Courfeyrac stood up and started stretching to get the kinks out of his back. They'd caught the 4:06 express commuter train out of Penn, which was a blessing, but that meant almost two solid hours sitting in a cramped four-seater with three other people practically in his lap without even a break at Jamaica or Babylon to change trains. At least one of the people who'd been half in his lap had been Feuilly. Though to be truthful, the bigger surprise was that they'd gotten seats at all. This train was usually pretty packed every Friday just with people going out to the Hamptons for the weekend. The day before Christmas Eve? It was worse than usual.

Feuilly stood up once Courfeyrac moved out into the aisle to grab their bags off the luggage rack. He'd fallen asleep on Courfeyrac's shoulder about a half hour into the trip, tired from a long week of work and finals, and Courfeyrac hadn't had the heart to wake him. He still didn't look entirely awake. Taking pity on him, Courfeyrac took both of their bags, one on each shoulder, then took Feuilly's hand in his and gently guided him down the aisle to the exit. It was a true measure of how exhausted he must have been that Feuilly didn't protest and instead just came along quietly behind without a word.

It was only a five minute ride from the train station to his parents' house, but Courfeyrac was pretty sure Feuilly fell asleep again in the cab. He nudged him back awake when they were a block away. Feuilly blinked blearily at him and lifted a hand to rub at his eyes. "Are we there?"

Courfeyrac lifted a hand to run it through Feuilly's rumpled hair, gently teasing it back into some semblance of order. When Feuilly dropped his own hand and leaned into the touch, making a sleepy, contented noise, Courfeyrac's heart gave a hard lurch in his chest. What was he doing? He had to be overstepping about a hundred boundaries here. Slowly, he removed his hand from Feuilly's hair, ignoring the small mew of disappointment Feuilly made as well as he could. "Yeah, just about. Do you think you can wake up enough to say hello to everyone? Or should I make excuses for you so you can go straight upstairs for a quick nap?"

"Nap?" Feuilly blinked again, a bit more awareness coming back into his gaze as he straightened up. "What about dinner?"

Courfeyrac smiled. "It's just after 6 and the family doesn't eat until 7. You have time for a brief nap if you want it." When Feuilly's response was immediately to yawn so wide that his jaw cracked, Courfeyrac let out a soft chuckle. "I'd say that's answer enough. I'll make your excuses to my parents and smuggle you straight upstairs, then come get you for dinner, OK?"

"…I'd really like to object to that plan, but I'll probably fall asleep halfway through the conversation if I try to power through." And it was on that answer that the cab pulled into the driveway of Courfeyrac's family home… and Courfeyrac promptly lost Feuilly's attention to staring out the window at the sprawling estate. "What… the ever-loving… what?"

Courfeyrac winced. "Yeah, it's a bit much, isn't it?"

"A bit much? You could house at least 30 people in there! How big is your family?"

Courfeyrac winced again, hunching deep into his coat as he mumbled, "Nine, if my grandparents are up from Florida and my sister brings her husband?"

At that answer, Feuilly finally tore his eyes away from the house to look at Courfeyrac, again. Seeing Courfeyrac so hunched up and not quite meeting his gaze, his eyes lost some of their wide, shocky look. Sighing, he said, "I really had no idea what I was agreeing to when I volunteered to come, did I? I mean… you tried to warn me, but I don't think I really got it." Swallowing hard, he said, "I'm going to be grossly underdressed for this party, tomorrow, aren't I?"

Courfeyrac uncurled from his hunched posture and shook his head. "We're close enough to the same size and I keep my spare tuxedo out here. You'll be fine."

Feuilly stared wide-eyed at Courfeyrac for a moment before dropping his face into his hands. "You have a spare tuxedo. As in you own more than one. And you keep spares in places just in case you might need one. I can't. I just… what the hell kind of world did you grow up in?"

Laughing softly, Courfeyrac clapped a hand on Feuilly's shoulder. "Right? It's completely, thoroughly ridiculous. The aunts and uncles on my father's side pitched a fit when they found out I was giving up the participle and moving to the city to become a public defender. They didn't talk to me for almost a full year. It was fantastic." At Feuilly's bemused look, Courfeyrac's grin widened. "Trust me. You haven't met them, yet. My immediate family is the only branch that has a foot anywhere near the realm of reality. The rest are… yeah. Let's just say I wasn't exactly disappointed when they stopped speaking to me." Seeing that Feuilly looked far more awake now, Courfeyrac held out his hand. "You ready to go meet the folks, then?"

Feuilly slid his hand into Courfeyrac's and nodded once. "Ready as I'll ever be. Let's do this."

Courfeyrac slid out of the car to pay the cab driver, then met Feuilly around the back to get their bags. As worried as he'd been about this weekend, there was a part of him that was starting to feel just a bit excited. Feuilly had gotten better about letting Courfeyrac give him things, but he still balked at anything that even hinted at overindulgence and Courfeyrac had been positively dying for an excuse to spoil him a little. It was the one thing about this weekend that he'd been looking forward to. If there was one thing the de Courfeyracs did well, it was spoil their guests, and if Feuilly thought Courfeyrac was hard to say no to… he hadn't seen anything, yet.

As they reached the broad front porch, however, something caught Courfeyrac's eye enough to make him pause and back up. Holy… hell. He'd known his mother's information network was extensive, but even he hadn't realized it was that extensive. Feuilly walked over to see what it was that had caught Courfeyrac's attention. In response, Courfeyrac nodded at the front window. When Feuilly turned to look, his breath caught. Courfeyrac immediately leaned into him and took his hand. Sitting in the large bay window, front and center in pride of place among the Christmas decorations, was an electric menorah. Surrounding it in the window were Stars of David, some in colored foil, some in strings of electric lights.

Feuilly swallowed hard. "You… you didn't tell me someone in your family was Jewish."

