Replacing the Poetic With the Real (3128 words) by eirenical
Chapters: 1/3
Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Characters: Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Combeferre (Les Misérables), Enjolras (Les Misérables), Grantaire (Les Misérables), Les Amis de l'ABC
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Panic Attacks, Sexual Content, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Minor Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Pining, Aromantic Asexual Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

August 8, 2014: And that's a wrap, both to Courferre week, and this fic. ^_^ I just made it. *cheers* And now I have to get ready for a night out. *salutes* 'Night everyone! ;D

Replacing the Poetic With the Real - Chapter 3
by eirenical

The two weeks passed. Courfeyrac ate, showered, went to class, came home, and did his homework, all mechanically. He couldn't shake the feeling that in another two weeks, his world was going to explode in his face a second time, that everything that he'd so painstakingly put back together was going to fall apart. The night before his birthday was a solemn affair. He and Combeferre spent it sitting on the couch, pressed against each other, limbs entwined. Neither said much of anything. Neither did much of anything. Certainly, neither of them slept.

At 6:29 AM on the dot, Courfeyrac started slowly peeling out of his clothes, his heart beating a little faster with every piece of skin revealed. Between them, he and Combeferre inspected every inch of his body. Every inch. And found nothing. No graceful calligraphy. No block type. No handwritten scrawl. Nothing. So great was the force of Courfeyrac's relief that he couldn't utter a single word.

It wasn't that Courfeyrac didn't want a soul mate. It was all he'd ever wanted since he was young. The problem was that he wanted a specific person as his soul mate… and he couldn't have him. And if he couldn't have Combeferre as his soul mate… he'd rather not have one at all. Because, soul mates or not, he didn't want to leave Combeferre. He loved him just as much as he had two weeks ago, just as much as he had two months ago… just as much as he had two years ago. And he would stay by him for as long as he could, for as long as Combeferre would let him. And he would hope that when Combeferre eventually met his soul mate, he would at least not be pushed aside completely. For, despite Combeferre's every reassurance, he had no illusions that Combeferre would stay with him once he found his soul mate. All the stories, all the legends… everything pointed to the fact that soul mates were made to be together, that no one ever wanted to, much less tried to, resist a soul bond. And how could he expect Combeferre to resist if no one had ever done so before? Then again, if anyone could do it, if anyone would try to… it would be Combeferre. Courfeyrac just wasn't that strong.

So the fact that Courfeyrac had no tattoo, that he had no soul mate, was the next best thing to it being Combeferre. Because even the thought of having to worry about ducking two potential soul mates was more than Courfeyrac could handle. But neither spoke about it, almost afraid that to call attention to his lack of one would make a tattoo suddenly appear, even late as it was. They just moved themselves from the couch to their bed and laid there for the rest of the day, exchanging gentle touches and occasional kisses, slowly recovering from the scare they'd both had and reassuring each other that they still had each other... for now, at least.

It was another three days before Courfeyrac could bear to speak to his friends again. He was welcomed back with open arms, of course, but he was still subdued and they all respected that. Even Enjolras treated him with kid gloves that night, still under the impression that he'd somehow been the cause of Courfeyrac's absence. Courfeyrac reassured him that while he might have been the catalyst, he wasn't the reason. They were good.

Enjolras smiled, gripped Courfeyrac's shoulder. "I'm glad. I like you, Courfeyrac. You were missed."

That, at least, won him a smile. Courfeyrac lifted a hand to cover Enjolras' with a light squeeze. "Sorry, my friend. It hasn't been an easy year for me. It was supposed to be the best year of my life and it's somehow turned into the worst. I hope that was the last of the drama for a while, though, because I honestly don't know how much more I can take."

Enjolras nodded as he settled down across from him. He hesitated for a moment, more uncertain than Courfeyrac had ever seen him, eventually said, "Do you want to talk about it?" He squeezed Courfeyrac's shoulder again. "Not that you have to. But if it would help...?" He trailed off, eyebrows lifting along with the pitch of his voice on that last word.

