Archive of Our Own

“Combeferre!”

Courfeyrac's voice flutters through the room, causing everyone to look up. They've all gathered, as usual on Tuesday's, to discuss politics and protests and petitions.

Combeferre smiles, turning to look at Courfeyrac as he practically skids to halt in front of him. Combeferre is momentarily distracted by how nice Courfeyrac looks, with his hair pushed away from his face as a result of the wind and his cheeks pink due to the cold. He doesn't get much time to focus on this however, because Courfeyrac grabs his hands, holding them between their bodies and near his chest.

“I have the most exciting news!” He shakes their hands slightly in excitement. Combeferre has to focus on looking at Courfeyrac's face instead of focusing on how soft his sweater is underneath of his fingers and how much he never wants to move his hands away from his chest.

Everyone has at least partially stopped what they were doing to watch the exchange. As usual, Combeferre is trying his best to not turn into a stuttering mess. He nods in order to avoid speaking for a moment while he gets himself together.

“So you know the show that I've been talking about? The one with the violins and stuff?” Courfeyrac asks, bouncing up and down on his heels while he talks.

Of course Combeferre knows about this show. Courfeyrac hasn't stopped talking about it since he heard it was going to be in the theatre near Combeferre's apartment. He's always talking about the different types of instruments and players and pieces. Combeferre has been very much enjoying how excited and full of wonder Courfeyrac has been when he's talked about it.

“The one you won't shut up about?” Combeferre asks, squeezing his hands gently. Courfeyrac's hands are warm, despite how cold it is outside.

“I got tickets!” He actually squeals, jumping up and tightening his grip on Combeferre's hands almost to the point of hurting him. “I'm so excited!”

“That's wonderful!” Combeferre grins, face lighting up to match Courfeyrac's delighted expression.

“I got one for you too! So we can go together!” Courfeyrac's grip lightens a bit on his hands. “It's next Saturday.”

Combeferre stares at him for a moment, noticing the way that he's looking at him. Normally he wouldn't even wait for a reply. He would run off to save them seats close to the front and tell Combeferre to be there at a certain time and that would be the end of that. Instead he looks hesitant, as if Combeferre will say no to him.

“That sounds nice,” he replies, keeping his voice soft and smiling. He couldn't say no to Courfeyrac, even if he wanted to.

Courfeyrac squeaks, getting up onto his tip-toes quickly to kiss him on the cheek. Combeferre can't help his smile as he squeezes the hand that Courfeyrac still has in his. “Oh good! I'll go and reserve seats right now!” He hurries away, phone already up to his ear.

Combeferre stares after him for a moment, almost putting a hand up to his cheek before remembering that he's in a room full of people. He sighs instead, rubbing his eyes and turning back to the table only to find everyone staring at him. Jehan looks the most incredulous, with their eyebrows raised.

“Excuse me?” Grantaire asks, tilting his head down to look at him as if he's looking over glasses. “When did that become a thing?”

Combeferre scrunches his eyebrows, looking over at the door. “What?” He turns back, blushing at everyone still staring at him. “Courfeyrac kisses everyone on the cheek, you all know that.”

“He doesn't give everyone the look he gave you,” Jehan says, eyes dreamy and far off. “Please tell me you saw the look that he gave you!”

Of course Combeferre saw it. He's not an idiot. He knows that Courfeyrac has feelings for him, and that they're not strictly platonic. He also knows that Courfeyrac has been in love with everyone at some point, and he isn't going to stop being the person that he is just because Combeferre has been in love with him for years. He also doesn't want to fuck Courfeyrac only to have his feelings return to being platonic as soon as he's had his sexual fill.

He's seen it happen too many times.

“Of course I saw it,” Combeferre says, sitting down at his normal place next to Enjolras on the left side. A small ball of anxiety wells up in his chest as he continues to speak, but he ignores it, continuing on. There's no use in lying to his friends. “I'm not an idiot.”

He's seen so many loves of Courfeyrac's life leave in the morning with messy hair and clothes and never return and never be talked to or about ever again. He doesn't think he can handle having Courfeyrac for only one night. He can't break his own heart like that.

“I know how Courfeyrac feels about me,” He emphasizes. He's tired of his friends constantly pestering about something that will never be. “It's hard not to know.”

Everyone seems to freeze for a moment, before leaning forward, as if waiting for him to continue his sentence.

“And?” Bahorel and Jehan ask at the same time, Jehan raising their eyebrows in surprise.

“And nothing,” Combeferre says, unable to stop the lie from slipping between his lips. He almost covers his mouth after saying it, but manages to resist the urge.

“What?” Enjolras is staring at him like he's crazy as he asks the question that Combeferre is sure is on everyone's minds.

“Courfeyrac likes me, I don't feel the same. There's nothing after that, Jehan. Leave it.” His words are firmer than he meant them to be, and he can see Jehan actually recoil away from him slightly at his tone of voice. Even though Jehan hadn't been the one to ask the question he replied to, he knows that Jehan will be the last one to drop it.

He begins to adjust his glasses, but he stops himself before his arm can get very far and he covers up the movement by fixing the sleeve of his shirt instead. He sighs, looking down at the table and then glancing towards the door, where Courfeyrac has yet to appear.

He feels awkward, lying to all of his friends, but he feels like he's hiding it well. He's always been a good liar, he just chooses not to do it often, due to his moral standpoint. He's not even sure why he lied in the first place, but it's too late to take it back now, no matter how much he wants to shove the words back into his mouth. He supposes that it's easier than admitting how in love he is with someone who only feels lust.

Just as both Joly and Enjolras open their mouths to respond, the door opens and Courfeyrac finally reappears, grinning from ear to ear still. “I got us front row seats!” He says, sitting back in his spot next to Combeferre.

Combeferre can't help but smile, tangling his fingers with Courfeyrac's when he presses his palm to his. “Wonderful!” He replies, squeezing the hand he's holding. It takes him a moment to realize that he's not actually breathing, to which he responds by breathing out as slowly as he can as to not alert anyone to his situation.

“Let's get started,” Enjolras says suddenly, standing from his seat. “Since everyone is here now.”

And like that, the situation is over.

–

It's a few weeks later that shit hits the fan. Metaphorically speaking, that is. Combeferre really should've seen it coming. As soon as Jehan had gotten that weird look in their eyes, he should've known that they wouldn't stop thinking about Combeferre's love life.

Especially since Courfeyrac has been extra affectionate with him since he asked him to go with him to the orchestra. He's been holding his hand more often, sitting on his lap at the end of practically every meeting, and even going as far as to refer to him as his boyfriend because, 'you're the closest thing I've ever had to one!'.

Combeferre has been drowning in the affection, unsure of whether or not he wants Courfeyrac to stop, or if he wants to play along and pretend that Courfeyrac really has feelings for him. It's been driving him crazy, not knowing.

“So Combeferre.”

Combeferre looks up from the papers that he's sorting for Enjolras as Jehan plops down into the seat next to him. He has a rare break from Courfeyrac, who's talking to Feuilly about something that they've both supposed to be working on for the Enjolras' upcoming speech to the dean of the university about the necessity of gender neutral bathrooms on campus.