Courfeyrac squeezed Feuilly's hand before raising it and placing a gentle kiss on the knuckles. Reaching out with his other hand, he brushed away the few tears that had escaped Feuilly's control. Softly, gently, he said, "No one is. Feuilly… I have no idea how she knew, but I'm pretty sure that's for you."

Feuilly took in a deep, shuddering breath and turned to hide his face in Courfeyrac's shoulder. Courfeyrac just held him, stroking a hand down his back to calm the tremors he could feel racing through Feuilly's body. Knowing so little about his biological family, Feuilly had never really felt comfortable claiming the cultural heritage that was his by birth. Sometimes Jehan could convince him to join him at the campus Hillel for one of the holidays, but more often than not, he couldn't. Feuilly had confessed to Courfeyrac once that he felt awkward about it, because he knew so little about his heritage and always felt out of place, like he should belong, but didn't quite. It was a constant sore spot, the desire to be part of something, yet feeling like he wasn't good enough to be part of it.

It was a dichotomy that Courfeyrac could well understand. It was the same conundrum that had prevented him from ever seeking out a life partner—feeling like he didn't have enough to offer to make it worth someone's while. And maybe that had had an influence on Courfeyrac agreeing to participate in this fake marriage to begin with. On some level, he was pretty well convinced that this might be his only chance to experience anything like it, because at least in a situation like this, he had something to offer.

By the time Feuilly straightened, wiping his eyes as best he could on his woolen coat sleeve, they had company. Courfeyrac's mother and father were standing in the doorway, respectfully and quietly waiting to be noticed. His mother's face was puckered in worry. When Courfeyrac looked up, she asked, "Is everything all right?"

Feuilly's face flushed a deep pink and he made a helpless gesture at the window decorations. Courfeyrac's mother's mouth opened in a silent "Oh," and she held out her arms. When Feuilly turned to him, eyes wide in slight panic, Courfeyrac just smiled and gave him a small push. Courfeyrac's mother enveloped Feuilly in a hug and said, "I'm so sorry, dear. I meant it to be a happy surprise, not a cause for sadness. I can take it down, if you like."

Feuilly stepped back out of Mrs. de Courfeyrac's embrace, shaking his head firmly. "No, ma'am. I do like it. I didn't realize you even knew, much less that you'd think to decorate with me at all in mind. I just wasn't prepared. But… thank you. Really. Thank you."

That seemed to be all that was needed to break the tableau. Courfeyrac's parents ushered them both inside, taking coats and bags, and sending the bags upstairs with Courfeyrac's younger brother, Seth. Courfeyrac and Feuilly were herded into the living room and ensconced on one of the couches with mugs of mulled wine pressed into their hands and Courfeyrac's parents sitting across from them with please smiles on their faces. Courfeyrac's mother was the one to break the silence. "I promised myself I wouldn't give you two the third degree, but surely it's fair to ask for a little information as compensation for not being invited to the wedding? After all, apart from knowing that you two were friends and ran with the same crowd, we had no advanced warning that this was coming!"

And there they were. Courfeyrac took a deep breath, ready to spin a story, though still unsure how he was going to explain all this, when Feuilly beat him to it. "Mrs. Courfeyrac—"

"Marie, please. And my husband is Daniel."

"Of course. Marie, I do apologize for the fact that we didn't invite you to the wedding. It was far more spur-of-the-moment than a wedding should have been." Feuilly turned to Courfeyrac, then, and the soft, fond smile on his face did not make Courfeyrac catch his breath in sudden longing. It didn't. Not at all. And when Feuilly reached out and twined the fingers of their free hands together a moment later, Courfeyrac's heart did not start beating in double time. It didn't. This wasn't real. Feuilly turned back to face Courfeyrac's parents and said, "I asked and he said yes and neither of us has any kind of patience for pomp and circumstance, so the next thing we knew, we were at city hall with Michel's roommate, Marius, as a witness and saying 'I do.' Our friends threw us a party that night at our favorite pub, we moved in together, and that's really all there is to tell."

Marie clapped her hands together, a sappy smile of her own on her face. "Is it ridiculous of me if I find that extremely romantic in a very modern and trendy sort of way?"

Feuilly smiled, as charmed by Courfeyrac's mother as Courfeyrac had known he would be. Within five minutes, the two had fallen down the rabbit hole of discussing the current state of the public school history curriculum—or lack thereof, at the elementary level—and their favorite figures in history and what they would make of the curriculum if they were given full autonomy, and it wasn't until Courfeyrac's father caught his eye and winked that Courfeyrac realized that he and his father had equally sappy, besotted smiles on their faces as they watch their respective spouses tear into their chosen conversational topic like they'd been born to debate it with each other.

And that was the exact moment when Courfeyrac realized exactly how much trouble he was really in… and swallowed the rest of his wine in one long, steady gulp.

The rest of the night was lovely. Even though the first night of Chanukah wasn't until the next night, Courfeyrac's mother had made latkes and sufganiyot and they had insisted on giving Feuilly gifts, as well—a $300 gift card to The Strand bookstore from Courfeyrac's father and a luxuriously soft navy blue sweater from Courfeyrac's mother that Courfeyrac was never going to let on to Feuilly had cost more than the gift card, especially given that Feuilly would probably end up painting in it sooner or later. There was chocolate gelt and small wooden dreidels—and then a truly competitive round of betting once they'd figured out the rules of using them. Seth positively cleaned them out at with that one, ending the evening lording it over a mountain of chocolate coins and a wry comment from his father that, forget Europe, maybe he should take him to Atlantic City for his 18th birthday.

Courfeyrac and Feuilly had gone upstairs with full stomachs and warm in more ways than one. Feuilly had a smile on his face that just wouldn't quit, and Courfeyrac wanted nothing more than to keep them both here forever if every night could be like this. It wasn't until they got upstairs that they hit the first snag in the works. Both his and Feuilly's bags were in Courfeyrac's old room… and there was still only the one bed. That realization was like a splash of cold water in Courfeyrac's face.

