Three Months Ago
It's not as if there's never been another man besides Courfeyrac in Combeferre's life. There've been times, two, to be exact, where Combeferre thought there might even be loves greater than that of his unrequited love for his friend. They hadn't panned out, for reasons other than his feelings for Courf. And that had almost been worse, hadn't it? That Combeferre had personal issues to deal with on top of his hidden feelings? (He wishes he was half so well-adjusted as his friends thought he was.)
No, what he really wishes right now is that this latest break up had been like that, with real feelings and real problems. He wishes he could take back the whole of it, that whole… façade with Montparnasse.
Combeferre scrubs a long-fingered hand over his face. Perhaps the gin and tonics had been too much. They'd only inflamed the ache of his entire being when he glanced at Courf tearing it up on the dance floor, not dulled it like he'd so hoped.
He'd been holding himself together so well too. Everyone's happiness and well-wishes for Marius and Cosette on their special day had allowed him to ride above his regret. The only person who'd asked about 'Parnasse was poor Bossuet, ever the last to know about things through no fault of his own. Joly's apoplectic face as he pulled his boyfriend away had almost made it worth it anyway. Combeferre tries to laugh at the recollection, and he half-succeeds.
A loud laugh from Courfeyrac on the dance floor drowns out 'Ferre's half-hearted attempt. The Center has convinced the bride and groom to compete in a dance-off and by the looks of things, Marius is badly losing to his new wife. He doesn't seem to mind though, pink from alcohol and exertion and from smiling so wide.
"Are you doing ok, buddy?" Combeferre tears his gaze away from Courf's flailing frame to face Bahorel. He doesn't trust himself to speak, just takes a swig of his latest drink. "That good? Wow."
'Ferre winces, at the taste and the sentiment, then gestures to the floor. "What about you? Also not feeling up to it?"
Of everyone still at the reception, they are the only ones sitting the dancing out. Grantaire is even leading his new boyfriend around the floor in a slow waltz, despite the music being up-tempo. Enjolras' smile is telling everyone he doesn't mind R being in the lead for just this once.
Bahorel holds up his own glass. "I'm not much for dancing without any juice behind it, and well…" Combeferre nods. Better for Bahorel to stay away from that kind of juice, they all know that. He wishes he had also kept his distance, but it seemed a good idea at the time.
Combeferre feels his eyes magnetically drawn back to Courfeyrac, always back to Courfeyrac. He cannot seem to help it; the lavender shirt Courf is wearing isn't leaving much to the imagination either.
Bahorel grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him in tight. "I'm sure it's for the better, you and Montparnasse ending."
'Ferre snorts so hard he feels the burn of the gin in his esophagus. "I really wish that was what's bothering me."
"Ah. Right." Bahorel follows his wayward gaze to a certain someone on the dance floor. 'Ferre is sure it's obvious; it was obvious enough to Montparnasse. Enj has known for God knows how long and both Cosette and Eponine have tried to interrogate Combeferre over it on multiple occasions.
"I'm such an idiot," he says. The drink sloshes over his hand from his vehement gesture. It hurts in his gut, this admission, but he feels it has to be true. He can't look back at Bahorel, he can't look anywhere but at the man who's held his heart and his hope hostage for far too long.
"Maybe. About this at least."
Combeferre's head does turn to his friend at that. "Gee, thanks B. That makes me feel a whole lot better?"
"You said it, not me." Bahorel is watching Courf dance with a gleam in his eye; Combeferre can't help but feel like his friend is laughing at him.
He feels an argument on the boil inside him. "Well, maybe this time through with 'Parnasse." Admit your faults first. "But I'll have you know, I usually have stellar social intelligence." State your case. "I helped Courf help Marius propose, I've listened to more than my fair share of Jehan and Feuilly and Joly's individual love struggles, and, and: I convinced Enjolras to say yes when R finally asked him out." Back up your case with evidence and sources. "I think that's a pretty good track record, don't you?" Then finally, close neatly.
He finishes his impassioned tirade and looks over to see Bahorel sniggering.
"There we are. You sound like Combeferre again, not the mopey man drowning in his self-pity I first saw over here." Bahorel claps him on the back. 'Ferre feels his face heat up, but he smiles sheepishly back at him anyway. Maybe he's a fool about more than just unrequited feelings.
"Alright, I get it. Thanks, B."
Bahorel squeezes him again. "Don't mention it. Think I'm gonna turn in now, if you don't mind."
That's the best idea Combeferre has heard in a while.