He raises an eyebrow suspiciously, humming in response.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Combeferre stops what he's doing, setting his papers down. He looks towards them, thinking for a moment before saying, “Of course I have.” He's already lied to Jehan once about this. He can't handle doing it again.

“With who?” Jehan moves slightly closer, as if they're listening intently. So much for not lying again. “Because you've never had a significant other that you've introduced to any of us.” They pause for a second, looking at their nails. “You see, I've been thinking about it,” Jehan looks up at him over their nails in the most condescending way that Combeferre has ever seen. It sends sparks of annoyance up his spine. “and it doesn't add up.” Combeferre snorts, shaking his head. He can't believe that Jehan has put so much time into thinking about his love life. “You say you've been in love, and you seem to know a lot about being in love, and yet, there is no one that you've been in love with enough for you to introduce us to them.”

“It's no one that you would know, Jehan,” he responds, keeping his voice as soft as possible in order to not draw attention to them, and to keep himself in check. He picks his papers back up, trying to resume his sorting into relevant and not relevant.

“There aren't many people that I don't know.” Jehan keeps their voice at the same volume as his, but can feel everyone beginning to notice their conversation. The cafe isn't that big of a space, and they can all hear each other just fine after a certain volume.

Combeferre stares at Jehan, trying not to seem as annoyed as he feels. He's generally very good at being calm, since he's rather unpleasant when he's angry. He's had issues with controlling himself while angry for as long as he can remember, so he's pretty much mastered not getting angry in the first place, but he has a feeling that if Jehan keeps pressing, he's going to lose his calm. He's already much more stressed out than he ever needs to be and it's hard enough for him to lie without Jehan trying to figure out who he's lying about. Courfeyrac being in room also isn't helping his cause very much. “Does it really matter that much?”

“Are you in love right now?” Jehan asks, accusation painting their words. “Why are you being so secretive about this?”

Combeferre closes his eyes for a second, breathing in deeply before looking around to see that everyone, including Courfeyrac, seems to be paying attention to what's happening. He clenches his fists for a moment, relaxing them immediately afterward. He's not even actually sure why he's so angry, but it's building in his chest. He figures it's because he's been so stressed out lately.

“Let it go, Prouvaire.” Combeferre grabs his papers again, pushing his anger down once again. He doesn't have time to be angry, or to be questioned like this. He still has to memorize 100 words for his exam after he sorts the papers. “This isn't the time to be talking about this. Don't you have something to be doing?”

“You can't hide whoever this is forever, 'Ferre. Is it one of us?”

Combeferre, despite his best attempts, snaps a bit, turning sharply to glare at Jehan while he speaks. His grip tightens on his papers, making them crinkle. “I know that you think you're some sort of match maker, but this isn't something I want your help with.” It's a wonder he's able to keep his voice even.

“So you are in love right now!” Jehan's voice raises and he feels the room tense.

“I don't want to talk about it, Jehan.” Combeferre still tries to keep his voice soft. He doesn't want to fight with anyone. He hates being in arguments. He hates feeling like he's fighting a losing battle. He especially hates having to lie so much in such a short amount of time. His anger is now more directed at himself than anything, but that doesn't stop it from being there, swelling in his chest.

“I'm not just going to let something like this go!” Jehan slams their hands down on the table, their own frustration showing now. Combeferre knows this isn't going to end well. He and Jehan are two people that hardly ever get anything past mild annoyance and he's already thoroughly pissed off.“If you're in love then at least tell me that much!”

“Yes!” Combeferre half yells, slamming his hand on the table in response and standing up. He drops his papers, staring hard at Jehan, who's recoiled. If there's one thing he hates, it's people not respecting his boundaries. “Yes, Jehan, I am in love.” He breathes out, doing his best to control himself, but he's failing. His voice raises as he continues to yell. “At this very moment, my heart longs for someone that I will never have. It beats for one person. I breathe for one person. I have never loved anyone like I love them.” He can't stop the mocking tone that his voice has adopted by the end of his little rant. He can't stop, even when Jehan flinches, hurt beginning to show in their eyes. “Is that what you wanted me to say, Jehan? That I'm so desperately in love that my heart aches with the very thought of it? This isn't some fucking poem that you're writing.” He pauses and Jehan opens their mouth to speak, but Combeferre doesn't let them. He's not done speaking yet. “It's not someone you know, and this whole situation, actually, if I'm being honest, isn't any of your goddamn business, no matter how much you seem to think that it is.” Jehan flinches slightly, looking uncomfortable at Combeferre's language. “So yes, since you can't keep your fucking nose out of everyone's business, I am very much in love right now. And no, it's not with someone in this room.”

“I'm just trying to help!” Jehan's voice is desperate, and Combeferre can tell that he's on the verge of tears, but that doesn't stop his response, which is filled with almost pure anger at this point.

“Dude, back off,” Feuilly says from somewhere across the room, but Combeferre ignores him entirely, focusing on Jehan instead.

“I don't want your help! I don't fucking care if you're trying to help! You're being fucking annoying, is what you're doing. It's not someone you know. With any luck, you'll never know them. I wish I didn't know them. Now please, get your head out of the clouds you're so fond of and fucking drop it.”

The last words are more hissed through his teeth than anything. Jehan backs even farther away from him, tears beginning to actually fall from his eyes now. He feels like a trapped animal and its making him uncomfortable.

“That was fucking uncalled for you piece of shit.”

Feuilly is next to Jehan in what seems like no time at all, glaring at Combeferre. Any semblance of control he may have regained on himself is completely gone in that instant and his rage is suddenly stronger than before.

“Asking me so many questions when I told them to stop was uncalled for, actually,” Combeferre replies to Feuilly's statement, his nerves on fire with how much anger he's feeling. Someone tries to grab his arm, but he shrugs them off without thought, taking a step towards Feuilly, who looks just as ready to fight as he feels.

“What the fuck is your problem, dude?”

“Currently? It's you.”

It would be funny, if he didn't mean it. This whole situation is between him and Jehan, and Feuilly has no place to try and tell him anything. Not when Jehan feels the need to dig so deeply into his personal life.

“Excuse me? Don't think I won't beat your ass just because we're friends.” Feuilly steps forward and well, Combeferre can't stop himself from also stepping forward, his fists already clenched in anticipation.

All he can focus on is the threat that Feuilly is posing to him and the anger that's filling his veins, propelling him forward as he speaks. “Oh, I fully intend to fight back.”

“OK,” Bahorel's voice comes from behind him and suddenly there are arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him away. “Enough of this bullshit.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” Combeferre yells, struggling. He can see that Feuilly is also being held back by Joly, who only has a hand on his elbow. For a moment, he's glad that at least one of them has some self control. He struggles more, desperate to get away from Bahorel's entirely restrictive hold. Bahorel is much stronger than he is though, and he can't put up much of a fight against him. He uses most of his energy, trying to escape from him while he's being dragged to the other side of the room. He can hear Enjolras saying something to him but he can't focus on it enough to understand it. By the time he's let go and Enjolras is in front of him, he's on his knees and tears are fighting against his eyelids.

“Are you still angry?” Enjolras asks, putting a hand on his arm.

“Yes,” Combeferre responds through his teeth, trying to take a deep breath. Tears start falling from his eyes and he's unable to stop them once they start. He's so frustrated that he can't even see past Enjolras. He can hear Bahorel and Feuilly somewhere near him, speaking loudly to each other.