Before Courfeyrac could even start to work himself up about it, however, Feuilly was hugging him from behind, his chin hooked over Courfeyrac's shoulder as he slowly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rocking Courfeyrac along with him. He pressed a soft kiss into Courfeyrac's temple and said, "This has been, without question, one of the best nights of my life. And if the only snag in the works is that we're sharing sleeping space… well, the only real potential problem I see is that I never lost the puppy pile sleeping tendency from when I was a kid. You'll probably find yourself cuddled by morning." As Courfeyrac slowly began to relax, Feuilly added, "So, if I can promise that even if some excessive cuddling happens, that I will make damned sure that I don't accidentally take it further than that, even in my sleep… are you OK with that?"

Courfeyrac's head jerked up and down in a shaky nod, trying to ignore the way his heart had started racing at just the mere thought of getting to cuddle up to Feuilly for the entire night… every night… for the whole weekend. As Feuilly stepped away to grab his toiletries and his pajamas and retreat to the bathroom to change, Courfeyrac dropped down onto the bed and buried his face in his hands, fighting back a sob of pure frustration. He was already starting to have trouble with the idea of walking away at the end of these couple of years. How much worse was it going to be after this?

When Feuilly came out of the bathroom wearing the pajama set that Courfeyrac had bought him last month, the desire to sob in frustration increased ten-fold. He'd bought that set because the flannel had been so, so soft, and he'd thought the deep green of the matching shirt would complement Feuilly's dark, brown eyes. Feuilly had yet to wear them… until now. And Courfeyrac had been right. The deep green suited him.

…he was gorgeous.

While Feuilly's back was turned, unpacking a few things from his bag and hanging them in the closet, Courfeyrac took his opportunity and his things and fled for the bathroom. It was going to be one fucking long night.

When Feuilly woke, it was to the soft light of dawn shining through the sheers over the balcony doors. He still boggled over the fact that Courfeyrac's childhood bedroom had a balcony. It had its own bathroom. And a walk-in closet. He'd complained about Courfeyrac's tendency to throw around money that he didn't have to throw around before, but the more Feuilly saw of this house, the more he marveled at the fact that Courfeyrac had any sense of practical spending in the real world at all. Enjolras had grown up in the same kind of opulence—his family's home was just on the other side of town, after all, so it couldn't have been his influence. It must have been Combeferre's.

Still, for all that, Courfeyrac's family was lovely. They were warm, welcoming, and ridiculously generous—a $300 gift card for the Strand!—and it was clear to see from where Courfeyrac had come by those traits. Feuilly had to admit that he was already enjoying himself far more than he'd expected to.

For just a moment, Feuilly allowed himself to tighten his arms around Courfeyrac and bury his face into the back of his neck. This was the worst kind of indulgence, exactly the sort of thing that he'd promised himself he wouldn't allow to happen when he'd moved into Courfeyrac's apartment. It wasn't that he didn't think he could keep his hands to himself. Courfeyrac had no interest in that, and Feuilly had no interest in making unwanted advances. But this… this feeling of being safe and warm and just… being allowed to be this close to him, to bask in his presence and hold him while he slept, soft and vulnerable and completely trusting… Feuilly could far too easily get used to this. Hell, he was already in love with the man—he didn't need the memory of this sort of thing to make that even harder to let go of!

Feuilly froze. Oh no… A strangled whimper escaped his throat along with that thought. He'd managed to deny it to himself all this time, but… he really was in love with Courfeyrac, wasn't he? Feuilly had known that he admired him, that he looked up to him, that he respected him and enjoyed being in his company. As Enjolras had once said, Feuilly had been besotted with him since the day they'd met, but this… this was different. Feuilly was in love with Courfeyrac. Real, honest-to-goodness love. And he had no idea what to do about it.

That thought was what finally drove Feuilly from the warmth of their shared bed, in spite of the sleepy noise of protest Courfeyrac made when he got up. Taking his clothes with him, Feuilly fled for the bathroom to shower and get dressed. No matter how kind, how understanding, how generous Courfeyrac was, would he ever have agreed to this marriage if he'd had an inkling that Feuilly might not want it to have an expiration date? What if he didn't want to stay married? What if Feuilly's motives hadn't been as innocent as he'd thought? What if this had really just been a convenient excuse for Feuilly to have someone he never could have had otherwise? How could he even broach the subject that he might have lured Courfeyrac into marriage under false pretenses? Feuilly's stomach twisted into knots at that thought and it was all he could do to not be sick right then.

Feuilly forced all of those thoughts down into a corner of his mind and firmly locked them away. One way or another, this was not the time or place to have that conversation. Not even close. But it was a conversation that they definitely needed to have, sooner rather than later. Because the last thing Feuilly wanted was for Courfeyrac to think he'd been taken advantage of for even one second. There were other ways to pay for school and Feuilly would take any one of them before abusing Courfeyrac's trust like that.

…fuck. He really was smitten, wasn't he?

Once Feuilly was dressed, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen, unsure if he was hoping that someone would be awake and able to point him towards the coffee or if he was hoping to have the place to himself so he could brood in peace. But, as luck would have it, brooding would have to wait. Courfeyrac's father was in the kitchen, already pouring himself a cup of coffee and cutting thick slices of bread for toast. Feuilly nodded in response to his raised eyebrow and Courfeyrac's father cut two more slices of bread and poured another cup of coffee.

By the time they had settled in at the breakfast table, Feuilly was starting to wonder if it was up to him to get the conversation started or if Mr. Courfeyrac wasn't enough of a morning person to want to have a conversation this early. In the end, it turned out that he just needed to get some coffee into him. When they were about halfway through their meal, Courfeyrac's father turned to Feuilly and asked, "So, did you sleep well?"

"Quite well, sir. Thank you," Feuilly answered, the whole time wondering if Mr. Courfeyrac's smile meant that there was a double meaning to the question that he'd missed.