He's just gotten out of his suit and into his pajama pants when there comes a knock on the door. At first, 'Ferre thinks he's just imagining it – the digital alarm clock says it's only one in the morning, which is still early for the partiers in the Amis – but then the knocking comes again, louder, more insistent.
"Coming!" he shouts, a little louder than perhaps necessary. Combeferre just barely remembers to throw on a t-shirt (he is never drinking this much gin again in his life) before jerking the door open to see…
"Courf?" The man in question is rocking back and forth on his feet and when he sees 'Ferre, the rocking intensifies.
Courfeyrac has his suit jacket in his hand and at least two more buttons undone on his (purple!) shirt then when Combeferre saw him last and Combeferre is really regretting the drinks now because he almost swears out loud. It's all he can do to tear his eyes away from the exposed skin when Courf asks "Can I come in?" as if the answer is or has ever been no. 'Ferre doesn't trust himself to say that coherently so he steps back to open the door wider.
"It doesn't sound like the party is winding down at all," he finally says as he's closing the door again. "Why'd you come upstairs?"
"Eh. Being the life of the party gets exhausting." Courfeyrac flashes him a conspiratorial grin, "And Marius and Cosette disappeared behind the base of the waterfall about half an hour ago. Took that as my cue to leave. I'm surprised E and R didn't beat them to it!" Combeferre makes a face but he is smiling. Courfeyrac smiles right back.
Then his gaze drops to the floor and all of the sudden there is a layer of awkwardness that has never once, not once, in all their years, been there before. Combeferre takes a step toward his friend, then:
"I actually came up here to talk to you…I feel like we haven't really had a chance to talk since it all went down with 'Parnasse…"
'Ferre isn't able to stop the curse from slipping out this time.
"What?"
He scrubs his hand over his face, hoping that will help clear his head. "I just."
Courf is looking at him again, and it's making it even harder to get the words out around the guilt and the burn and his roasted-over-a-spit heart.
"You just what?"
"I just had too much to drink tonight and I'm really tired and not in the mood for this right now, so if you want we can,"
" 'Ferre…"
"…talk in the morning, but could you just go now,"
"No, 'Ferre, come on!" It's Courf that takes the step this time,
"so I can have some water and maybe actually sleep and,"
"Combeferre!"
Combeferre finally stops. The shock does a better job of sobering him up than anything else has so far.
"What?" he says to Courf's exasperated face. "What do you want to talk about? There's nothing to say, he ended it with me, I knew he was going to and believe me he had good reasons, I've told you all this before…"
Courfeyrac's suit jacket is going to finish the night destroyed from all the twisting he's putting it through. " 'Ferre everyone's worried. I'm worried and I have the advantage of knowing you almost a decade longer than most of them do!"
"I'm fine!" Combeferre bursts out. He turns away and then turns back furiously (there isn't enough space to avoid those damn eyes in this damn room!) His frustration is mounting. "I told you…"
"No! You didn't!" At 'Ferre's pointed look, Courfeyrac amends, "I mean you did tell me, but you called Enjolras the night it happened. Enjolras! Over me!"
More shock is another pail of water thrown to help with sobriety. "Is that what this is about?" Combeferre asks. "That I went to Enj first…?"
"No! No, no, no, it's not…" Courf takes a deep breath, pulls his hands through his hair, tries again. "It's not what you think."
"Oh? Isn't it?" Combeferre feels the frustration begin to override whatever parts of his brain are sober, feels the years of hopeless pining and the last few months of hopeless hope sloshing around in his stomach with the gin. "Do enlighten me then."
"I just want to talk to you, 'Ferre. I want to talk. I want to talk to my best friend, who I feel like I haven't seen or heard from much at all in the last five months!" He says it all so desperately, waving his hands and then pushing them through his curls again; he's thrown his jacket somewhere behind him, 'Ferre can't see where, and it's just too much. Now he has two sets of guilt eating through his esophagus. Or maybe it's just the one, one terrible stream of hope-born guilt that Combeferre can mass into a ball in his stomach to digest later as soon as he gets. Courfeyrac. Out OF HERE!
It is true, he has been avoiding Courfeyrac. After months had gone by since Azelma and Courf's break up, months since that night at his apartment, months since Courf had admitted there was someone out there that he "felt more strongly for" than who he'd thought was the love of his life, Combeferre's hope had turned sour. He'd made himself face the fact that he wasn't that person - or that Courf hadn't meant it, or didn't remember, or any number of alternative and very plausible facts - and decided to do his best to put his romantic feelings aside. Combeferre had thought that might've meant seeing him less for a few months, but then Montparnasse happened and…well, now he was facing it all over again after his catastrophic attempt at a distraction relationship had failed. And here at Marius and Cosette's wedding too!