“You're just gonna let him talk to Jehan like that?”

“Dude, do you see him right now? I'd let him talk to my mom like that if that's what he fuckin' needed. He's so stressed he probably doesn't even know what just happened.”

“Focus on me.”

There's a different voice in front of him, and Enjolras is being pushed out of the way and Grantaire is front of him, sitting with his legs crossed and his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“Did you know that some snakes can live for up to two years without eating?” Grantaire asks, causing Combeferre to look up at him, confused. He can hardly see anything past the tears in his eyes. Grantaire doesn't give him time to respond before he starts talking again. “They can slow down their metabolic process in order to withstand longer periods of time without food, and then speed them back up when they find something to eat.” Combeferre takes another deep breath, closing his eyes and just listening to Grantaire talk. He's so frustrated still, his entire body shaking with it. He wishes he wasn't so angry, and that just makes it worse. It makes him more angry. “Sloths move three times faster in water than they do on land. They get their swimming abilities from this species of absolutely massive sloth that lived like a million years ago or something that spent like all of it's time in the water. It's called the Thalassocnus.”

His anger is slowly beginning to drain from him, along with most of his energy. He focuses still on his breathing, refusing to look around the room just yet. He doesn't need to see the aftermath of his outburst. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to see Jehan crying. To see Feuilly frustrated. To everyone worrying about him. That's probably the last thing he needs right now. He can't believe he let his anger get the better of him like this. That he's lashed out at some of his best friends, in front of the rest of his best friends. His anger is slowly being replaced with sadness, as it often is, even when he doesn't let it get the better of him. He's hasn't been this disappointed in himself in a very long time.

“Are you OK?” Grantaire asks him, his words holding no pressure.

“No.” Combeferre looks up, wiping his face with an unsteady hand. “Absolutely not.” He looks around, seeing that Jehan is approaching him. “I actually haven't been this not OK in a very long time.” He almost laughs, but he has no energy left for it. He wants to leave, immediately. His disappointment and sadness is crushing. He feels like there are weights inside of his chest.

He sees Jehan's shoes getting closer to him, and he looks up, his heart twisting in his chest as he sees that Jehan is still crying, their face red and tear stained. Combeferre can't look at them, knowing that he's the reason that they're crying. He's supposed to be a protector. A comforter. He feels like he's going to puke.

“'Ferre,” Jehan says softly, trying to reach towards him, but Combeferre can barely hear them. He needs to be away from this situation immediately as he realizes just exactly how much he's completely fucked everything up, and the things that he's just said in front of everyone. Including Courfeyrac. Fuck. He looks over at where Courfeyrac is standing, staring at him with wide eyes. He pretends that he can't see the tears in Courfeyrac's eyes.

He scrambles to his feet, looking around wildly until he find where the door is. He's sure that he looks like some sort of wild animal, but he doesn't care. That's what he feels like. He needs to leave. He can hardly even put together a thought.

He grabs his coat on the way out, practically running towards the door as he throws it on. He prays that Jehan won't hold a grudge and is already planning out his apology as he leaves. He can't believe his own stupidity. His lack of self control. His blatant lies that he's just told to pretty much everyone he knows. His chest is heavy with the breaths he's attempting to take and he knows he's going to cry again.

“Combeferre!”

He stops walking, turning around to see Grantaire running to catch up with him. He's not exactly shocked that Grantaire followed him, but he was mostly expecting Enjolras. Or Courfeyrac.

“Hey,” He says as soon as he's close enough. “Do you want someone to walk with you?” His eyes are wide and worried, and his hair is messed up from running to catch him.

“I, uh, suppose so, if you wanted to walk with me,” Combeferre responds, shrugging slightly. He's still got tears in his eyes and he's trying very hard not to let them fall. If he starts crying again now he won't be able to stop.

Grantaire nods, walking next to him and prompting him to walk with him. Combeferre blinks quickly, keeping his tears at bay.

“Are you planning on walking the whole way to your apartment?” Grantaire asks, putting his hands in his pockets and looking at him.

“That was the plan, yeah.” Combeferre pulls his scarf from his pocket, wrapping it around his neck as the wind begins to pick up slightly. The last thing he needs is to catch a cold at a time like this. “I need time to think, after I uh, get like that.”

Grantaire nods. “That makes sense.”

Combeferre puts his hands into his pockets before he speaks. “Thanks for, um, calming me down and stuff. You talking worked really well.”

“My little sister had anger issues and when we were growing up that's how I got her to relax. I learned so many bullshit facts.” He laughs, running a hand though his hair.

Combeferre smiles, but still doesn't have the energy to laugh just yet. He's emotionally drained, and his thoughts are whirling. No wonder Courfeyrac isn't in love with you. After that, he probably never will be. He shakes the thought away, reaching up to wipe at his eyes before tears can fall. They walk in silence for a few more blocks before Grantaire finally speaks.

“I know a lot about being in love,” Grantaire says, voice soft in a comforting way. “and not being loved back.”

Combeferre sighs. It makes sense now, why Grantaire would follow him.

“When I first realized that I was in love with Enjolras,” He continues, kicking the ground slightly as he walks. “It wasn't some heart stopping realization you know. It wasn't anything like how they it is in books or whatever. It was just kind of an 'oh, that's new,' kind of feeling.”

Combeferre nods. He can relate.

“But the realization that he didn't even like me at all was a lot more like the books than anything else. My chest ached too, and I was just trying to breathe for a few days after I knew. But, look at where Enjolras and I are now. Ya know what I mean? A few months ago I thought he hated me, and yesterday he kissed my cheek and told me that I was wonderful. I dunno, I guess I'm just trying to say that maybe its not all lost, no matter who the person is.”

Combeferre really can't handle this. Although he's always claimed to be a horrible liar, he can see that perhaps his lying skills have improved. He feels a bit sick and he figures if there's ever a time to tell someone who he's in love with, this is it.

“Can I tell you something,” Combeferre says quietly, his words almost getting lost in the wind. “Without you telling anyone?”

Grantaire stares at him for a moment before nodding.

“It's Courfeyrac. I'm in love with him.”

“I thought so.” Grantaire shrugs. “But I wasn't sure, because you seemed so adamant about it not being him. And the whole him not being in love with you thing was throwing me off, because he definitely is.”

“I'm going to tell you something else that I don't want you to tell to anyone.” Combeferre breathes out heavily. He's never talked to anyone about his situation, and the way that Courfeyrac can be sometimes. He figures if he's going to trust anyone with it, it might as well be Grantaire. “I'm not supposed to tell anyone.”

Once again, Grantaire just nods in answer.

“Courfeyrac doesn't feel romantic feelings.” Combeferre pauses, looking over at Grantaire, who's looking at him. “At least he thinks he doesn't, at least.” He shakes his head. “He's only in it for sex. He's told me a bunch of times that he's never felt anything but sexual feelings for anyone.”

“That would make sense,” Grantaire admits, twisting his mouth a bit.

“And you should hear the way that he talks about people that he has sex with sometimes. It's like they're not even real. It's weird. I don't want to become just another fuck on Courfeyrac's long list. I'd rather be his best friend for the rest of my life than that.”