Courfeyrac really didn't want to. He didn't want to dredge it all up. He didn't want Enjolras to think any less of him than he already did for disappearing. But a little voice piped up in the back of his mind, insisting that, of course, Enjolras didn't think any less of him, that he only wanted to support him... to be a friend. And he couldn't think of a better way to repay that unwavering support than with the full truth. So, Courfeyrac told him. He told him about Combeferre, about how they'd grown up together, inseparable best friends for years. He told him about how they'd both dated other people, afraid to even broach the possibility of them being soul mates, both of them absolutely certain that they were, on the one hand, and desperately afraid that they weren't on the other. And if they weren't, how much worse would it be for them if they let their hopes rise that high? If they were in a relationship with each other when they found out?

Eventually, though, optimism had won out and they'd cautiously started dating each other. It was hard, at first, quirks that were perfectly acceptable in a friend suddenly not as acceptable in a lover. They also found they had to set new boundaries when they discovered exactly how much more of their time was now wrapped up in each other. But, they'd persevered. They learned to live with each other's quirks, even grew to love some of them. They learned to give each other signals when the time together was bordering on too much and they needed a break. They had to work at it. They had to work hard at it. But it was worth it. And it was still worth it, even with the recent heartache.

Frowning, Enjolras interrupted. "You mean finding out that you weren't each other's soul mates."

Courfeyrac cautiously nodded. He knew Enjolras' opinions on soul mates. Enjolras made no secret of it. To put it mildly, he was not a fan. The entire concept disgusted him, that some higher power - a god, or fate, or biology, or whatever - could lay out any part of your life for you as an unchangeable truth, to be told that you must love this person whether you liked it or not. Courfeyrac had never considered that side of the argument. He'd never allowed himself to consider it. He did now.

Enjolras shook his head. "It isn't right, Courfeyrac. Just look at your own situation. You and Combeferre love each other. You've worked hard to form the best, most stable relationship you can and, thanks to someone neither of you has even met, you're now going to live in constant fear that it could be ripped away from you. It isn't-"

"-right. I know, Enjolras. Believe me, I know." Sighing heavily, Courfeyrac dropped his head onto his hands. "Damn it." Looking up suddenly, he asked, "I don't suppose I could convince everyone to move this meeting to a bar, could I? Suddenly I could use a dri- oh wait. Damn it. Sorry, Enjolras. I forgot you're not twenty-one."

When Enjolras didn't immediately respond or rebuff the idea, Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. In response, Enjolras cleared his throat. "Courfeyrac… if that's really what you need, we can go to a bar. I turned twenty-one last year." At Courfeyrac's raised eyebrow, Enjolras shrugged his shoulders and explained, "I took a year off before college. I wanted to see the world, have some experience living in it before I decided what I wanted to do with my life."

Before Courfeyrac could respond to that new tidbit of information, Grantaire's voice rang out from the other side of the Musain. "Well, is that so? You have a tattoo, Enjolras? Want to share with the rest of the class? Just a little casual disrobing amongst friends?"

Courfeyrac cursed under his breath as Grantaire wandered over. Even though they'd been slowly getting better around each other, he and Enjolras were still oil and water, still couldn't seem to discuss anything without it turning into an argument, at best, and into a fight, at worst... and this was looking like a situation that might end up as the latter. It was extremely gauche to ask people about their tattoos. It was a tender subject for some. Not everyone had a tattoo. Not everyone wanted one if they did. It was better not to ask, at all, unless the other person volunteered the information. So Courfeyrac had no idea which of their friends might have tattoos apart from Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta. It had never occurred to him to ask. He didn't even know if Grantaire had a tattoo, but as pointed a line of questioning as he was engaging in now, suddenly Courfeyrac wondered.

Enjolras blushed, crossed his arms over his chest and muttered, "I don't see how it's any of your business, Grantaire. If I have a tattoo, it's between I and my future 'soul mate' alone. And I'll thank you kindly not to pry again."