"Do you really have nothing to say?"
He really doesn't.
Courfeyrac comes forward again; now there isn't a single piece of hotel furniture standing between them.
"Combeferre, please," he says, in the gentlest tone 'Ferre thinks he's ever heard him use. "Please talk to me. I want to help! I can see you're hurting, about 'Parnasse or…"
"I don't want to talk about Montparnasse!" Combeferre shouts. "I don't want to talk about him, not tonight or to anyone here, but most definitely not to you!"
And fuck that hadn't come out at all how Combeferre wanted it to.
Courfeyrac looks like a startled pup. He looks down, shakes his head, takes one hesitant step forward, and is then striding for the door like his life depends on it.
Combeferre slowly sinks down on the edge of the bed, just needing to feel something semi-solid beneath him. He thinks he wants to cry but can't muster the breath or the energy. He buries his head in his hands, waiting to hear the terminal door slam. It never does.
"Combeferre, I…" 'Ferre's head whips up so fast he nearly collides with Courfeyrac's chin. They both recoil. Then Courf tries to speak again. He's just standing there, fiddling with his hands nervously in absence of his jacket, and something in Combeferre's roasted heart sputters back into existence.
"I wanted to talk about Montparnasse because…there's something I've been trying to tell you for months now and I…" he bites his lip. "Do you remember the night of Jehan's exhibition? I called you?" The switch in trajectory isn't helping Combeferre feel less confused, but he nods. "You said you couldn't make it 'cause you were sick but that was a lie," Yeah, another thing to feel guilty about, "because you'd just gone on your third date with Montparnasse. When I called, you told me he'd asked you to be his boyfriend." 'Ferre nods again, because Courf is looking at him with those melty brown eyes and with his shirt still unbuttoned, and because Combeferre can't think enough to do anything else.
"Well. I called that night because Jehan told me where you really were after I…after we'd had a talk and I wanted to…needed to tell you…" he trails off yet again. Combeferre can see his pulse jumping in his neck. "Fuck it! Here it goes!" Courfeyrac grabs 'Ferre's hands and pulls him to standing; they're almost chest to chest. Courf has to hold his elbows out to the sides to keep their hands clasped because there is literally no extra room between them, not with the table behind Courf and the bed behind Combeferre. What the actual fuck is happening? Combeferre thinks, the first full thought he's had since Courf didn't leave like he'd expected him to.
Courfeyrac licks his lips, then blows air through them slowly. "I called that night to tell you I'd…I'd figured it out, that I love you like I've loved no one else, yes, romantically," (at Combeferre's befuddled and amazed look) "and that Azelma was right, right about everything, but I was the idiot who'd taken too goddamn long to figure that out, it wasn't until Jehan…and I had to call you when I found out you'd gone out with 'Parnasse again, before it was too late, but then I called and it was…"
Combeferre belatedly recalls the details of that night: tipsy on wine from dinner and high on the fact that Montparnasse had asked him to be his boyfriend, that someone wanted him even if Courfeyrac didn't, except now it turned out that…
"…And so now Montparnasse is gone and I'm sorry to ambush you like this at a wedding of all places but I had to tell you and I had no guarantee I would see you anywhere else before now because you have been avoiding me and I'm sorry I'm so sorry so very very sor - !"
Combeferre lets go of Courf's admittedly (very) sweaty hands and grabs his (very) silky shirt and mashes their faces together so hard he thinks he might have drawn blood?
But boy has that never mattered less.
Courfeyrac freezes for barely half a second before his hands wind around Combeferre's body, one going to tangle in the ends of his hair and the other to rest on the small of his back. He pulls Combeferre even closer; 'Ferre can't help but let out a small moan. For a split second, Combeferre allows himself to get lost in the feel of Courf's lips on his and his hands holding 'Ferre so tenderly and the hair that 'Ferre has always adored and oh God.
How can this be happening, be better than I ever dreamed? Then, he realizes he's still clutching at Courfeyrac's shirt. He lets go and rests his hands on Courf's muscled shoulders, using them as leverage to pull his lips away – there's no other way he would manage to do that, he's sure.
And then there they are. Just holding each other in Combeferre's hotel room.
"You're sorry?" 'Ferre whispers. He's smiling so wide he thinks his face might just stay like that (which has the complete opposite affect of that tested and true mother threat – he'd be more than ok if it did.) "You're? Sorry?" Courf giggles. His face is flushed and his hair is a right mess (from Combeferre's! Hands!) but he's never looked more radiant. "I'm sorry you ever had to think 'Parnasse was anything more than an attempt at distracting me from you, and a shit one at that." Combeferre rests their foreheads together because he can now and Courfeyrac closes his melting-pot eyes and Combeferre's heart splits down the middle for the second time.