“But the way that he looks at you.” Grantaire stops him for walking for a moment. “You don't see it all the time, but honestly, it's something else. He just stares at you, when you're not paying attention. He stares like he's trying to hold you there with his eyes, ya know? Like he's completely infatuated with everything that you're doing. It's crazy. I've never seen anyone look at someone else like that.”

“You sound like Prouvaire,” Combeferre snorts. “And you should see yourself when you look at Enj.”

Grantaire blushes, looking away for a moment. “This is about you and Courfeyrac.” He points an accusing finger at him.

“Right.” Combeferre runs a hand through his hair. “I don't really think he's in love me. Like, I know that he obviously sees me in more than a friendship sort of light, but what that light is,” He shakes his head slightly, “it's hard to tell, to be honest.”

Grantaire doesn't say anything, but just gives him a look of understanding but also confusion.

“I would love to believe that he's in love with me, but I've seen a lot of people that Courfeyrac told me might be 'the one',” he uses finger quotation marks to get his point across. “leave in the morning and never come back. And like I said earlier, the way he talks about them is insane.”

“Like what?” Grantaire pulls out his pack of cigarettes, glancing at him. “Do you mind?” He gestures with the cigarettes.

“No you're fine.” Now isn't really the time to bring up the hazards of smoking, Combeferre figures. “Just a few days ago Courfeyrac came up to me while I was working and asked me if I remembered the 'tall, blond, girl with the green sweater' that he fucked. What kind of way is that to refer to someone. I asked if he knew her name and he told me that was the least important thing about her and some other things I'd rather not say.”

Grantaire looks at him incredulously. “It doesn't seem like Courfeyrac to be rude about women.”

Combeferre shakes his head quickly. “No, no, not even something rude. Just something sexual. Everything is in terms of sex with him. Like I'm pretty sure he judges how much he likes his exes based on how good of a fuck they are.” He grimaces at the wording that he's heard from Courfeyrac many times before.

Grantaire nods, breathing out smoke. “Sorry,” He says as it blows almost directly into Combeferre's face. “I hate doing that.”

“Don't worry about it.” A face full of smoke is the last thing on Combeferre's mind.

“But it makes sense that he would judge them based on sexual performance if that's all he does with them.” Grantaire shrugs at the end of his statement, making a face that suggests he's not really sure that what he's saying is true.

“I suppose,” Combeferre reasons. It does make sense, but Combeferre doesn't want any relationship he has with any to be like that. Sex can only do so much for him. “Like I said though, I don't want to just be a fuck to someone that I love.”

Grantaire looks at the ground contemplatively, taking a few hits from his cigarette before saying anything else. By the time he begins talking again, Combeferre's apartment building is only a few blocks away.

“I think that maybe you should talk to Courfeyrac about this whole thing.” Grantaire stubs his cigarette out on a lamp post quickly before continuing to walk. “I mean, it was horrible and embarrassing to talk to Enjolras about our feelings or whatever for the first time, but like, it happened and now we're actually getting somewhere I think. That's pretty good right?”

“Enjolras really likes you R.” Combeferre has had too many earfuls from Enjolras about Grantaire. “He's pretty much willing to do anything at this point to show you that.”

“I've kind of noticed.” Grantaire laughs, putting his hands in his pockets. “He keeps telling me that I can call the whole thing off at any time. As if. He even talked to Eponine about being able to date me. Eponine laughed in his face.”

Combeferre laughs as well. “He's gone for you, to say the least. I don't think he knows he's in love just yet.”

“I think you're right.”

“Thank you,” Combeferre says, as they reach his apartment building. “for walking with me, and like, everything else. I needed to finally tell someone about this whole thing, and honestly, I'm glad that it was you.”

Grantaire shrugs, looking a bit bashful. “No problem man. I'm just trying to help.”

Combeferre smiles. He makes it point in his head to try and spend more time with Grantaire.

-

Generally, being in the car with Courfeyrac is fun for Combeferre. Courfeyrac always signs very loudly to whatever comes on the radio, dances very badly, and talks for the entire car ride without Combeferre really needing to responde. He enjoys listening to Courfeyrac talk about nothing most of the time because Combeferre just wants to know everything about him.

Being in the car with a drunk Courfeyrac is a completely different story. Especially when the Courfeyrac in question is almost entirely incoherent and keeps talking about how much he loves Combeferre.

“I just love you so much,” He slurs, looking out of the window. “Don't ever leave me.”

Combeferre laughs, shaking his head. “Where would I leave to? I don't have anywhere to go Courf.”

“Not ever? You'll never have anywhere else to go?” Courfeyrac turns to look at him as they stop at a light.

Combeferre looks back at him, still smiling. Courfeyrac is a mess, his hair falling into his eyes and sticking up in a few places. His cheeks are red and his eyes are bloodshot and he looks as drunk as he's acting. Combeferre still thinks he's the most beautiful person on earth.

“Not for as long as you'll have me,” He turns back to looking at the road, moving the car forward again as the light changes.

“Yaaaay,” Courfeyrac cheers softly, nodding happily. Courfeyrac looks out the window again, his face changing as he realizes that they're not going in the direction of his apartment.

“Hey,” He says, poking Combeferre in the arm a few times more than necessary. “Hey, this is not the way to my house.”

“You don't live in a house babe,” Combeferre says patiently, looking at him for a moment out of the corner of his eye. “and I know. We're going to my apartment so that Grantaire and Enjolras don't have to deal with you.”

Combeferre regrets his wording immediately, tightening his grip on the steering wheel in preparation for Courfeyrac's reaction.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Courfeyrac asks, sounding much more sad than Combeferre was prepared for. “Do they think I'm annoying? They're not even going back to my house! They're going to Grantaire's.”

“No, darling, they don't think you're annoying, I promise. You are however, very drunk right now, and I'm sure that they want privacy.”

“But they won't even be at my house!”

“Would rather I take you back to your apartment?”

Courfeyrac thinks for a moment, looking around like he's just realized that he's in the car.

“No.” He pauses for a second. “I wish we were like Enjolras and Grantaire.”

Combeferre's throat tightens. “Why's that?” He turns the car off, having arrived at his apartment building.

“Because then I'd be the one you're in love with.” Courfeyrac smiles drowsily at him, eyelids drooping. “Whoever you're in love with is the luckiest person on earth. You're so beautiful.”

“OK Romeo,” Combeferre replies, struggling not to blush. “Let's get you inside.”

He absolutely does not spend the rest of the night thinking about what Courfeyrac could possibly have meant by that.

-

“That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” Courfeyrac gushes, eyes wide and starry. “Did you hear that last crescendo, and the harmonies were so incredible and just, ugh, it was so fantastic and beautiful.”

Combeferre has never been more in love, looking at Courfeyrac while he talks so passionately about an orchestral performance. He loves the way that Courfeyrac bounces as he talks, his hand firmly held in Combeferre's. He feels grounded and safe and wonderful. His reply slips past his lips before he can stop it.

“It wasn't as beautiful as you.”

It was half meant to be a joke but Courfeyrac blushes deeply, looking at him shyly from the corner of his eye. “Shut up,” he says, looking down at the ground.