But when Mr. Courfeyrac shook a finger at him, it turned out to be nothing of the kind. "I'm pretty sure my wife told you last night that my name is Daniel. I don't stand on ceremony with my sons-in-law." Under his breath, he added, "Even if the other one deserves it." He cleared his throat, then looked up with a bright smile. "That's beside the point, though. The point, Aaron, is that I'm glad I caught you before Michel woke up. I'm glad you slept well, and I hope you're well-rested as a result. You see… I'm kidnapping you, today."

What?

Feuilly stared at Courfeyrac's father for a minute, trying to figure out what it was that he'd missed. When no further information was forthcoming, he said, "You're… kidnapping me. Can I ask why?"

Daniel's smile widened—and, huh, that must have been where Courfeyrac had gotten that particularly mischievous look from, too—and said, "Yes, you may. It has come to my attention that you do not own a tuxedo of your own, nor a proper pair of dress shoes. Now, my son, though he meant well in offering you his spare tuxedo, failed to take into account a number of things that are problematic with that idea."

At this point, Feuilly could feel his eyes widening and his head beginning to swim. This was already starting to sound like far more than he had bargained for when coming down in search of caffeine…

"First of all, I doubt this is the kind of party you generally attend. It isn't the kind of party that most people attend, anymore, and there's nothing wrong with that. This holiday gala of ours is a throwback to a forgotten era and we like it that way. But it does mean that you may feel somewhat uncomfortable or unsure. In my experience, when feeling uncomfortable or unsure, if I at least know that my clothing is comfortable and shows me off to advantage, then I feel more confident and thus, more comfortable. I would like you to have that same opportunity, rather than having to wear someone else's hand-me-downs, even if they belong to someone you love."

And… this must also have been where Courfeyrac had gotten his propensity to be a clotheshorse. Feuilly was certain he'd heard Courfeyrac give some version of this speech to Combeferre on his first day of medical school. Knowing that, he began to relax. Really, Daniel de Courfeyrac seemed to be just an older, slightly more heavy-handed version of the Courfeyrac he already knew. And Feuilly got on with that Courfeyrac just fine. This might just work out…

"Second of all, my son is the single best judge of character I have ever known." Smiling fondly, Daniel added, "Gets that from his mother, I'm sure." He winked, then continued. "And if he has seen fit to marry you, then in here," Daniel tapped his own chest, right over his heart. "You are easily the equal, perhaps even the better, of anyone who will be at this party tonight, fortune or no fortune. And I will not have anyone make you feel less than that simply because you do not look the part."

When Feuilly nodded, too moved to even try to respond, Daniel's smile deepened and he reached out to clap Feuilly on the shoulder. "Finally, I am going to impart a piece of advice to you that has been passed down through no less than four generations of the de Courfeyrac family. Each son that has married in this family, or married into it, has been given this advice." Taking a deep breath, Daniel intoned, "'If it is a woman's responsibility to dress to please and well-represent her husband, so too should it be a man's responsibility to dress to please and well-represent his wife.'" As Feuilly's cheeks started to heat under Daniel's smirking regard, Daniel said, "In other words, just because you're married now, it doesn't mean that you shouldn't, on occasion, do your best to make your spouse's jaw hit the floor. And since, newest son of mine, I wasn't allowed the privilege of dressing either of you for your wedding, I hope you will allow me the privilege of dressing you for one small party."

And really… what could Feuilly say to that?

When Courfeyrac had awoken to find Feuilly long gone that morning, he'd been honest enough with himself to admit to a surge of real disappointment. There was a significant part of him that had wanted to know what it would feel like to wake up in Feuilly's arms. Although, that was ignoring the fact that that simple truth was worrisome, to say the least. Still, he'd had plenty to keep his mind off of both the truth and its worrisome nature once he announced his presence downstairs. As per usual, his mother co-opted he and Seth for kitchen duty for the day. Even though the affair at large was catered, Marie de Courfeyrac still insisted on making certain dishes herself, and she had taught her children well.

Seth didn't have quite the same knack for cooking that Courfeyrac did, so he was mostly relegated to plating and decorating—which he did have a knack for—and cutting things for Courfeyrac and their mother. Courfeyrac, on the other hand, had all the knack for cooking that Seth lacked, and then some, and had long since graduated to being responsible for his own dishes. The three worked in companionable almost-silence, one only broken by the sounds of the randomized music selections they'd all contributed to the day's playlist and occasional impromptu sing-alongs.

Courfeyrac didn't start to fret about Feuilly's absence until he realized that it was nearing 4 o'clock and his father was still not home with Feuilly. It wasn't until almost 5 o'clock that the pair walked in the door. Courfeyrac's father looked triumphant, but Feuilly just looked like he'd like to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. He collapsed next to Courfeyrac on the sofa and immediately tipped over to rest his head in Courfeyrac's lap. Courfeyrac was so startled that he almost dropped the plate of finger food that he'd stolen as a light dinner.

For his part, Courfeyrac's father perched on the arm of his wife's chair and attempted to steal a mini-quiche from her plate and got his fingers smacked for the presumption. When Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow and waved a hand in Feuilly's direction, his father shrugged and said, "He needed something to wear for tonight that wasn't your old hand-me-down tux. There wasn't enough time to get him something bespoke, but we went down to Brooks Brothers to get him something off the rack, then over to my tailor's to get it fitted. Then we had lunch at Wölffer Kitchen, picked up shoes, had them tailored, then went back to pick up the tuxedo. I may have also shown him some of the sights, since I knew your mother would have you working too hard to take him." Courfeyrac's father finished off that recitation with a wide smile.

Courfeyrac dropped his free hand down to pet Feuilly's hair. No wonder he was exhausted. A full day of shopping with his father… even Courfeyrac wasn't sure he had the stamina for that, anymore. And for Feuilly it would have been more than that. He was always after Courfeyrac to throw his monetary weight around a little less… but he was nothing compared to his father. His father had probably spent no less than $2000 on one outfit for Feuilly today… and Feuilly was probably reeling from that alone.

