Wow! This turned out way longer than I meant it to be. I hope you like it!

Much love,

Unicadia

A sketch of Courfeyrac, depicted in light, brief lines. He leans back in his chair, a sarcastic grin on his face. In his hand, he wields a fan, probably one of Feuilly's, cocking it in an exaggerated, flouncy manner. From Courfeyrac's ridiculous pose, to the hastily scribbled lines, the whole drawing radiates light and merriment.

André Courfeyrac trudged out of the brick university into the snowy air, staring at the ground as he placed one heavy foot in front of the other. "Courfeyrac," a familiar voice called. Looking up, he saw Etienne Combeferre standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the university. Courfeyrac hurried down the rest of the way to his friend.

"Hello, Combeferre." They walked together down the snow-covered path.

"You look uncommonly solitary," Combeferre said. "I haven't seen a girl trailing after you for more than a week. What happened?"

"Don't give me that look, Combeferre," Courfeyrac snapped, but a smile hovered on his lips.

Combeferre started. "What look?"

"Your 'this is your own fault and you really have to settle down and marry a nice girl, Courfeyrac' look."

Combeferre blinked. "I was not aware of it."

"You give it to me almost all the time." Courfeyrac smiled very sweetly.

"Well, forgive me. Now about –"

Courfeyrac waved him away. "Yes, yes, that." He put his hands in his pockets. "Blair turned out to be a nag. I bid her adieu some days ago. Now I am free once again."

"Oh, what a shame," Combeferre mumbled.

"I heard that," said Courfeyrac. "For the moment, I have no wish to be in the company of the female sex. I'm sick of them."

"Really." Sarcasm dripped from Combeferre's lips. Courfeyrac turned on him.

"Will you stop that? Not everyone is as lucky as you. I will settle down as soon as I find the right girl."

Combeferre lowered his head. "Forgive me. Again."

Courfeyrac sighed. "Oh, I should be the one begging forgiveness. I've been speaking too harshly to you. I just – haven't felt like myself for a some time." He sensed Combeferre's longing to say something to that as well, but he kept his mouth shut. "I need to do something. Something reckless."

Combeferre sighed. "Why, Courfeyrac? We already have enough recklessness to go around."

"What? You want me to sit around like you and Joly, bored your of your minds, but oh, so nice and safe?" But before Combeferre could answer, Courfeyrac stopped, straightened, his face lighting up, a smile spreading across it. He grasped Combeferre's shoulders. "I know it, Combeferre! I know what I can do!"

"Oh, dear," Combeferre muttered. "I suppose it's reckless?"

Courfeyrac rubbed his hands together. "Very reckless. I might die."

Combeferre rolled his eyes. "Are you going to challenge Bahorel to a fist-fight?"

"No. But that is a good idea. Perhaps –"

Combeferre groaned. "What's your plan, Courfeyrac?"

"I'm going to find Feuilly a girlfriend!"

"I thought you said you didn't want to have anything to do with the female sex."

"And I don't. This is about Feuilly, not me."

"And why are you picking on poor Feuilly?"

Courfeyrac looked shocked. "You sound as though I'm going to do something horrible to him!"

"Courfeyrac, you are not matchmaker material. You can't even find a girl for yourself. You're going to end up getting Feuilly a girl that's more trouble than she's worth."

Courfeyrac glared at his companion. "I am insulted that you have such little confidence in my abilities, Combeferre. I will make you a bet. Ten francs that I find Feuilly the perfect girl in a week."

"Make it twenty francs. And she must be good."

Courfeyrac grinned. "In a week!"

Six days later, Courfeyrac pulled Combeferre aside as soon as he emerged from the university. "I finally found the perfect girl, Combeferre!"

Combeferre shook him off. "Took you long enough. Who is she?"

"Well, I don't know, but she's perfect!"

"But –"

Courfeyrac dragged Combeferre over to the plaza next to the university, where a small cluster of girls and a few young men chattered. Courfeyrac leaned close to Combeferre and pointed to a petite girl in a scarlet bonnet. "Her! Isn't she lovely? If I wasn't so appalled by girls at the moment, I would take her for myself."

Combeferre studied the girl Courfeyrac had selected. After a moment, he said, "Courfeyrac, that's Musichetta."

Courfeyrac blinked. "Musichetta?" He glanced at her. "You know her? Excellent!"

"No, Courfeyrac. Musichetta, as in Joly's girlfriend."

Courfeyrac frowned. "That is not Joly's girlfriend."

"Yes, she is. She's even wearing the bonnet he bought her."

Courfeyrac laid a hand on Combeferre's shoulder. "My dear Combeferre, I know much more about girls than you do. I have had nine girlfriends, and you have had only one. I know what Joly's girlfriend looks like, and that is not her. She is much too beautiful. With all due respect to Jolllly, he does not have the wits or the looks to win a girl that exquisite. In addition, that girl has golden locks. Musilette has brown."

"Musichetta has yellow hair, not brown."

"You are addled. Too much time drawing moths. Watch, I'll go ask her." Courfeyrac sauntered over to the group, grinning. He sidled up next to the girl in question and tapped her shoulder. "Mademoiselle –"

"Oh, hello, M'sieur Courfeyrac! And hello, M'sieur Combeferre!" She waved to Combeferre, smiling broadly, dimples in her cheeks.

Courfeyrac sputtered, "But – you, how –"

"Why, M'sieur Courfeyrac, don't you remember me? Musichetta Tremblay? Hyacinthe's girlfriend?"

In a dazed voice, Courfeyrac said, "Who's Hyacinthe?"