Combeferre also blushes, his reply being accidental. He tightens his grip on Courfeyrac's hand, which he revels holding in his. He wants to be like this all the time, with Courfeyrac pressed close to his side, and hand in his. It almost feels like they're dating. Like they're in love, or something crazy like that. Combeferre shakes his head very slightly, in order to clear his intrusive thoughts away. He just wants to enjoy the time that he has with his best friend, instead of turning it into some weird fantasy.

“Enjolras is going to be so jealous,” Combeferre says, instead of addressing his previous words. “Why didn't you ask him? Orchestra is one of his favorite things.”

Courfeyrac looks at him strangely, even stopping walking for a moment.

“Oh,” He says, eyes widening. “Um, I just wanted to go with you, I guess.”

Combeferre doesn't even know why he asked. He knows that this was a date. He knows exactly why Courfeyrac asked him instead of anyone else in the world he could've asked. He hates the thought of being just another person that Courfeyrac lures into his bed.

“Do you want to come back to mine?” Courfeyrac looks at him as they walk, looking so hopeful that even though Combeferre knows it's a bad idea, he agrees to it, humming his response.

Courfeyrac smiles, but its unlike his normal, ear to ear grin. There's something undeniably nervous about him and it's making Combeferre nervous. Out of habit, he reaches up, adjusting his glasses on his face.

The rest of the walk is spent in relative silence, since the walk to Courfeyrac's apartment is relatively short, but Combeferre's brain isn't quiet once on the way there.

–

Courfeyrac looks up at him, putting their faces closer than Combeferre expected. Combeferre immediately looses his breath, wanting so badly to kiss him, to tell him how he feels, to hold him and never let him go.

“Combeferre,” Courfeyrac half whispers, eyes shining. There's a split second of silence before Courfeyrac presses their lips together, bringing a hand up to the side of Combeferre's face in order to bring him closer. Combeferre makes a noise of surprise, but kisses back, despite every part of his logical brain telling him not to. His heart is racing and he's stuck between joy and despair. This is everything he's ever wanted, but he knows that it won't last. It would be foolish of him to expect Courfeyrac to change just for him. Just because he's in love.

He flips over, climbing on top of Courfeyrac and pressing him down into the bed, only disconnecting their lips for a moment while he moves. Courfeyrac whimpers and god Combeferre can't handle this. He just wants to hear that sound forever. He opens Courfeyrac's mouth with his, putting his hands on either side of his head.

“You're so beautiful, oh my god,” Courfeyrac says, as Combeferre moves his head in order to begin sucking hickies into Courfeyrac's neck. Combeferre tries his hardest not to think about how many people Courfeyrac has said that to in this exact same position. He sucks hard at Courfeyrac's neck, trying his best to mark him. To leave a part of himself with Courfeyrac for as long as can, knowing that Courfeyrac's infatuation will fade with the mark.

Courfeyrac scrambles at his shirt, unbuttoning it frantically, mumbling nonsense already. Combeferre sits back, unbuttoning his own shirt quickly and practically throwing it off as Courfeyrac also sits up slightly to take his own shirt off.

Combeferre pauses for a moment, looking at Courfeyrac's body. He's seen Courfeyrac shirtless countless times, but everything feels different. He's breathing heavily and the soft lighting of the bedroom makes him look unreal. He's so in love that his chest aches with it and he could cry. He looks up, meeting Courfeyrac's eyes for a moment. He can't help but stare, even though all he wants is to make Courfeyrac scream. He's sure that he's never seen anyone so beautiful and he needs to remember this moment with everything he has.

“Combeferre?” Courfeyrac asks tentatively, shifting nervously. “Is something wrong?”

“You're the most fucking incredible person I've ever seen,” Combeferre says, pulling him up to kiss him so that he can't respond. He has a feeling in his gut that he'll regret most of the things he says tomorrow, but he really doesn't have anything left to lose. If there's ever a time to tell Courfeyrac everything, it's now.

Courfeyrac moans into his mouth, melting underneath of him. He grabs Combeferre's shoulders, disconnecting their lips and switching their positions with Combeferre's help.

“If I don't get my mouth on your dick within the next few seconds I'm gonna go crazy,” he says, moving downwards towards Combeferre's belt and causing him to groan deeply.

He tangles his hand into Courfeyrac's hair, trying to ground himself to something.

“Well we wouldn't want that,” He agrees, voice rough with arousal as Courfeyrac begins to unbuckle his belt. Courfeyrac hums his agreement as he unbuttons and unzips his pants, practically ripping them down.

Courfeyrac makes a whimpering noise as Combeferre hisses at the slightly cold air on his dick.

“You're so big,” he whines, wrapping a hand around him. Combeferre groans deep in his throat, pulling on Courfeyrac's hair slightly. “No fair.”

Courfeyrac quickly wraps his lips around him, looking up at him nervously. Combeferre just stares at him, intrigued by how amazing he looks with his lips stretched out around his dick, with spit building up at the corners of his mouth already and eyes shining. He has to close his eyes for a moment at the sudden realization that this will most likely be the only time he ever gets to see Courfeyrac like this. His heart aches with the thought and he deals with it by pushing Courfeyrac down a bit farther. Courfeyrac moans, sucking hard and making Combeferre hiss with pleasure.

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre moans after a few minutes, using the hand he still has in Courfeyrac's hair to pull his mouth off of his dick. “Come here.”

Courfeyrac scrambles forwards, straddling him and pressing their lips together once again. Combeferre opens his mouth, sliding his tongue across Courfeyrac's gently, his hands smoothing over the skin of his back. His hands slip slightly underneath of the waist band of Courfeyrac's boxers, making him whine and pull back.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Combeferre's hips buck involuntarily and he growls in the back of his throat. He rolls them over, so that he's back on top of him. He presses Courfeyrac down into the mattress by his shoulders with both of his hands, looking directly into his eyes.

“Say it again.” He's pretty sure his voice has never been so rough in his life, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything at this point. He can't. If he starts caring about anything but being as close to Courfeyrac as possible, as soon as possible, he's going to drive himself crazy. If he's only going to have this experience once, he's going to make the most of it.

Courfeyrac stares at him for a moment, mouth open and eyes wide. His lips are wet with spit and puffier than when they started. He's never seen anything as beautiful in his life. Courfeyrac is staring directly into his eyes and for a moment all he can think about is how much he loves Courfeyrac. He's been waiting for this moment for years.

“I want you to fuck me.” Courfeyrac puts his hands on Combeferre's arms, gripping tightly as he practically moans out the words. His fingernails dig into his skin and he's so turned on he can't really think anymore.

Combeferre lets go of his shoulders, focusing on getting his pants off as quickly as possible. Once they're off, Courfeyrac climbs on top of him, grabbing both sides of his face and attaching their lips together. Combeferre feels like he's drowning and floating at the same time.

“You're gonna have to prep me,” Courfeyrac says softly against his lips, only pulling back a little bit in order to speak.

Combeferre sits up slightly, pulling Courfeyrac closer to him via his hands on his hips. Their foreheads press together and Courfeyrac's breath is heavy against his face. He thinks that he should probably find the sensation at least a bit uncomfortable, but he's finding it undeniably hot. Just like everything Courfeyrac does.

“I'm gonna need lube for that,” He pants, groaning when Courfeyrac grinds into him.