"OK. Well, that's more than enough to tell me that I need to take my husband upstairs and tuck him in for a quick nap before the guests arrive in a few hours," Courfeyrac said. "If you'll excuse us…" With a few gentle prods and softly spoken words, Courfeyrac got Feuilly up off the couch and helped him up the stairs, the whole while firmly telling himself that his heart wasn't hammering like a giddy schoolboy's at the fact that he'd called Feuilly his husband in casual conversation, like it was something he said every day. His husband. Courfeyrac liked the sound of that… and that was the whole problem.

Feuilly roused a little when Courfeyrac was taking his shoes off, but didn't stay roused for long. Courfeyrac hesitated over Feuilly's jeans, but eventually decided that that was one step too far. They might be acting more like a real married couple for his parents' benefit, and they might be sleeping in the same bed because his parents didn't know that it should be otherwise, but that didn't mean that Courfeyrac suddenly had the right to take those kinds of liberties without asking first when he'd never been allowed to take them before. So, instead he helped Feuilly get settled, then pulled the afghan up from the foot of the bed and draped it over him. Just as he started to move away, however, something caught the trailing edge of his sweater.

Feuilly.

Courfeyrac turned back to find Feuilly's bleary eyes staring back at him, an indecipherable look in their brown depths. Feuilly didn't know what that look meant, but he had a strong suspicion that Feuilly-the-child might have worn it at his most lost, and he knew that he hated seeing it on Feuilly's face now.

Courfeyrac sat back down on the bed and reached out to brush Feuilly's hair back off his forehead, then, when Feuilly's face lost some of that sad look at the gesture, he continued running his fingers through Feuilly's hair. "Long day, my love?"

Feuilly's voice was a hoarse whisper when it emerged. "How can one person spend that much money in one day? How? I— do you have any idea what I could have done with $2500?"

Courfeyrac sighed. "Yeah… I thought that might have been what did it." Courfeyrac turned to lean his back against the headboard, swinging his legs up onto the bed—and firmly told himself that it meant nothing when Feuilly turned to curl into his leg and rest his head on his thigh. He was just tired and emotionally exhausted and seeking comfort. He'd have curled up on anyone. It didn't mean anything… no matter how much Courfeyrac was starting to wish it did. When Courfeyrac resumed his gentle stroking of Feuilly's hair, he said, "He was worse when I was younger, believe it or not. My mom… she was born upper middle class. Her family has money—enough to send her to an expensive private school, enough to buy her whatever she wanted, but not enough to be truly obscene. My father's family, on the other hand…"

Courfeyrac swallowed hard. Fuck, he did not want to admit this. Feuilly would never look at him the same way again. Sure, Feuilly had known that his family had money, but he didn't know exactly how much. He knew that Enjolras' family had this kind of money, but he also knew that Enjolras had all but disowned them. Courfeyrac might have disavowed his participle, but he hadn't done any such thing with his family. It was different. Taking a deep breath, Courfeyrac finally said, "Feuilly… This is the smallest house we own, apart from the $4.2 million beach house we have on the shore. And the only reason we live here instead of, say, the $85 million villa we own in the south of France, is because my mother flat out put her foot down and said that it was absurd to live like that and her children would be raised to know the value of work and the value of a dollar. She and I have been working on my father, getting him to start putting significant amounts of that money to good use: medical foundations, scholarship foundations, new hospitals, charter schools, pro bono funds for people who can't afford lawyers—you name it, we've probably gotten him into it… and we still haven't even begun to dent the kind of money this family has."

Feuilly was silent for a good ten minutes after that, far too long for Courfeyrac's comfort, but the fact that he'd taken up a gentle counterpoint petting by running his fingers down the inseam along Courfeyrac's calf was reassuring, even if it did tickle. Eventually he let out a heavy sigh and said, "So, what you're telling me is that $2500 for a tuxedo and pair of shoes and an additional $300 for lunch is a token gesture of welcome for him?" When Courfeyrac nodded, Feuilly sighed again and sat up. "You're also trying to tell me that I've unwittingly married into the 1%, and it's a bit late to complain about it now."

Courfeyrac's mouth went dry. That was exactly the reaction he'd been afraid of, exactly the thing he'd hoped Feuilly wouldn't figure out. He swallowed a few times to wet his throat before admitting, "…pretty much."

But when Feuilly looked up at Courfeyrac from beneath his bangs, it was to offer him a crooked smile and say, "I suppose it's also a bit too late to say that I married you, not your family, isn't it?"

Courfeyrac's breath caught in his throat at that, but he managed to return a smile of his own. "It was too late the second my mother sent that invitation." At Feuilly's snort of amusement, Courfeyrac added, "Hey, I did at least try to warn you!"

Feuilly dropped his gaze at that, lips twitching as a wider smile tried to make its presence known. Reaching out, he took Courfeyrac's hand in his, twining their fingers together, just as he'd done the night before, only this time there was no audience to perform for. It was just them. That hand-holding soon turned into a gentle tug, and Courfeyrac found himself laying down with Feuilly, curled up under the afghan and snuggled close together, legs intertwined. And it felt… nice. It felt as safe and comfortable as when he and Enjolras and Combeferre always piled together for a nap. Different… but just as nice. And, for once, Courfeyrac stopped questioning it and simply let it be what it was. Barely moments later, he was sound asleep.

Two hours later, Courfeyrac opened his eyes to find Feuilly already awake and watching him, his arms wrapped firmly around Courfeyrac's waist. Courfeyrac's heart started to beat just a little harder. This. This was what he'd wanted this morning and hadn't gotten. To wake up here, in Feuilly's arms, just like this. And judging from the soft, shining look in Feuilly's eyes, and the way that he hadn't moved an inch further away than he'd been when they went to sleep, he was exactly where he wanted to be, too. Courfeyrac wetted his lips, suddenly daring to do something that he'd wanted to do for days… weeks… months, if he were being honest. He leaned forward, watching Feuilly's expression for signs of discontent all the while, and pressed a soft, chaste kiss onto Feuilly's cheek. Feuilly's response was a brilliant smile, and a returned kiss, this one on Courfeyrac's forehead, and a teasing "Good morning, sunshine."