But Grantaire would not be forestalled for long. After a few rounds about the Musain, he managed to get Bahorel and Prouvaire on his side in badgering Enjolras. Shocked that those two would join Grantaire in this massive breech of common decency, Courfeyrac noted that he and Feuilly alone had abstained from influence… but given the pointed looks on everyone else's faces, Courfeyrac began to wonder if they all knew something that he didn't.

As they took turns wheedling, bullying and gently cajoling, Enjolras' face got redder and redder and redder. Feuilly looked like he was beyond ready to intervene, but before he could, Enjolras threw his hands in the air and cried, "Enough! Enough, already. For goodness' sake. If it's that important to you… if I show you will you leave me in peace?" When all surrounding the table solemnly nodded, Enjolras heaved a great sigh and picked his foot up to rest it on the table. He pulled up his pant leg and rolled down his sock. Around his ankle there was a ring of words in simple, yet elegant, print font. They read, ~Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck. FUCK.~

Bahorel coughed. Prouvaire snickered. Feuilly winced and patted Enjolras' shoulder. Grantaire simply sat there unmoving, mouth agape, eyes wide. Enjolras' embarrassment made a bit more sense now. Though far from a delicate flower, Enjolras had been raised with a certain set of sensibilities. Excessively proper language was one of them. In addition to that, he believed in the power of language, that the right set of words strung together in the right order could change the world. He didn't exactly look down on people who used to profanity to make their point, but he would never do it himself. He found it distasteful. So, to have a word like that tattooed on himself not once but five times… well. No wonder he was embarrassed. Knowing that his soul mate was the kind of person who would utter those words at their first meeting had to be worse, still.

Reaching out, Courfeyrac patted Enjolras' hand. "Oh honey. That's… rough."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Satisfied, Grantaire? Can I pull my sock back up, now?"

Grantaire nodded, suddenly more subdued than he'd been all night, more subdued than he ever really was. With a soft, self-directed smile, he said, "Sure. Thanks, Enjolras. We're good." Then he walked away.

As he pulled his clothing back in order and dropped his foot back to the floor, Enjolras asked, "What was that all about?"

Prouvaire winced. "I think I'd rather not say. I'll go sort him out. Just… just keep your distance for a while, OK?"

"Still want that drink?"

Courfeyrac looked up, startled, to meet Bahorel's quirked eyebrow. All thoughts of his own worries had fled when faced with Grantaire's strange reaction. "I think maybe I'll see what's going on with Grantaire, instead. Thanks for the offer, though." Standing up, he nodded at each of them in turn. "I'll see you all at the next meeting, all right?"

It took both Courfeyrac and Prouvaire to convince Grantaire to leave the Musain - to leave Enjolras - but fortunately it took only the hint of Joly and Bossuet joining them at the Corinthe to cajole him into better spirits. Joly had melded into their half of the group like he'd been part of it all along and he, Bossuet and Grantaire had spent many a night enjoying each other's company at the Corinthe. They were well known there, for their generous tipping and their good nature. If anyone could get Grantaire to open up about what was bothering him, they could.

Still, it took more bottles than usual to limber Grantaire's usually free tongue, and it took more persuasion than any one of them possessed alone to get it to discuss this fresh pain. And once it had… Courfeyrac almost wished he could go back to unknowing.

"Is that even possible? How?"

Courfeyrac shrugged, resumed pacing the living room. "How should I know? Clearly it is possible. It happened." He shook his head. "I thought nothing could be worse than the situation you and I are in, but I wouldn't trade it for Grantaire's for anything." He paused in his pacing, draped over the back of the couch to press a kiss to Combeferre's cheek. "Could you even imagine? If you were my soul mate, but I was someone else's? How awful…"

Combeferre turned his head to press his forehead against Courfeyrac's. "And he's sure he couldn't possibly have said those words to Enjolras at their first meeting?"