“Right.” Courfeyrac leans over to the left, opening his bedside table's top drawer.

Combeferre takes this moment to gather himself once more.

Courfeyrac hands Combeferre a small bottle of lube, that looks like it's never been used. He raises his eyebrows at him, nudging him to move off of his lap.

“I just got that,” he blushes, climbing from his lap and onto the bed. “it's flavored.”

Combeferre looks down at the bottle in surprise, and true to Courfeyrac's word, it's strawberry flavored.

“Tempting,” Combeferre says, setting it down on the bed for a moment so he can situate himself between Courfeyrac's legs. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Courfeyrac makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, his head falling back and hitting the pillows behind him. Combeferre can't help but smile, almost laughing.

“There's no way you're this hot literally all the time,” Courfeyrac looks back up at him, pouting. “That's not fair at all. You're supposed to be at least a little awkward.”

“You're not being awkward,” He argues, even though there are things he'd much rather be doing.

“That's an opinion.” Courfeyrac huffs.

“As much as I love debate, I would love to be fucking you even more, so I'm just gonna continue on, if that's OK with you?”

“I have never more OK with anything in my life.”

Combeferre grins.

_

Combeferre stares at the clock for a few moments, trying to wake himself up enough to comprehend what's going on. It's almost too warm for him in the room, with Courfeyrac covering almost his entire body and the blanket covering them. He shifts slightly, trying not to disturb the man sleeping next to him, which is hard, since Courfeyrac's head is on his chest and his arm is wrapped around his stomach. One of his legs is placed over Combeferre's hips as well, this calf touching Combeferre's thigh.

He runs his fingers through his hair, looking at the time again, since he was unable to actually comprehend what it said before.

3:26am

He sighs, looking back at Courfeyrac, who's face is barely visible in the dark room. He puts his hand on the arm that's over his stomach, tracing patterns onto his skin gently. He wants to stay right where he is forever, with Courfeyrac's warm body pressed into his. He's completely overwhelmed by how absolutely in love he is.

The situation is not helped at all when Courfeyrac makes a small noise, sitting up slightly and looking at him through bleary, half-opened eyes.

“'Ferre?” He asks quietly, tilting his head to the side and rubbing his eyes with one hand.

Combeferre feels like his head is going to explode.

“Mhm.” He hums his response, carding his fingers through Courfeyrac's hair. “Go back to sleep Courf', it's early.”

“I love you, 'Ferre.”

Courfeyrac mumbles into his chest as he talks, shifting around to get comfortable. Combeferre's chest tightens and he almost can't stop the tears that fill his eyes from falling. He doesn't know how much of this he can take.

“I love you too, Courf'.”

He's glad that Courfeyrac is half asleep so that he can't hear how wrecked Combeferre sounds. He has no idea what to do. He's naked, in bed with his best friend, who he's just admitted his love for, who doesn't feel romantic feelings for him. For anyone.

He rubs his eyes, wiping away the tears in the corners of them and looking at the clock to see that only a few minutes have passed.

He groans internally, slowly and carefully pulling Courfeyrac's arm from around him and moving it until Courfeyrac finally gets tired of being moved around and rolls over on his own, mumbling something in his sleep that Combeferre can't understand and doesn't even want to at this point.

It's not until he's fully dressed and grabbing his wallet that had fallen from his pants pockets to the floor when his pants had been thrown to the ground, that he realizes how much he's managed to fuck everything up.

-

Combeferre can feel the tension as soon as he enters the room, even pausing in the doorway to look around, unsurprised to see that everyone is looking at him. He keeps his facial expression the same, tilting his head slightly to show his confusion.

Courfeyrac and Enjolras are sitting at the head of the table, facing him. Everyone else has their heads turned towards the door. He immediately looks to Grantaire, trying to keep himself from making direct eye contact with Courfeyrac. Grantaire looks concerned, his forehead creased and his eyebrows drawn together. Everyone else seems to have a similar expression on their faces and Combeferre knows immediately what's happened.

“Who did I kill?” He asks, his tone is not as pleasantly sarcastic as he wants it to be, since he's dreading already how he knows the situation is going to play out. He numbs himself to the feeling immediately, as he's gotten used to in the past week. He's been having a hard time feeling anything but disappointment recently. He knows it's because he hasn't talked to Courfeyrac in a week and half, but he's pointedly ignoring this fact.

“Why won't you talk to me?” Courfeyrac asks him, standing up.

Combeferre looks at him, trying to think of something to say. His mind comes up blank, providing him with absolutely nothing to respond to the question with other than, “Oh.” Subsequently, he simply stares until Courfeyrac starts talking again, causing whispers to break across the table. He ignores them, along with the fast paced beating of his heart.

“You know what?” Courfeyrac asks, stomping his foot on the floor in the most childish display of anger Combeferre has seen in a long time. He can't stop himself from finding it cute, but his face still shows no emotion, and the thought is gone almost as quickly as it came. If he's going to be Courfeyrac's best friend, he can't be letting himself feel things like that. “I'm tired of this!”

Combeferre, once again, has nothing to say on the subject, opting to stay silent. He shakes his head slightly, unable to do much of anything else by way of physical responses. This is the exact conflict he's been trying to avoid.

“You can't ignore me for ever!” His frustration is clearly growing, along with the tension that's filling the room. Combeferre can't stop his reply from falling from his mouth without warning.

“You're making a scene, Courfeyrac.” He says. He's surprised by how exhausted he sounds and his face is still completely blank. It reflects how he feels about the whole situation. Blank.

Courfeyrac stares at him, his eyes widening in anger. Combeferre can practically feel the fury rolling off of him, but still, he can't seem to care. Can't bring himself to want to apologize. He knows its a defense mechanism, but its all he has anymore. He can't afford to be angry back. There's nothing else for him to do but remain emotionless.

“A scene?!” Courfeyrac screeches at him, clenching his fists. “You wanna see a fucking scene? I'll show you a fucking scene!”

Enjolras is out of his chair as soon as Courfeyrac starts moving, wrapping his arms around Courfeyrac from behind and holding onto him, stopping his advance that would inevitably lead to Combeferre getting punched in the face. He figures that the least he could do for Courfeyrac currently is to let him punch him in the face.

“Let me go!” Courfeyrac yells, struggling. “I could fucking kill you for this! You're supposed to be my best fucking friend! You can't do this to me!”

For some reason, Combeferre almost laughs. He wants to point out that Courfeyrac is the one that put them in this situation. He wants to be spiteful, and mean, and make Courfeyrac feel bad, but he can't. He knows that it's irrational to feel that way. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do anymore.

“What do you want from me Combeferre!” Courfeyrac screams, still fighting against Enjolras' arms, although they're not really holding him back as much as holding him up at this point. There are tears covering his face now and his voice cracks as he yells, making everyone flinch except for Combeferre, who feels frozen to the spot. He doesn't even know when Courfeyrac started crying. “I'm sorry OK? Is that what you want? A fucking apology?” Combeferre can only stare. He's lost his voice somewhere in his stomach, which has dropped to the floor. His resolve is slowly breaking and his only emotion is guilt. “Do you want me to regret it? Do you want me to stop talking to you? I'll fucking do anything at this point if you just stop ignoring me!”