Courfeyrac's lips stretched into a wide smile of his own as he said, "The Earth says 'Hello?'"

"What?" Feuilly's bright smile dropped into a look of pure bemusement as his eyebrows rose up to meet his hairline. Courfeyrac laughed and dropped another kiss onto Feuilly's nose this time, before untangling himself and rolling out of bed. Feuilly groaned from behind him. "I should have known. What musical did I accidentally quote at you this time?"

Courfeyrac tossed Feuilly one last smile over his shoulder before he headed towards the bathroom. "Hair."

Feuilly snorted out a laugh. "Of course. How could I not have realized?" He rolled his eyes.

It was difficult for Feuilly, keeping straight all these show references when he'd never seen any of them. Courfeyrac understood, and he sympathized, but he could no more stop quoting musicals than he could stop perfectly coiffing his hair every morning. It was just a natural part of his charm. "No idea." Courfeyrac paused at the door to the bathroom. "I'm going to be awhile. So… if you need anything out of here, you should grab it now. My mom told me earlier to let you know that you can use my sister's bathroom, since she's not in residence at the moment, and my dad put your clothes in there, anyway."

Feuilly, at his driest, said, "Naturally. I appreciate the warning."

"Any time." As Feuilly passed by after gathering his toiletries from the bathroom, Courfeyrac reached out to snag his sleeve. When Feuilly turned to face him, an eyebrow raised in query, Courfeyrac just smiled, then leaned in to place another kiss on his cheek.

Feuilly's wry expression softened and he ducked his gaze for a moment before freeing a hand to cup Courfeyrac's cheek and slowly stroke his thumb along his cheekbone. Just as Courfeyrac's eyes fluttered closed, he felt Feuilly's lips pressing a kiss against his other cheek. Feuilly whispered, "See you in an hour," and then he was gone.

And Courfeyrac did not stand there with his hand pressed to the cheek Feuilly had kissed for several minutes after he'd left the room. Because that would be ridiculous.

Feuilly was downstairs long before Courfeyrac was, not that that was a surprise. Nor was it a surprise when Courfeyrac's mother took advantage, pressing him into service to help with last minute additions to the ballroom decorations—a ballroom, for fuck's sake!—and the food. There was a twelve piece orchestra setting up beside the grand piano, and a roaring fire going in a fireplace large enough to fit a dining room table in. There were wreaths and garlands on every window and wall and glittering candles on every available surface. The room looking like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. Feuilly couldn't stop staring. Eventually Marie took pity on him and pressed a plate of hors d'oeuvres into one of his hands and a glass of holiday spiced wine into the other and instructed him to try to relax and enjoy the musicians until his husband got his ass downstairs.

His husband.

Feuilly had been sure that he'd imagine it earlier, when he'd heard Courfeyrac call him that. It hadn't even been the words, themselves, that caught his ear. It had been the fond, exasperated tone he'd said them in. Cosette talked about Marius in the same tone. And it was taking everything Feuilly had not to read too much into it. So he stood in a corner by the fireplace, where he'd put his plate down on one of the tables, listening to the music and alternately taking sips of his wine and bites of things off his plate, trying his best not to dwell on it... or on the other thing Courfeyrac had called him when he'd been half asleep. Because that, at least, had to have been a hallucination... right?

The food really was good, and Feuilly was focusing really hard on not dropping any of it on his brand new, $2000 tuxedo. Also, the musicians were playing Greensleeves—still one of his favorite songs, no matter how clichéd it was—when Courfeyrac finally came downstairs. Maybe that was why he didn't notice right away, because he was distracted, but he sure as hell did notice when Courfeyrac let out a noise that was halfway between a gasp and a strangled tea kettle. Feuilly turned so fast that he almost choked on the puffed pastry he'd just put in his mouth. But, the second his gaze landed on Courfeyrac, Feuilly found himself making a sound nearly identical to the one that had caught his attention in the first place.

Feuilly had seen Courfeyrac present evidence at the Supreme Court. He'd seen him at school functions, wining and dining the elite donors to a prestigious university. He'd seen him presiding over Marius and Cosette's engagement party, equally at ease with Cosette's reclusive father and Marius' upper class cousin. Feuilly had thought he'd seen Courfeyrac at his best. He really had. All of that…? It was nothing compared to what he was seeing now. He'd never seen a set of clothing more perfectly designed and tailored to someone's body. He'd never seen Courfeyrac's hair looking quite so GQ model perfect. And the way he carried himself? This was the breeding Courfeyrac had come from. This was years of near-perfection distilled down to its sleekest, most beautiful form. No one in this room, no matter their gender, was going to have eyes for anyone else but him tonight, and from the way he carried himself, he knew it, too.

And right at that moment, that model of pure poise and perfection was staring at Feuilly as though Feuilly were putting him to shame.

They stood frozen that way, staring at each other, for at least five minutes. Feuilly had no idea what to do to break the tableau. He was too busy screaming inside his head that all along he'd known he wasn't worthy of Courfeyrac, but that there was a difference between knowing and knowing and now he knew and what was he supposed to do with that? And, at the same time, a quieter voice, almost drowned at by the first, was squeaking desperately about why was Courfeyrac staring at him and looking like he was panicking over the same things?