Courfeyrac shook his head, then climbed over the couch to settle next to Combeferre. "In his way, he's as elitist about his language as Enjolras. In that, at least, they're perfectly matched. The only difference is that Grantaire will curse, but only strategically, never casually. That kind of repetition isn't his style, even when drunk."

Combeferre threaded their fingers together, placed a soft kiss on Courfeyrac's knuckles. "And there's no way that someone else could have said the words of Grantaire's tattoo to him?"

"No. They were… well. They were pretty specific and the wording was pure Enjolras. There's no mistaking it. Besides, Feuilly remembers the night. It was an event and they were recording for the Youtube channel. It's all on film." Courfeyrac rested his head against Combeferre's shoulder. "You know what?" At Combeferre's softly querying noise, he said, "I'm really starting to hate soul bonds. Whoever came up with this system…" He sighed. "To think I ever wanted one."

Combeferre went stiff and still, his hand tightening almost painfully on Courfeyrac's. Courfeyrac waited him out, recognizing one of Combeferre's fierce internal debates when he saw one. Finally, Combeferre turned and pressed Courfeyrac back into the cushions of the couch with a firm kiss. When they parted, both panting for air, he said fiercely, "I love you. I love you. You still believe that, don't you?" When Courfeyrac nodded, Combeferre buried his face in the crook of his neck with another soft sob of, "I love you."

Courfeyrac held Combeferre close, his heart breaking at this sign that he wasn't the only one strained by the situation. He held Combeferre close for the rest of the night, doing nothing but affirming him with a return of those words every time he spoke them.

"I love you, too."

By unspoken agreement, Grantaire's revelation never reached Enjolras' ears. It would have been unkind to force that situation into the open, would have done nothing but make Grantaire more uncomfortable. So they carried on as they always did, with Grantaire worshipping his soul mate from afar, and his soul mate being none the wiser.

Instead, they turned their attention to other things. The school board had agreed to the tuition hikes and had cut the work-study programs which had lost funding, and had made no announcements that they would seek to replace them with others. Once that was common knowledge, Enjolras had quickly turned their attention to approaching various organization and donors in the area. He traded shamelessly on his family's reputation to convince people to donate money for scholarships so as to mitigate the effects of the increased tuition on those already at the school who might now be turned away.

Like Feuilly.

Enjolras never said it, but they all understood that this was personal for him because of Feuilly. As things stood now, Feuilly wouldn't be returning to school next semester. He couldn't afford it. Enjolras would have paid his tuition outright if Feuilly would have let him do it, but even Courfeyrac knew Feuilly well enough by now to know that that would never happen. He wouldn't appreciate being singled out for favor like that, wouldn't want to feel as if he weren't earning his own way. So they threw their support out to everyone who needed it, having to be content in the knowledge that it would help Feuilly just the same.

They held meetings and they made appointments with department heads. They made of themselves a general nuisance all over campus… and they got nowhere. Finally Enjolras proposed another rally. Planned for the right time, with the right temptations to draw people, they could get a large majority of the student body to hear their arguments, and hopefully join them. And with that kind of campus-wide support, maybe they could finally convince the administration not to be so apathetic at the loss of a few of the less affluent students. Just because they lacked funds didn't mean that they had no right to be there. Just because they were working class students didn't mean they weren't valuable members of the school and community – quite the opposite, in fact. It was beyond time for the administration and the student body to wake up to that fact.

Courfeyrac threw himself into the preparations along with everyone else. They'd picked up a few new freshmen recruits along the way, and for two of them - Marius and Eponine - this issue was just as deeply personal as it was for Feuilly. Cosette was well off enough that it didn't personally affect her, but she'd known Eponine since they were children, and Cosette was not the type to sit idly by while someone she knew lost her chance at an education. Only a stroke of pure luck had seen her out of the foster care system which had nearly ruined them both into a more well-to-do family, and she was determined to take every advantage of that luck to help others. All three were motivated, they were energetic, and they were a charismatic draw to the younger classes. They couldn't have joined up at a better time.