The girl cocked her head in confusion. "Hyacinthe-Félicien Joly? Aren't you both part of Les Amis de l'ABC?"

Courfeyrac's head cleared. "Oh, yes. We're friends."

Musichetta laughed. "Did you want something, M'sieur Courfeyrac?"

"Uhh . . ." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Combeferre, arms folded, tapping his foot. In a moment, he had recalculated his plan of attack. He faced Musichetta, composed and grinning once more. "Actually, I wanted you to meet a friend of mine. Do you know Sacha-Josef Feuilly?"

"I have heard of him, but I have never met him."

"He is a delight! An artist! Come to the Musain tonight at nine and we'll introduce him to you."

Musichetta looked startled. "Actually, I was going to the Musain tonight with Hyacinthe –"

Courfeyrac winced, but pushed ahead. "Perfect! You can meet him then." He lifted her gloved hand to his lips, kissed it, swept her a bow, and then hurried over to Combeferre.

"I told you she was Musichetta."

Courfeyrac pretended not to hear him. "She's just the girl for Feuilly."

Combeferre's mouth fell open. "Courfeyrac, she's Joly's. You can't –"

"First of all, I only have one day left to find Feuilly a girlfriend. I'm a little desperate. And secondly, with all due respect to Joly, he does not deserve such an exquisite girl. Blair is much more his type. He probably won't even be able to hold onto Musichessie for much longer, anyway. I will be doing him a favor. Besides, she looks as though she comes from a well-to-do family, which will certainly help out our dear Feuilly."

Combeferre groaned. "Don't you know marrying for money is the worst way to find love? And Feuilly hates charity." He shook his head. "And it doesn't even matter! Musichetta is Joly's girlfriend!"

"Not for long!"

That evening, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and a highly suspicious Feuilly entered the Café Musain and sat down at a table. Courfeyrac grinned as usual, Combeferre leaned on the table with his head in his hands, and Feuilly absently tapped the side of his chair. "Courfeyrac, would you please tell me why you brought me here?" he said at last.

"You'll see."

A few minutes later, and Joly and Musichetta came in. Joly looked surprised when he saw the others, but Musichetta smiled and waved. They came over to their table, as Combeferre sank lower into his hands. "Hello, friends," said Joly. "We're on a date." He patted Musichetta's hand, which rested on his arm. "You're here to enjoy the wine?"

Combeferre groaned, loudly, but Courfeyrac stood, catching Feuilly's hand as he did, and heaved his victim up to his feet. "Musichetta," he said, ignoring Joly, "this is Sacha-Josef Feuilly, the brilliant artist I told you about. Sacha-Josef Feuilly, this is Musichetta."

Feuilly swallowed and managed an awkward bow. "Pleasure," he murmured.

Musichetta curtsied, while still holding onto Joly's arm. "Likewise."

An uneasy silence followed. Joly cleared his throat, and said, "Well, it was lovely to see you here. We'll be just over there." He led Musichetta away to another table close by.

As soon as they left, Feuilly turned on Courfeyrac. "What was that all about?"

Courfeyrac gave him an innocent smile. "What? I was simply introducing you to Musichetta."

Combeferre banged his hands on the table. "He's trying to set you up with her, Feuilly."

"What?!" This exclamation came not from Feuilly, but from Joly. He barreled back over to them, Musichetta following. Joly planted himself in front of Courfeyrac, his usually pasty-white face red, his hazel eyes burning. He placed his hands on the armrests of the chair and leaned close to Courfeyrac so that their noses almost touched. Courfeyrac cringed against the back of the chair, realizing he had forgotten how dangerous Joly got when angered. He also remembered that it took tremendous effort to anger light-hearted Joly. He must have really blown it this time. "You know I respect you and your ridiculous ideas, Courfeyrac, but when it comes to Musichetta, you should know better than to mess with me," Joly seethed.

Courfeyrac nodded, disliking the proximity of Joly's face. "Okay. Got it, Jolllly," he gasped. "Your breath stinks, by the way."

Joly glowered. "What?"

"I said, your breath stinks."

"It does, Hyacinthe," said Musichetta in a small voice behind him.

Joly groaned. "Why didn't you tell me before I kissed you?"

Silence on Musichetta's part, but Feuilly interjected. "Will you all just stop? Courfeyrac, I appreciate the effort, but please leave finding a girl for me up to me. Joly, despite Courfeyrac's lame plan, Chetta is still with you. I have no intention of taking her from you. Are we all good?"

Joly narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Just don't do it again, Courfeyrac."

Courfeyrac, smiling once more, nodded. "I won't."

Joly left him in peace and retreated to his table with Musichetta. Feuilly glared at Courfeyrac and left the Musain. Combeferre lifted his head from his hands and looked over at Courfeyrac, who still grinned like an idiot.

"Told you I might die."

"Well, you got what you wanted. Recklessness. I'm going to have to ask for twenty francs, though."

Courfeyrac snorted. "Excuse me, M'sieur Combeferre. I still have one day left."

"And you seriously think you can find the perfect girl for Feuilly in that time, even after he specifically told you not to?"

"It was a suggestion. And yes, I do."

Needless to say, while Combeferre sat in the Luxembourg Gardens the next day reading Rousseau, Feuilly walked by with a girl swathed in pink hanging on his arm, and Combeferre almost felt off his bench from staring after them as long as he could. Courfeyrac leaned against a tree by Combeferre, grinning like an imp. "When I see an opportunity, I take it, my dear Combeferre. Besides, haven't you learned by now that I rarely lose bets?"

The girl in pink will appear again in a later installment. :D