"I'm sorry," he says once again, meaning it more than he could mean anything else right now. "I'm sorry I wasted all that time, I…"
Courfeyrac cuts him off with another messy kiss. His tongue pushes past Combeferre's teeth and 'Ferre fucking whimpers. Then Courf is pulling back and they're both panting, chests rising and falling together.
"No more apologies," he declares.
Then he pushes Combeferre back and onto the bed.
Combeferre wakes up with a start. He's never understood how it works when characters fall asleep someplace new or strange in fiction and they wake up not knowing where they are; he's never had that problem himself.
No, he wakes up violently, the last vestiges of some unpleasant dream leaving his memory, but he most definitely remembers where he is and everything that happened before he fell asleep.
He just can't quite believe it.
To think this was how his night was going to turn out…And he'd been dreading this wedding reception with the very fibers of his being!
Combeferre registers the strong, warm arms he's encased in. Has he ever felt this alive? Can't think of another time, no. He reaches down with his mouth to kiss the hand wrapping around the front of his chest (it's easy to find even in the dark because Courf is so warm and his paler hand stands out against Combeferre's own brown skin.)(How in the world is this happening, you ask? 'Ferre has no idea either. He sort of feels like he's moving in a dream.)
They will certainly have some explaining to do in the morning – no one will believe they didn't 'sleep' together after this, even though it was just a lot of long overdue making out and talking – but Combeferre finds he can't quite bring himself to care.
He turns over in Courf's arms, jostling him awake a little. There is no way of avoiding that and 'Ferre mostly just wants to marvel at the face he loves most as he falls back asleep.
"Wha…?" Courf murmurs. He manages to blink one eye open but can't quite get the other one to follow suit. "Mmmbbbeferre?"
"Sh, don't worry. Woke up from a dream and wanted to see you is all."
Courfeyrac closes his one eye and pushes his face flat into his pillow. "Should'a known you'd be real sentimental 'bout all this," is what 'Ferre can make out through the pillow, but given the warmth and the dreamy sigh in Courf's voice, he doesn't think the other man minds. He pushes himself up on his elbow, carefully avoiding Courf's arms. At the sight of Courfeyrac's long curls, Combeferre has an impulse. Since he's allowed now (invited, even!) to follow through on his impulses where Courf is concerned… 'Ferre brushes his hand through the curls around Courf's ear and Courf hums happily when he tucks them behind. Now that's a sound Combeferre doesn't think he'll ever get tired of.
"Damn right I'm sentimental," he breathes, resting his hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder. "I've been in love with you since the seventh grade." It's supposed to sound all romantic and sweet, and it does, but Courf sits up like he's been electrocuted.
"Wait, what?"
Combeferre's arm freezes where it is on Courf's shoulder, making for a very awkward pose with Courf sitting all the way up. Did I come on too strong with that? Did I freak him out? But now, he wants to be honest even at the expense of freaking Courfeyrac out.
'Ferre sits up all the way so they're facing each other cross-legged on the bed. "I…I've been in love with you since you were fourteen and I was thirteen? You remember how weird and clingy I was that year?" Courfeyrac is staring at him, but it's hard to tell what he's thinking through the early morning dark and the absence of glasses. "I only figured it out when you won that chess match but…yeah…" he trails off helplessly.
"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Courf is quiet and hoarse from sleep and disbelief.
"I dunno. It seemed…impossible? And when I came out, then Enj did, and you didn't I guess I just assumed…" Combeferre watches Courf shake his head, just barely able to make out a small smile on his lips.
"Guess I don't blame you. I also just assumed I was straight! For almost twenty-eight years!" 'Ferre bursts out laughing and Courfeyrac joins him – it takes them a while to calm down enough to feel the absurdity of the hour once more. They lie back down, Courf still giggling and Combeferre feeling a burst of happiness at the thought of many more hours of making him laugh in the future. Courf finally stops giggling, and as he does, he grabs 'Ferre's hand and kisses it like 'Ferre himself had done when he'd first woken up.
"Courfeyrac?" Combeferre asks, before their eyes slip shut agin.
"Yes, Combeferre?" There is still a laugh present in that voice.
"Now that I'm not as plastered, do you think we could try that goodnight kiss again?"
That brings the full laugh out once more, but it's muffled by a terribly sweet and utterly gentle and completely unmatched goodnight (morning) kiss.