The day of the rally, the turnout was phenomenal. Courfeyrac couldn't have been prouder if he'd personally invited each and every person on that lawn. And Enjolras was in top form. So was Feuilly. They both delivered speeches - Enjolras with his high rhetoric and Feuilly with his straightforward and practical appeal. Then Grantaire surprised them all with a speech of his own - and a good one at that. There was a flood of students at the information tables by the time he was done. Courfeyrac didn't know what possessed him to do it. Though he'd known Grantaire capable of great feats of persuasion, Grantaire had never shown any passion for the activism engaged in by the rest of Les Amis. Passion for Enjolras, yes, but never for his cause. He was more wont to spend his eloquence on random founts of information which was only obliquely related to the meeting topic at hand. It wasn't until Courfeyrac caught the considering look Enjolras turned Grantaire's way, the hint of pride, of approval in his gaze, and the way that Grantaire ducked his head, a light blush staining his cheeks under that regard, that he thought he understood. Soul bonds weren't everything. Weren't he and Combeferre living proof of that? Maybe Grantaire had decided that it was better to take a risk - on activism, on involvement, on caring… on Enjolras - even if his soul bond wasn't reciprocal.

Within an hour, they could all see how well the rally was going - far better than any of them had even hoped. Some of the faculty even turned out to speak. Courfeyrac took his own turn at the microphone when it looked like Bahorel might try to do it - after all, the last thing they wanted was to turn this positive energy into a riot and Bahorel… well. His excitement had a way of turning physical and dragging others along with him. Courfeyrac had a way of getting people riled up, too, but Prouvaire or Bossuet always followed him on the mic and were just as adept at mellowing people down as Courfeyrac was in firing them up.

By the time Enjolras and Feuilly were finishing up their final address, Courfeyrac was no longer standing alone where he'd placed himself to watch.

"You weren't kidding. He is a walking master class in rhetoric."

Courfeyrac spun and grabbed the person who'd come up behind him in a tight hug. "Combeferre! You came! Did you catch any of the other speeches? Did you catch mine?"

Combeferre wrapped his arms tightly around Courfeyrac in return, flushed and more excited than Courfeyrac had seen him in some time. "They're broadcasting it on the campus station and a few of the local news stations, as well. I didn't get here in time to see you, but I heard you," he held up his phone before continuing, "And that decided me on coming down here." Dropping a quick kiss onto Courfeyrac's lips, Combeferre said, "You were amazing. I… well. I didn't realize you had this in you. But, it's good. I'm proud of you. I think maybe you were right. Maybe I should meet the man who inspired it."

Courfeyrac was still basking in that praise, thrilled beyond belief that he'd finally gotten Combeferre to see what they were all about, when Enjolras and Feuilly finally wrapped their speech and stepped down off the podium. They were still talking when they reached Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and Courfeyrac opened his mouth to jump into the conversation, too.

Enjolras laughed and held up a hand, quoting in his response as he was wont to do when excited, but too full of good cheer to rein it in or attempt to rephrase. "'Today, for the first time since the existence of societies it is a question of organizing a totally new system; of replacing the celestial with the terrestrial, the vague with the positive, and the poetic with the real.' We're at the start of that new day, gentlemen! Our time is coming." And as Enjolras spoke those words, eyes wide with triumphant joy, Courfeyrac went utterly still. And no one seemed to notice. No one seemed to care what had just happened.

Courfeyrac knew those words. He knew them inside and out. How many times had he traced them with his tongue, desperately hoping he could somehow erase them? How many times had he woken in the middle of the night, straining his eyes to read them in the dark? How many times had they haunted his nightmares? He should have known. All the blood drained from his face then as he realized…

Combeferre had known. He'd known that first morning that Courfeyrac had come home babbling about Enjolras like an idiot. That was why he'd refused to meet him. That was why he'd changed the subject so quickly whenever Courfeyrac even brought him up in conversation. That had been Combeferre's way of putting off the inevitable and if Courfeyrac had just realized-

But he hadn't.