Combeferre is silent still, unable to move. Enjolras is staring at him as well, his eyes wide and concerned.

“Fuck! Combeferre please,” Courfeyrac is begging, his voice still loud but not longer yelling. He's all but collapsed into Enjolras, who's holding his weight with no problem. “Talk to me! It's been weeks!” He sounds so desperate that Combeferre would normally be half-way to crying. Instead, guilt is eating away at his emotional barrier. It's yet to make room for any other emotions, but Combeferre can feel them approaching. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry that we had sex. I'm sorry that I love you! I'm sorry that you don't feel the same way as I do and I know that and we still fucked.” He breaks away from Enjolras, who lets him go easily, walking over to him and balling his hands into Combeferre's shirt in a way that he's sure was supposed to be threatening. Combeferre can't tell if he's angry or sad. His eyes are showing a million emotions at once and he's shaking like he may collapse. His words ring in Combeferre's ears. 'I'm sorry that I love you.' “I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable with my feelings but just please, say something, please, for the love of Christ, just talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say, Courfeyrac?” Combeferre asks, putting his hands over Courfeyrac's in an attempt to calm him down. He keeps his voice soft, staring right back at him. He can only handle so much of watching Courfeyrac fall apart right in front of him, and despite how emotionally closed off he's made himself, he still loves him. The last thing he wants is to see him cry. “We fucked. Isn't that what you wanted?” He ignores the little ripple of murmurs that goes through the room. He wishes he had more emotion to put into his voice, but he's still having trouble finding his feelings.

Courfeyrac falters, taking a step back but not removing his hands from Combeferre's shirt. “I-” Combeferre shakes his head. He knew that would stop Courfeyrac in his tracks. “Well, yeah. I thought that's what you wanted to?” His voice is high pitched and concerned. He stares at Combeferre, but Combeferre still can't say anything. He doesn't know what the answer to his question is. Of course he wanted it, but he never wanted to just have sex.

“I've really ruined everything haven't I?” He looks around the room, looking like he might go into hysterics at any second. Combeferre also looks around, cringing at the look on most of their friends' faces. He feels like some sort of animal on display at a show. “Only I could fuck someone knowing that they don't love me,” He laughs, the sound forced and far too high pitched. “Not only that they don't love me, but they love someone else, and still have hope that they might fall in love with me. Of all people.”

The words once again begin replaying in his head, breaking down every barrier he's put up since he left Courfeyrac's apartment. He feels numb, and like he's on fire at the same time. He pushes down the hope that rises briefly in his chest, replacing it with more rational emotions like sadness and confusion, although he wants to believe more than anything.

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre gives him a look. He wishes that they weren't in front of everyone else right now. Not only does he feel like a villain, he can't say anything that he wants to, considering that he's lied to everyone in the room about his feelings except for Grantaire.

“You don't have to say anything, 'Ferre. I know that you don't love me, and you obviously don't want to be my friend anymore. I think I can figure that much other for myself.” He laughs again, voice cracking as he tries to pull away from Combeferre.

“No, Courf,” He puts himself into Courfeyrac's space, holding onto his hands tighter. “that's not what I was going to say.” He doesn't want Courfeyrac to walk away.

“Please don't leave me Combeferre,” Courfeyrac looks up at him, eyes meeting his. As soon as their eyes meet, tears starts making their way down Courfeyrac's cheeks again. “You were my best friend. You're still my best friend. You're my everything and I really don't even know what I would do if I lost you. I'm so sorry for all of this. We can forget all about it if you want, just please, don't leave me, I love you.”

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre says again, because it's all he has at this point. “Please, relax, you're going to hurt yourself.”

“Oh God, you're trying to let me down easy aren't you?” Courfeyrac laughs, clinging to him heavily. “Jesus Christ this is really happening isn't it? I should've known, as soon as I woke up and you weren't there.”

Before Combeferre can even begin to think of something to say, Enjolras respondes.

“Are you sure you two don't want to leave?” He asks, putting a hand on Courfeyrac's back.

Courfeyrac laughs again, the same forced and terrible sounding laugh that grates on Combeferre's nerves.

“No point now, huh? You've all already seen my heart be broken!” He pushes away from Combeferre, causing both of them to be moved away from each other.

Combeferre takes a deep breath. He hasn't even had a chance to explain himself and Courfeyrac is already making him the bad guy. Again, before he can think of something to say, Courfeyrac speaks.

“Who are you in love with?”

Combeferre closes his eyes. So much for Courfeyrac relaxing.

“I deserve to know that, at least! Don't you think that you fucking owe me that?!”

Combeferre doesn't open his eyes. He doesn't understand how Courfeyrac is still so fired up, but he's slowly beginning to move towards his level of frustration. There's a long moment of silence before Courfeyrac finally snaps, startling everyone and causing Enjolras to move quickly away from him.

“Combeferre, dont,” Courfeyrac reaches up like he's going to pull at his hair, stopping halfway to his head and clutching his fists. “Don't do that!” He yells, bringing his hands down to his thighs dramatically. “Stop fucking,” he stomps his foot, voice growing in volume as he begins to walk towards him. “closing your eyes and looking away from me like I'm some fucking five year old you can't be half-assed to responde to! I was your best friend! You fucking dick!” He stomps forward, hitting Combeferre's chest with his fists while he screams. “Fuck you!” Combeferre grabs his arms easily, clutching them tightly to stop his swings. He tries to look at Courfeyrac, to understand how he's really feeling, but Courfeyrac's eyes aren't giving anything away. “I can't believe I fucking fell in love with you, you-!” He stops, shaking his head violently, trying to pull away from Combeferre's grip harshly. Combeferre doesn't let go, instead holding him more firmly and stepping more into his space, effectively pinning him in place. He ignores the sting that Courfeyrac's words bring to his chest.

He feels like there are a million eyes on him, every single one of his friends staring, watching him try and deal with the mess that he's made. Seeing him as the bad guy. Thinking that this whole thing is entirely his fault because Courfeyrac has no control over his emotions and likes to make everything into a large fiasco that involves everyone. He's tired of being prosecuted for Courfeyrac lying to his face about being in love. He and Courfeyrac have both fucked each other over, and he won't take the blame for it all. He won't act like Courfeyrac never told him that he'd never fall in love with anyone.

He's beginning to feel the start of the first real emotion that he's felt in weeks. It's anger, pooling in his stomach. “Things were so much easier when it was just sex and you came along and you just fucking ruined it, fuck!” Combeferre stays silent still. He wants Courfeyrac to get it all out of his system before they try and talk about anything, no matter how much it hurts him. He also doesn't want to set him off further by interrupting with the wrong thing. “I was your best friend! I thought-” he cuts himself off again, seeming to choke on whatever he's trying to say. He becomes less tense in Combeferre's hold, so Combeferre loosens his grip on his arms slightly. “I thought you felt the same. I was so sure! When I asked you to go to the orchestra! That's why I asked you, I thought you were agreeing to go on a fucking date with me! How stupid was that, huh? God, what was I thinking?”

Courfeyrac is breathing heavy, looking up at him desperately, as if his last question wasn't rhetorical.

