Six Years Ago

Combeferre moves his book bag out of the way as Courfeyrac slumps into the seat beside him.

"Rough day?"

Courf only grunts in response.

"That bad?"

"That long."

Combeferre nods in agreement. Just because he's survived six university exam weeks before doesn't mean he knows how he did it. It's clear Courf feels the same as he stares past Combeferre and out the shuttle window. His eyes are not latching onto any of the Christmas lights on house-fronts like usual but just gazing blankly.

"What time were you up 'til last night?" Combeferre asks softly. When Courfeyrac is this tired, you have to treat him like an easily startled animal otherwise the aftermath will not be pleasant.

"Three."

"Courf…"

"It's fine, it's fine. I'm getting home at a decent hour tonight, aren't I?"

They were. It was practically unheard of for any of them to make the 5:30 shuttle back to residence during the week – it usually ended up being more like 7:30 or 8. Enjolras was still at the school of course, he couldn't be pried away from his essay on Ethical Practice in Law, but Courf called it quits in favour of helping 'Ferre study in exchange for his special spaghetti dinner.

"Is Marius coming over tonight for dinner?"

"Hmmmm?" Courfeyrac's head was on its way down to rest on Combeferre's shoulder, so 'Ferre immediately regrets asking his question: it causes that much-loved head of black curls to jerk back up and away. Courf blinks bleary eyes at his friend.

"No," he finally replies. "The jerk finished his paper, with Cosette's help. They're off at her parents' house in hope of endearing Marius to them further."

"Even after he broke M. Valjean's sliver candlestick set the last time?"

Courfeyrac nods. His eyes are already drifting shut again. Combeferre wonders just how many 3:00 AM nights his friend has pulled in a row, chiding himself on not forcing Courf to take better care of himself. But between keeping his own roommate from staying at the library 24/7 to looking after himself… 'Ferre has had his hands full!

"Here," 'Ferre whispers, pulling his beanie off his head and turning it inside out to display the fluffy lining. He lays the hat on his shoulder, then leans against the windowpane and guides Courfeyrac's curly head down onto the beanie-wearing shoulder. The other student barely mumbles out a "bless you to infinity and beyond" before snuggling closer and sighing into 'Ferre's neck.

And even though Combeferre still has five more finals to go, and dinner to make when he gets back to his room, and a tutoring session with a first year tomorrow morning at 8, and even though the wind is howling and the shuttle is moving at the exorbitant pace of an aged snail, he is now in Heaven.

He can't really watch Courf sleep, not while his face is buried in Combeferre's neck, but he can feel it and that is ten times better. Courf is in desperate need of a haircut and his curls are soft and long, a contrast to the itchy scruff he has (he didn't shave today or yesterday, it would seem.) It's all so perfectly Courfeyrac. The kick in his stomach is enough to inform Combeferre of what he already knows is blatantly true: he is head over heels, maybe more so with the exhaustion making everything that much softer. Head over heels, then over the head again.

He's going to have to store this moment away to remember, because since Courf has started seeing Azelma, opportunities to watch him sleep have been few and far between. Combeferre is always very careful not to cross any lines; he is positive Azelma knows what he is hiding, what he's been hiding for nine years, but she hasn't said a peep, and he isn't keen to give her reason to. And Courf seems happy, more himself than he's been in a while. Heaven forbid 'Ferre be the one to fuck that up.

University has been great in so many ways – they're back together at the same school again after all, even if 'Ferre isn't studying to be a lawyer like the rest of them – but it hasn't been easy. Enj is constantly fighting with his parents (they're constantly threatening to withdraw their support), and the group they cobbled together throughout high school has had its fair share of drama, from overnight stays in cells to fights over Marius Pontmercy of all people(!)

And of course, the car accident that took Courfeyrac's mom away from them too soon. Combeferre knows this time of year especially reminds his friend about it. Remembering how hollowed out Courfeyrac was in his grief sets 'Ferre's own chest to burning. He tightens his hold on the shoulder that isn't pressed close against his own, using his free hand to brush back the unruly curls that have fallen into Courf's face. 'Ferre just can't help himself – he's always been weak - so now he's questioning if this is anything like what Azelma feels for his friend. Because Combeferre feels like he might implode in on himself at any moment. Is all love like that? He isn't sure.

He hasn't ever let himself get close enough to Courf to even think about kissing him, let alone gone through with that…dream. But here, in this moment, with no one else on the shuttle but the driver to see, and with Courfeyrac upturning his sleeping face at just the right time, a soft dreamy smile stealing over his lips… Combeferre is far far too weak for his own good – he lets the moment overtake him and presses a soft kiss to Courfeyrac's forehead. Can't even bring himself to regret it.

"If you were mine, I think the strength of my feelings would still eat me up," Combeferre whispers hoarsely into the hair of the man he loves. "So, really, it's better that you will never love me like that. 'Cause what would I do with myself if you did?" He leans back to gaze at the sleeping face. It's so exhausted and pale, but so familiar and so very peaceful in this moment. Courf's eyelashes are (if this is even possible) darker than his hair, full and thick. They cut an absolutely delicious, graceful line across the ends of his eyelids.

Like chiaroscuro, Combeferre thinks. Like charcoal on white paper. Maybe you'll rub off on me because I am too close and everyone will see that I carry a piece of you with me always. Then he rubs his eyes with his free hand. Jesus. How tired am I?

And how much time have I spent with Feuilly that I know how charcoal behaves?

How melodramatic are you planning on being tonight, Brain?

It's not as if Courfeyrac's ever said he wasn't gay, but it's not as if he's said otherwise either. And if he hasn't by now, after 'Ferre came out as gay, then Enj came out as asexual and homoromantic, 'Ferre doesn't think Courf has a reason to. He's past arguing himself into and out of that kind of extraneous hope. It's all pent-up sorrow and pining now, because what else can you do when you're in love with your straight best friend who is dating someone else?

He pulls himself out of his whirlpool thoughts as the shuttle pulls up to the front of the university residence.

"Courf, come on, we're here." One melty brown eye opens, and then, slowly, the other follows.

"Already?" he croaks. Combeferre nods.

"Come on," he repeats, nudging his friend with his shoulder. "I'm starving. I'll let you sleep on the couch while I make dinner." Courfeyrac's burnt-out eyes light up at that, and Combeferre's heart and thoughts suddenly seem several tons lighter.

It could be worse, he thinks later that evening as he waits for the water to boil, watching Courfeyrac snuggle into place on the couch. He beams one last bright smile at 'Ferre, who smiles back with the freest of warmth, before Courf closes his heavy eyes once again. Much worse.