Courfeyrac hadn't understood until it was far too late. And it was. It was far, far too late. Because he could see it. Enjolras had a gift for lighting a fire under people and he would light a fire under Combeferre for certain. And Courfeyrac could just imagine the good Combeferre could do if someone finally convinced him to get that gigantic brain of his out of his theoretical studies and into practical applications. Hadn't he been trying for years? But Enjolras… Enjolras wouldn't just try. He would do it. That was what Enjolras did best - inspire others. And it was perfect. And they would love each other.

…and where was there room for Courfeyrac in that equation? In one fell swoop he would lose his beloved and his best friend.

The air around Courfeyrac seemed to grow thinner, and suddenly it was nigh impossible to get in a full breath. The only hope he had was that like Grantaire and Enjolras, maybe Enjolras would be Combeferre's soul mate, but Combeferre wouldn't be his. Then maybe… maybe he had a chance to sidestep this enactment of his worst nightmare. He fought the instinctive panic, struggled to take in deeper breaths, so he'd be able to hear what Combeferre said in response. Because, like Grantaire, Combeferre wasn't someone who cursed often. And he had to remember - it hadn't been that long ago - that Courfeyrac had told him about Enjolras' tattoo. All he had to do was remember and just… say something else. Surely he would… wouldn't he?

Courfeyrac wasn't even aware that his knees were wobbling at the effort until he nearly lost his footing and Grantaire quietly stepped up from behind and caught him. But it was all for nothing. Grantaire might just as well have let him fall.

Because Combeferre either didn't remember… or didn't care. His reaction to Enjolras' words was to say, quietly at first, then with rising passion, "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck." And with those words, Courfeyrac's last hope got up and flew out the window… and he passed out in a dead faint, right in Grantaire's arms.

When Courfeyrac woke up, the first thing he noticed was that he was on the ground and there was a tree root digging into his lower back. His upper back and head were resting in someone's lap and he was being cradled close to someone's chest. There was a cool, damp cloth resting on his forehead and equally cool fingers were sifting through his hair. And Courfeyrac would know that touch, anywhere.

Combeferre.

He was talking, animatedly so, and Enjolras' voice was filling in every pause that Combeferre's left. Courfeyrac's heart clenched, spasmed like a dying thing in his chest, but he said nothing. He didn't move. He barely breathed. He didn't dare. Because he was absolutely certain that minute Enjolras and Combeferre knew he was awake, he'd be pushed aside - gently, but that didn't mean it would hurt any less - and put somewhere out of the way where he couldn't interfere with their newly clinched soul bond. For as much as Combeferre had told him he wouldn't leave and as often as Enjolras had expressed his utter disdain for soul bonds, there was still no denying that they two were perfect for each other, that this wouldn't have happened if Combeferre hadn't wanted it to. Enjolras would bring out the passion in Combeferre, and Combeferre would temper Enjolras' more radical tendencies. They'd be a force to be reckoned with when they got going. And Courfeyrac couldn't see any room for himself in the middle of that.

Even listening to the two of them was painful. Enjolras was excited, he'd be flushed with it, gesturing wildly with his hands and rocking forward nearly onto his knees from his cross-legged posture on the ground. And Combeferre… Courfeyrac could feel it every time he leaned forward to emphasize a point, could easily pick out the slight breathiness his voice always got as he began to speak faster and settle into formal debate mode. And there was something about listening to the two of them parry back and forth with swords made of words and logic… it was beautiful. And they sounded so happy. They really were soul mates. What right did Courfeyrac have to even want to stand in the way of that?

Something must have given Courfeyrac away, despite his best efforts at keeping still and silent. For at that moment, the motions of Combeferre's hand changed from idle sifting to purposeful strokes. He leaned close to Courfeyrac's ear and Courfeyrac braced himself for what would come next, already unsure if he would just accept it, or if he would fight for all he was worth.