Combeferre feels like all of his emotions are hitting him at once. He's so in love that his head feels fuzzy with it, but he's still angry. Angry that Courfeyrac is the only one who gets to freak out. Angry that he's the bad guy when all he wanted was to protect himself. Angry that he doesn't know if Courfeyrac really loves him. He's angry and he hates it.

“Who the fuck is it, Combeferre?” He asks, all of the tension leaving his body just as easily as it had come. Combeferre wishes the same thing would happen to him.

“It's you, Courfeyrac.” He figures it's probably better to just drop the bomb, considering that the situation is a roller coaster of emotions anyways. He's still holding onto Courfeyrac's arms, his fingers securely around his wrists. “It's been you, this whole time.”

Courfeyrac, understandably, laughs at him. His understanding doesn't stop Combeferre's anger from seeping deeper into his psyche. He hates being laughed at, and in this situation, he feels like his fuse is growing shorter by the second.

“Don't do that. Don't lie to me because you feel bad about this,” He says, looking directly into his eyes.

“I'm not lying,” He replies, staring right back at him. Courfeyrac knows that he can't lie while looking people in the eyes. “I'm in love with you.”

“You told Jehan you weren't!” Courfeyrac looks over at Jehan quickly, but the panic in his eyes is obvious. “I heard you! We all heard you! You're not in love with me!”

“I lied to Jehan because I thought you weren't in love with me, and I was tired of all of our friends trying to convince me that you were.” Combeferre tries to push his anger down, but it's hard and his grip on Courfeyrac's arms tightens.

Courfeyrac laughs again, shaking his head. “That's fucking great. You've been in love with me this whole time! That's why you left before I could wake up right?”

He let's go of Courfeyrac's arms, stepping away from him. He doesn't want to hurt him and he's feeling the beginnings of a violent urge building in his muscles. “I love you! Do you understand that?!” He asks, clenching his fists. Combeferre struggles against raising his voice, but he's fighting a loosing battle. “I couldn't just be another notch in your fucking bedpost. You keep talking about how much you love me, but what about how much I love you? I was sparing myself some fucking heartache!” He wants to leave, but there's no real way to remove himself from the situation without making Courfeyrac even more upset.

“And this whole time you never once had the thought that just maybe I felt the same way?”

“Why the fuck would I think you could be in love with me Courfeyrac?!” Combeferre steps forward again, towering over Courfeyrac's small frame. Courfeyrac steps back away from him, running into the table and stumbling a bit. At any other time, he would be worried, but all he can focus on is how he's fed up with being treated like he's entirely in the wrong for everything that he's done. He refuses to feel bad for trying to protect himself. “God! Every time I had to watch you bring someone home and hear that you fucked them and you never loved any of them! Did you forget that you told me you that you'd never fall in love? What the hell was I meant to think?” He moves away from him, walking in the other direction for a moment and hoping that Courfeyrac doesn't try and follow him. The last thing he ever wants to do is become a violent person, especially around Courfeyrac, but he's growing more angry by the minute and he's barely had time to think, let alone try to calm himself down. He stands near the bar, where the line would normally form. It's like he's center stage and his heart is pounding. He's never been so angry in his life, he thinks. “Was I supposed to confess my undying love for you and hope that I was an exception? What the fuck did you expect? Life isn't some fairy tale. I wasn't going to set myself up for rejection like that.”

“I expected for you not to fucking fall in love with me and not fucking tell me is what I expected!”

Combeferre hardly ever lets his anger get the better of him, but lately he's been having a harder and harder time with it. He's learned from a young age that he's not a pleasant person to be around when he's angry. But in the moment, there's nothing he can do to stop himself from punching the wall. His anger is blinding and it's mixed with hurt feelings and confusion. For a moment he's completely unthinking, taking a few steps to the right and punching the wall with all of his strength.

He is, unfortunately, a pretty strong person, and his fist, subsequently, puts a rather large crack in wall while also making a very loud noise. The collision sends the shock wave up his arm and his fist strings on impact. Courfeyrac makes a small noise from somewhere behind him and the room seems frozen in time. Everyone begins to talk at once, everyone seeming to stand up and rush towards him. Fortunately, they don't reach him. He can't tell who stops everyone because he's not facing towards the group, but he's so grateful that someone did. He's lucky that it was only the wall that he punched.

He keeps his fist pressed into the wall, closing his eyes. He's breathing hard, his teeth clenching of their own accord. He takes a concentrated breath through his nose.

“'Ferre?” Courfeyrac asks. Combeferre can feel him moving towards him.

“You can't treat me like the villain here,” he says, not moving away from the wall. His anger is still pulsing through him, hot in his veins. Slowly though, he feels like he's regaining control of himself. “Not when you told me you'd never fall in love.”

Courfeyrac is silent for a few seconds, probably staring at him.

“I'm sorry.”

Courfeyrac's voice is so small and hesitant that Combeferre could cry. His anger is slowly being replaced by regret and something else that he can't name. He removes his fist from the wall, ignoring the stinging in his knuckles. He opens his eyes, keeping himself facing away from Courfeyrac.

“I'm really sorry. I'm really fucking things up here.” Courfeyrac takes a deep breath behind him. “I didn't mean to accuse you of anything. I'm just upset.” Courfeyrac's voice grows closer and Combeferre finally turns around to look at him. He doesn't want to be surprised in his current state. Courfeyrac has only moved towards him few steps, and everyone behind him is on their feet. “I never meant to make you think that I could never love you. I was just, confused. I didn't know what I was feeling. Everything was so weird and I knew that I didn't feel anything for the people I was fucking.” Courfeyrac takes another step towards him. “You were always different. I had no idea that I was in love with you though. I only recently figured it out.”

Courfeyrac steps towards him again, almost close enough to be within his personal space bubble.

“You couldn't have told me that?” Combeferre asks, allowing him to come closer. He feels significantly calmer now that Courfeyrac has calmed down as well. “All this time I've been fighting myself about this.”

“I wasn't really sure how to tell you.” Courfeyrac reaches out to grab his hand, hesitating and looking up at him. “And it took me long time to figure it out ya know.” Combeferre holds back his pained noise as Courfeyrac grabs the hand that he'd punched the wall with. “Because for the longest time I thought like, I just had really strong platonic feelings for you.” He moves closer and Combeferre's anger is under his control again, but not gone. It's no longer his most prominent emotion. Now he's feeling more hopeful and less villainized. “But like, a few weeks ago I realized that I didn't feel the way around Enjolras, or Jehan, or anyone that I do around you.”

Courfeyrac moves a little closer, their toes almost touching now. Reflexively, he puts an arm around Courfeyrac's waist, as he almost always does when Courfeyrac gets this close to him. He doesn't move his arm away, not wanting Courfeyrac to move away from him.

“You're different. I feel differently about you than I do about other people. Yeah, I'm attracted to you sexually, but it's more than that. You make me feel safe and happy and when I'm not around you I'd much rather be around you. You're my favorite person, out of everyone. I'd rather be with you. I love you. I'm in love with you. That's really all there is to it. I love you.”

Combeferre feels like he's floating.

“I'm gonna kiss you now,” Combeferre warns, not even letting Courfeyrac nod in agreement before he's pressing their lips together and tangling his fingers into Courfeyrac's hair.

The entire room explodes with cheers and laughter and wolf-whistles and Combeferre finally doesn't feel heavy anymore.