Courfeyrac broke first, making another of those strangled tea kettle noises before whipping his phone out of his pocket and making frantic motions between it and Feuilly. It took Feuilly longer than it should have to realize that Courfeyrac didn't want Feuilly to take a picture of him, but that he wanted to take a picture of Feuilly. By the time they'd gotten that sorted out, Courfeyrac's father had joined them and was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down his cheeks. When he got himself under control, he plucked the phone out of Courfeyrac's hands and started ordering them into poses so he could take pictures of them together. Feuilly was too stunned to do anything but play along. Courfeyrac seemed to be the same, right up until the last picture, when he realized that his father was about to position them under the mistletoe. He balked at that, and Feuilly didn't catch why, but he was still too stunned for most coherent thought. By the time Courfeyrac's father finished with their impromptu photo shoot, the doorbell rang and Courfeyrac's mother was yelling for Courfeyrac to please go answer it. He tossed an apologetic look in Feuilly's direction, then dashed off towards the front door.

Courfeyrac's father walked over to join Feuilly by the fireplace and gave him a knowing smile. "Judging from the shell-shocked look on your face when I got down here, I'd say my son made your jaw hit the floor quite nicely, wouldn't you?"

Feuilly cleared his throat, then took a quick sip of wine, absolutely certain that he was going to squeak if he tried to talk otherwise. "I thought… I thought the whole point was for me to make his jaw hit the floor, not the other way around!"

Courfeyrac's father laughed. "Of course, not, my dear boy! The point is to make the jaw dropping mutual! And Courfeyrac has known that since he was quite young. And I daresay from the raging blush he was sporting when he ran past just now, that he isn't the only one who succeeded."

And that was more food for thought than Feuilly could quite process right then. Fortunately for him, that was also when the guests started arriving, so he didn't have to think about it for long.

The rest of the night was an absolute blur. The only moments that stood out at all were the moments when Courfeyrac was at his side, an arm threading through his, or wrapped around his waist, or when they were pressed closely together, dancing to whatever tune the orchestra was playing. Judging from the looks of quiet approval and gentle fondness on the faces of most of the guests, they were doing an admirable job of playing a couple in their first honeymoon-like year of marriage. The only problem was… more and more, Feuilly wasn't playing-acting. When Courfeyrac's eyes met his across the room and he smiled that smile that was just for Feuilly, Feuilly's heart started racing every time, putting a flush in his cheeks and a wide smile on his lips like someone had just handed him the moon. And it was real. All of it. When Courfeyrac came to rest at Feuilly's side, quietly wrapping an arm around his waist and resting his head on Feuilly's shoulder, it was the most natural thing in the world to enfold him in the hug he clearly wanted and press kisses into his hair. It was everything Feuilly had ever wanted, and he never wanted it to stop… and that was a problem. Because, more and more, Feuilly was starting to dread the fact that when they left this magical bubble that was Courfeyrac's family home, he was going to lose all of this and never get it back again.

So, Feuilly held on to every bit of the night that he could manage, no matter how little it was, even if it was only those scattered moments that revolved around Courfeyrac. And when midnight struck and they found themselves once more near that sprig of mistletoe that Courfeyrac had so deftly kept them away from earlier in the evening, this time, Feuilly knew what to do. He caught Courfeyrac's hand and, once he had his attention, looked directly over at the mistletoe and raised an eyebrow.

Courfeyrac's eyes glazed, and his breathing sped up, but not in a way that looked like an anxiety attack on the rise. Because along with those signs, his cheeks flushed and he nodded, taking a step sideways to put himself right under the mistletoe. Sometime between that breath and the next, seeing Courfeyrac standing there, eyes bright and expectant, lips slightly parted, time seemed to slow. Feuilly had all the time in the world to wet his dry lips and even drier mouth. He had all the time in the world to align himself precisely… so. To cup Courfeyrac's face with one hand and to let the other settle into that perfect hollow just above his hip. To make sure his weight was balanced and his knees slightly bent instead of locked. To tilt his head at exactly the right angle, lean in, and…

That kiss was everything their first kiss had not been. It was chaste at first, close-mouthed, nothing more than a press of warm, dry lips against warm, dry lips. The second press of lips was deeper, more insistent, a hint of an open mouth beneath his. The third time their lips came together, it was open mouthed, lips and tongues and everything Feuilly had ever read a kiss could be. It ended with Courfeyrac's head tucked under his chin, and both of them breathing heavily from the sheer exhilaration. But, what on Earth this was going to mean come morning… Feuilly hadn't even a clue.

Courfeyrac didn't sleep that night. He tried. He tucked himself into the circle of Feuilly's arms, pressed into the protective curl of his body, and resolutely closed his eyes, but still sleep was elusive. So, he lay there all night, thoughts racing in helpless circles and always coming back around to that midnight kiss. He'd been entirely swept up in the moment, the thrill that playing belle of the ball at these galas always brought him, and Feuilly had been so exquisitely handsome and such an absolutely perfect gentleman and escort for the evening, moving through the gala like he'd been born to such elegance, himself… and when Feuilly had invited him to step under the mistletoe with him, the only thought in Courfeyrac's head had been, "Yes!"

But now, in the wee hours of the morning, when all was still but for the softly falling snow outside, Courfeyrac was quietly terrified that in allowing himself to get swept away, he'd made a terrible mistake. There was no going back from a kiss like that. Courfeyrac didn't want to go back from it. He wanted to be married to Feuilly in truth, not just in name. He wanted to go to sleep beside Feuilly every night and wake up beside him every morning. He wanted to be able to look Feuilly in the eye and tell him he loved him and know that Feuilly understood that he meant that in a romantic sense in addition to a friend sense. He wanted Feuilly to come to this party and wear that tuxedo every year until they were the ones hosting it themselves… and then every year after that, too. He wanted Feuilly at his side raising children of their own, watching them grow up, spread their wings, and fly. He wanted to grow old together, knowing that 60 years from now, when they were old and wrinkled, Feuilly would still be there, holding him as they slept and dancing with him the way they'd danced tonight. He wanted it all. And he had no idea how to tell Feuilly that.