And Combeferre said…

"I love you. And I know you're awake. I'd also appreciate it if you don't faint ever again. One scare like that was almost more than I could take. Two just might kill me."

I love you.

~I love you.~

…I love you.

What?

Courfeyrac opened his eyes, now desperately afraid that those words had been a hallucination brought on by stress. He struggled upright, heart hammering in his chest as the ground swayed beneath him, nearly forcing him to deny Combeferre's request that he not faint again as soon as he'd made it.

Enjolras' eyes narrowed and he reached out a hand to grip Courfeyrac's shoulder. "I realize you just fainted, but… Courfeyrac, even for just fainting, you really don't look so good. Do you want me to get Joly?"

Courfeyrac let out a high, awkward bark of laughter and shook his head. When Combeferre and Enjolras continued to look merely concerned, Courfeyrac finally decided he'd had enough. Gesticulating wildly between the three of them, he shouted a bit hysterically, "Are we really still not going to talk about this giant, pink elephant even though it's now stampeding over us?"

Combeferre and Enjolras looked at each other, just… looked. And Courfeyrac could practically feel it as some mutual understanding passed between them and it was more than he could take right then. Burying his hands in his hair, he started furiously tugging as he launched himself to his feet and started pacing back and forth as far as the small circle of friends surrounding him would allow. Even as distracted as he was, he could hear Grantaire quietly offer to take him somewhere to cool down, to get a drink, to talk about it - whatever - and he braced himself for the words that would push him away.

…only they never came.

Combeferre and Enjolras stood up, quickly bracketing him between them, and enveloped him in a tight embrace. The press of bodies against him - of those two bodies against him - was nearly enough to send him spiraling back into hysterics, but he choked it off, desperate to regain some semblance of dignity.

By the time Courfeyrac finally did get his reaction leashed, Combeferre was pressed against his back, perfectly aligned along him from shoulders to knee, arms wrapped around his waist and chin tucked over his right shoulder, and Enjolras was mirroring that posture along his front. In spite of his fear, in spite of the fact that every instinct he had was screaming at him that this was about to go horribly, horribly wrong… Courfeyrac couldn't deny that this was the safest he'd felt in months - since Combeferre's birthday. Once he had calmed, Enjolras lifted his head from where it had been tucked over Courfeyrac's left shoulder to look him right in the eyes. Once Courfeyrac met his gaze, he said simply, "Courfeyrac… you are one of my best, most trusted friends. And I think you should know me well enough by now to know that I don't say that lightly. I think you should also know me well enough by now to know that, like you, I value my friends' happiness above my own. And Combeferre loves you. Neither of us wants to cause you pain. This will change nothing."

Courfeyrac shook his head, choked out a soft, "But that's not how it works," then fell silent again, afraid that by trying to say any more, he would say too much.

"And why not?"

All four of them turned at that. Feuilly had come up to stand beside Grantaire, his arms folded over his chest and a scowl deeply etched into his face. He said again, "And why not? Why can't it work that way? Why can't soul mates be friends and nothing more? Soul bonds have nothing to do with sexual or romantic attraction."

This time it was Grantaire who interrupted. "And what makes you such an expert?"

As an answer, Feuilly lifted the edge of his shirt to reveal the words, "My goodness. Such talent is absolutely wasted on pigeons!" stamped in an elaborate script across the left side of his ribcage. Once the others had gotten over the shock, he said quietly, "Because I feel neither. I never have."

Enjolras took a step back from Courfeyrac and turned to face Feuilly, one hand outstretched. "I… not that I want to disprove what you're saying, since it so neatly supports my point, but Feuilly…. these things are fluid. You know that. What's to say that that won't change when you meet your soul mate? Your current absence of attraction proves nothing."

