilly?"
"Yes. He was very kind. And, Combeferre, I am not a child any longer."
Combeferre smiled. "I can tell. What shall I call you? I don't wish to call you Dimitri, but you've told me any number of times not to use Samuel."
"Use Samuel now. I don't mind being Samuel. I'm a different Samuel from before."
"All right, Samuel."
There were a thousand things Samuel might have told Combeferre, but he didn't. He wasn't sure why. It was only that it seemed sufficient to say he was no longer a child, and that it would have been improper to say anything about his stay with Feuilly. It was like a dream he wouldn't tell anyone.
So instead Samuel asked Combeferre about himself.
And they talked and talked, conversations that Samuel really enjoyed and thought quite as wonderful as the ones on his first evening with Feuilly and Manon, if in a different way. There were simply so many things to talk about that they couldn't stop. They talked the whole way back to Samuel's now un-dusty apartment, and stayed and talked by the lamp until long past midnight. Samuel was realising, now that he had Combeferre back, how much he'd missed him.
They ran out of things to say around three, and laughed crazily at nothing because they were both exhausted. By the time they went to sleep finally in the uncomfortably small bed Samuel owned, they were too tired to notice their elbows poking each other.
When at last he woke, Samuel lay on his side and looked at Combeferre, smiling blearily in the light dotting the bed and floor. He was completely disoriented from staying up so late and then getting up equally late, but too happy to mind much.
He propped himself up on his arms and daringly kissed Combeferre's hair, which had come unbound while they slept. Combeferre startled him pleasantly by taking his hand and squeezing it gently.
Samuel was sure he would write with Dimitri's handwriting for the rest of his life. He would answer to two names. He would still talk like Dimitri and carry out Dimitri's dreams. That was his duty. But Combeferre would know he was really Samuel.
Somehow, nothing in his life had ever pleased him more.
The next day, Samuel went to school feeling vaguely apprehensive. At last he was going to meet Combeferre.
He had been thinking of it as 'at last meeting' for a long time now, hardly realising it until it became natural. The last time he had met Combeferre he had been a child, an entirely different person--now he was going to meet Combeferre all over again. But despite the apprehension, he really couldn't wait at all. He remembered the very moment he'd left Combeferre's room, and couldn't believe it had only been a little over a month. It seemed like years and years of living away from home.
He /did/ pay attention in his classes, but only just barely; remembering to take down notes but not to take them down in a particularly legible handwriting.
And after school he found a place by the doors and waited anxiously, until finally he saw Combeferre, surrounded by Courfeyrac--acting just as insane as usual--and Joly, and lanky Bossuet trying to keep them from smothering him.
"Combeferre!"
"Enjolras!" Courfeyrac cried. "You're at last seeking us out! And I must say, it's about time! What do you mean, avoiding us for so long? Honestly, you come, you give us a lecture, and then you go like smoke on the wind! See what you've made me do? I'm using obnoxious similes! Do come along and have a drink with us, now that you're back!"
"No," Samuel said firmly, but not without a little laugh. "I want to talk to Combeferre."
Bossuet gave him a sideways look of surprise, and he tilted his head. But Bossuet didn't attempt to address him, merely saying, "Well, Courfeyrac, if he wants our philosopher from us, we mustn't stop him."
"Oh, but I will stop him!"
Meantime, Combeferre had edged over to Samuel. "You wanted to talk to me?" he smiled, but now Samuel didn't feel any lightheadedness; only a little pleasant feeling. Of course he still loved Combeferre's smile. He was only reacting to it differently, because he was no longer a child.
"Yes, but privately. Perhaps we might eat supper together?"
"Certainly. I should just like to stop by home and leave my things."
"Of course! I shall too."
"Ah, Enjolras! You're forsaking us /again/! First for Feuilly, and now for Combeferre? You're a hardhearted man."