As the light of dawn finally broke over a world that was still silent, muted somehow, under a heavy blanket of newly fallen snow, Courfeyrac pried himself just free enough from Feuilly's hold that he could sit up against the headboard. Pulling out his phone, he started flipping through the pictures his father had taken just before the party. His eyes were wide and terrified in those pictures. Shell-shocked. And that wasn't far from the truth. That moment of "Oh, fuck, he's hot!" that Courfeyrac had experienced upon walking into the ballroom and seeing Feuilly dressed for the party had been entirely unexpected and left him feeling like someone had just dropped a bomb on his head. That feeling had lingered, too, and was even now still lingering.

Courfeyrac moved on then, to the pictures his mother had taken and posted to the family Facebook group. There were pictures of his father, his brother, his sister and her husband, too, but even Courfeyrac could tell that a disproportionate number of those photographs were of he and Feuilly. And those pictures told a story, loud and clear. It was looking through those pictures that finally gave him a glimmer of hope.

When Feuilly woke almost an hour later and sat up beside him, Courfeyrac was still looking through those pictures, around and around, over and over. Feuilly wordlessly looked on with him as he swiped through picture after picture. When Courfeyrac got to the end, he put the phone down, but still couldn't quite bring himself to look at Feuilly when he asked the question that he needed answered before he said anything else. "Feuilly… are you in love with me?"

The way that Feuilly sucked in a ragged breath at that and the way he winced away from Courfeyrac when he asked it was nearly all the information he needed. Still, he waited. Eventually, Feuilly answered with a quiet, "Yes." No embellishment, no excuses, just quiet, firm conviction.

"For how long?"

Feuilly put his head into his hands, rubbed vigorously at his face for a moment before answering. "Being entirely truthful?" A deep breath. "In some form or another, since the day we met. In a romantic way? I'm not sure I could pinpoint exactly when, but I'm starting to think it was sometime before we said, 'I do.'"

Courfeyrac let out a tremendous sigh of relief at that and slumped down against Feuilly's shoulder. "Oh, thank fuck."

Feuilly jerked away for a moment at that before bending down to try to get a glimpse of Courfeyrac's face. "Wait… what? You… that's a good thing?"

Courfeyrac sat up again and turned to face Feuilly, unwilling to say any of this in any way that could lead to misinterpretation. "Somewhere along the way of this absurd venture… I fell in love with you, too. And I have been tearing myself to pieces for weeks trying to figure out how to tell you without scaring you right into wanting a divorce."

Feuilly's mouth dropped right open, then closed a moment later with an audible click. It was another minute, at least, before he managed to respond in any way coherently. "Wait. You— You're in love with me, too?" When Courfeyrac nodded, lips stretching into a smile so wide it made his cheeks ache, Feuilly just stared. "But… but… what does that mean?"

Courfeyrac laughed, then took both of Feuilly's wildly gesticulating hands into his own and kissed them both. "It means, husband mine, that if we weren't already married, this would be the part where one of us proposed. Seeing, however, as we are already married… I think this is the part where I ask if you'd like to move from your room into mine when we get back home."

Feuilly finally started to smile, too, and his entire posture relaxed along with it. "From my room to yours? Why not the other way around?"

Courfeyrac's smile widened. "I mean… we can do as you like, for sure, but my room is bigger, has a view of the park, and it has its own bathroom. With a bathtub. So." He shrugged.

Feuilly laughed. "Well, that settles that, then, I guess."

"It does." Courfeyrac paused, then, before continuing in a quieter, more subdued tone. "Just so you know… if we weren't already married… and you had asked me this morning… I would have said yes."

"You would?"

"I would."

Courfeyrac's breath caught as Feuilly lifted his hands to cup his face, his gaze roving over every inch before finally landing on his lips. Courfeyrac could sense the kiss coming with the same undeniable undertow that the one last night had begun. Still he waited for it, hanging there between Feuilly's hands, breathless, and a little light-headed with sudden want. Feuilly's lips stretched into a soft smile. "Then I want you to know that—if we weren't already married—and you had said yes? You'd have made me the happiest man in the world."

Courfeyrac let out a breathless little laugh. "Well… I'm glad we got that settled, aren't you?"

Feuilly nodded slowly, once, then twice, then leaned in. Courfeyrac leaned up at the same time and their lips met, slow and chaste at first, then quickly building to the same intensity that had left Courfeyrac so shaken just last night.

Courfeyrac didn't come back to himself after that until his brother's voice yelled from down the hall, "Wake the hell up, everyone! It's Christmas! Deck the halls with boughs of get your asses out of bed and come open presents!" By then Seth had reached their door and started pounding on it mercilessly and yelling, "Merry Christmas, you two! If you're sleeping in there, then get the hell up! And if you're doing anything else, I do not want to know, please don't ever tell me!" before moving on down the hall to pound on their sister's door.

Feuilly was laughing to himself, eyes squeezed shut and one hand clamped over his mouth not to give them away. When he finally calmed down, he kissed Courfeyrac again, quick and chaste this time, the kind of habitual kiss a married couple would share just because they loved each other and they could. And of all the kisses they'd ever shared, Courfeyrac found that one the most thrilling of all. Throwing his arms around Feuilly, he said, "Did you hear that, Feuilly? It's Christmas!"

Feuilly wrapped his arms around Courfeyrac and rolled him back down onto the bed in one smooth motion. When they landed, Feuilly on top and staring down into his eyes as Courfeyrac laughed with pure delight, Feuilly said, "That is certainly is! And a merry Christmas, to you, husband mine!"

Courfeyrac reached up to brush Feuilly's hair back from his face, then stroked his hand down Feuilly's cheek. "Merry Christmas to you, too, my love." This time, when Courfeyrac's heart started to race from the thrill of saying those words, it was because this time, he was allowed to mean it. This feeling was real, and he never planned to let it go.

A/N: No beta for this one, so any remaining mistakes are solely on my head. I'm sure there are a few. -.-;;;

Anyway, you can find me on tumblr at eirenical, so feel free to stop by and say hello! ^_^ Thanks for reading! ^_^