As he lowered his shirt, the scowl fell from Feuilly's face to be replaced by a soft smile. "Ah. But, that's where you're wrong. It proves everything… because I have met my soul mate. She is a very dear friend and she opened my eyes to a world and a life I would never have dared even dream of, much less hope for, on my own. She's the reason I'm here, at this school. She's the reason I fight so hard for Les Amis. She's the reason I am who I am today. I love her - very deeply - and she loves me just the same, but I'm not in love with her, nor is she with me, and that's all the proof I need."

Feuilly reached out then, cupped Courfeyrac's face in his hand. "Soul bonds aren't about love. They're about support and trust. They're about providing a strong enough foundation that a person can fly." He smiled as he stroked a thumb along Courfeyrac's cheek. "Have you never wondered why you don't have a tattoo?" When the only answer Courfeyrac could manage was a vigorous nod, Feuilly's smile widened. "It's because you don't need one. Courfeyrac… you're one of the most open people I know. You soak up knowledge and passion like a sponge and impart it in equal measure. I could see it that first day you joined up with us. You were closed off. You didn't understand the importance of what we were doing. But you stayed. You stayed and you listened until you understood. You changed yourself. You do it instinctively, constantly, taking in the best parts of everyone you know and sharing them with others. Why on Earth would someone like you need someone else to force them out into the world? You're already there!"

Courfeyrac stared at Feuilly for a moment, entirely uncomprehending. And Feuilly waited, that one hand gently stroking his cheek, until… he understood. He saw it. It made sense. And that was when he slowly straightened and started taking a closer look at the friends around him, living proof that what Feuilly was saying was right. And in that instant, his heart unclenched and he could breathe again. Feuilly smiled at that and stepped back. Courfeyrac watched him move, only dimly aware that Combeferre was still melded to his back like he'd been glued there and had no intention of allowing them to be separated. And really… that was all he needed to know. Combeferre loved him. Enjolras loved him. Where was the harm if they understood each other a little better than Courfeyrac understood either of them? What was the harm if they would bring out the best in each other… and thus in the rest of them, too? None. No harm. Only good could come of that. Courfeyrac began to smile.

Seeing that, Enjolras smiled, too. Then he also stepped back. And as Courfeyrac turned in Combeferre's hold, ready to apologize for being so afraid and so doubtful, he just caught Enjolras reaching out, as well… and taking Grantaire's hand in his. But it was only a moment… and then there was only Combeferre. Combeferre, who was kissing every inch of his face that he could get his lips on. Combeferre, who was holding him so tightly that for the second time that day, Courfeyrac had difficulty drawing breath. Combeferre, who was once again stamping "I love you's" into every inch of Courfeyrac's exposed skin. Combeferre… who was his.

When Combeferre finally paused for breath, Courfeyrac leaned in and returned a few of those kisses, deliberately planted on the high points of his cheeks, on his nose, his forehead, his neck. And with each one, he stamped his own words: "I love you, too."

And right before placing the last of his kisses firmly on Combeferre's lips, Courfeyrac chose different words: "Will you marry me?"

Combeferre's answer was muffled in his enthusiastic return of Courfeyrac's last kiss, but the tears in his eyes, the beaming smile on his face and the way he lifted Courfeyrac straight off the ground to swing him around in a circle before clasping him tight once more, were clearer answers than any words could have been, and even without a soul bond... Courfeyrac understood him perfectly well.

A/N:
And that's that. ^_^ I was originally planning an epilogue scene, but the story feels extremely complete to me where I ended it, so I think I'll just leave it at that. That being said, I have fallen so deeply in love with this universe that I imagine I'll be visiting it again. For one thing, I really want to tell Feuilly's story. I mean... REALLY, REALLY want to tell it. So, at the very least I'll be coming back to do that. I think I also want to explore the aftermath of this with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and take a peak at what's going on with Enjolras and Grantaire and all the other amis that I didn't really touch upon in this story. But we'll see. Now that this is done and my rough draft is submitted for the Big Bang, I'd like to turn my attention back to FYFM and Muet. Hopefully you enjoyed this little side trip with me, though! ^_^ Thanks for playing!