Samuel turned, wondering how on earth Courfeyrac knew he'd been staying with Feuilly. It wasn't as though Feuilly would ever mention it. He wasn't that sort. He might have given Courfeyrac a lightening-quick, sarcastic smile if he'd heard him wondering where Samuel was, but anything more would have been uncharacteristic. And Courfeyrac didn't seem the sort of person to realise the truth from a look.
"Simply busy," Samuel murmured, and for once Courfeyrac did nothing more than scrunch up his nose sulkily.
Joly sighed. "Courfeyrac, do come along. We agreed anyway that you needed to be looked over."
"Oh, /that/. Yes, you're right." Courfeyrac perked up again. "Let's off! I haven't since I was a tiny wee babe had a doctor poking me and prodding me and looking in my ears. Let's do that!"
"Courfeyrac," Bossuet informed them amiably, "may be the victim of what he is fondly calling The Great Disease of the Revengeful Ear. He says Bahorel has ranted at the top of his voice so many times that his ear is revolting and aching painfully. I believe Joly is rather jealous. At any rate, he's going to try to cure it. He's enlisted my help for some reason."
Smiling greatly, Combeferre said, "Well, we shan't keep you. Do make sure Courfeyrac comes out of it all right."
"Joly will know what he's doing." Bossuet bowed and trotted after Joly and Courfeyrac.
Combeferre bit his lip. "Do you think Courfeyrac will be all right?"
Even after all this time and growing up, Samuel did not really like Courfeyrac, and he could not say that he would be particularly upset if the man lost an ear. "Likely." He caught from Combeferre the same look of reproach he'd received the day he first met Courfeyrac.
"But," said Combeferre, as though he hadn't given it, "you were saying supper?"
"Yes."
"All right. Shall we meet at Café Chanson in, perhaps, half an hour?"
"That's fine."
And they parted.
Samuel could hardly believe it had gone so well. He hadn't been embarrassed or frightened: he had just spoken to Combeferre and invited him to supper the way any ordinary man might do. He was so pleased that he was at Chanson in a quarter of an hour, and then had to wait and be glanced at impatiently by the waitress until Combeferre arrived.
They had only ordered and the waitress gone off when Combeferre looked at him curiously, and said, "You've changed. I thought at first you were still Dimitri, and then you laughed to Courfeyrac. You never did that before. Were you really staying with Feuilly?"
"Yes. He was very kind. And, Combeferre, I am not a child any longer."
Combeferre smiled. "I can tell. What shall I call you? I don't wish to call you Dimitri, but you've told me any number of times not to use Samuel."
"Use Samuel now. I don't mind being Samuel. I'm a different Samuel from before."
"All right, Samuel."
There were a thousand things Samuel might have told Combeferre, but he didn't. He wasn't sure why. It was only that it seemed sufficient to say he was no longer a child, and that it would have been improper to say anything about his stay with Feuilly. It was like a dream he wouldn't tell anyone.
So instead Samuel asked Combeferre about himself.
And they talked and talked, conversations that Samuel really enjoyed and thought quite as wonderful as the ones on his first evening with Feuilly and Manon, if in a different way. There were simply so many things to talk about that they couldn't stop. They talked the whole way back to Samuel's now un-dusty apartment, and stayed and talked by the lamp until long past midnight. Samuel was realising, now that he had Combeferre back, how much he'd missed him.
They ran out of things to say around three, and laughed crazily at nothing because they were both exhausted. By the time they went to sleep finally in the uncomfortably small bed Samuel owned, they were too tired to notice their elbows poking each other.
When at last he woke, Samuel lay on his side and looked at Combeferre, smiling blearily in the light dotting the bed and floor. He was completely disoriented from staying up so late and then getting up equally late, but too happy to mind much.
He propped himself up on his arms and daringly kissed Combeferre's hair, which had come unbound while they slept. Combeferre startled him pleasantly by taking his hand and squeezing it gently.
Samuel was sure he would write with Dimitri's handwriting for the rest of his life. He would answer to two names. He would still talk like Dimitri and carry out Dimitri's dreams. That was his duty. But Combeferre would know he was really Samuel.
Somehow, nothing in his life had ever pleased him more.