Chapter Text
Courfeyrac is on the phone with his uncle, wandering aimlessly through his apartment, when the doorbell rings unexpectedly.
“Is that on your end or mine?” his uncle asks.
“Mine,” Courfeyrac says, trotting to the hallway.
“Alright, I need to get back to work anyway,” he hums. “Let us know how your interview went, will you, Burbujas?”
“Will do!” Courfeyrac chimes. “Bye!”
When he opens the door, it’s Enjolras standing in the corridor.
“Hi!” Courfeyrac says, pleasantly surprised. Because no matter how often he tells Enjolras to just drop in whenever, his friend can usually not resist sending at least a text to ask if it’s convenient. Cheerfully he steps aside and Enjolras comes in.
“Hi,” he says in reply, sounding oddly subdued. He quietly accepts Courfeyrac’s greeting hug before asking rather cautiously: “Is Marius home?”
“No,” Courfeyrac shakes his head. “What do you need him for?”
“Nothing,” Enjolras says. “I just thought this might be easier without him around.” He looks up and adds hastily: “No matter how much I appreciate his helpfulness.”
Courfeyrac raises his eyebrows. That sounds rather ominous and that’s saying something, since Courfeyrac has known Enjolras for about fourteen years now. “Ok...” he says cautiously. “Does that mean you need me to be helpful? Or distracting?”
“Preferably the first,” Enjolras says, a faint smile passing across his face.
“Well, I’ll do my best,” Courfeyrac says brightly. “You look like you need hot cocoa, I’ll make us hot cocoa.”
In all honesty neither of the two motives Courfeyrac has to make hot cocoa have anything to do with Enjolras’ looks. The first is that he bought marshmallows yesterday, which makes hot cocoa kind of an inevitability, and the second is that he wants to give Enjolras the opportunity to talk to him under the comfort of pretended employment. That usually works.
It doesn’t seem to be working this time though, because Enjolras wanders idly through the kitchen while Courfeyrac is heating the milk and hardly say a word.
“Is there something specific you need me to be helpful with?” Courfeyrac prompts gently, measuring cocoa powder.
“I’d rather explain when you’re done,” Enjolras says tensely.
So much for that tactic. Courfeyrac really is beginning to wonder what this is about. If it’s something that Enjolras isn’t willing to rant about while pacing through the kitchen…
A few minutes later they are both supplied with hot cocoa and seated on Courfeyrac’s sofa. Enjolras stares at the marshmallows floating in his cup.
“So,” Courfeyrac says kindly.
“So…” Enjolras mutters.
Since that seems to be everything he has to say at that moment, Courfeyrac patiently pushes his melting marshmallows around with his spoon. He can talk for hours, but he’s also pretty good at cultivating comfortable silences when he has to. He looks up when he hears his friend take in a deep breath.
“Grantaire-” says Enjolras with the air of a man about to lay out a complex argument.
Courfeyrac’s eyes widen just a little. It’s been months since Enjolras and Grantaire had any issues that needed friendly intervention. Actually it’s been ages and Courfeyrac had really hoped—
“-is in love with me,” Enjolras finishes.
It takes Courfeyrac a considerable amount of effort to keep his face straight, but he manages. Just about.
“Yes,” he replies carefully. “I think it would be safe to say that he is.” To be perfectly honest he’s baffled that Enjolras has never brought this up before, but nowhere near as baffled that he is bringing it up now.
“I thought he would stop being in love with me,” Enjolras says, slightly agitated. “Eventually.”
“Yeah,” Courfeyrac sighs, leaning into the couch a little more. “Well… sometimes that doesn’t happen.” He knows a thing or two about that first hand.
Enjolras makes a noise at the back of his throat that Courfeyrac can’t quite place. Might be frustration. Might be agreement. Could even be surprise. But it’s clear that Enjolras has more to say, so Courfeyrac waits. The earnest, blue eyes look up again and Enjolras says, in strange, pained way:
“I don’t want to be his boyfriend.”
“I know,” Courfeyrac says mildly. “And R knows too. It’s okay, Enj. You don’t have to reciprocate his feelings. R doesn’t expect you to. Real friendship is worth just as much, you know.” He means that, he really does.
“No, you don’t understand,” Enjolras says urgently, colour rising into his cheeks. “I don’t want to be his boyfriend…but I do want to be with him.”
This time Courfeyrac does not manage to keep a straight face. He’s glad he put the cup of cocoa down during Enjolras’ second speech, because he definitely would have spilled some if he hadn’t. The idea of Enjolras and Grantaire actually getting together makes him a little lightheaded. In their own, unexpected way they are so incredibly good together. And if Enjolras really— Oh Grantaire would be so happy. Courfeyrac genuinely hasn’t got a clue what to say to this though. For as long as he’s known Enjolras and through everything they’ve talked about, helping Enjolras work through romantic feelings is something he has never been able to practice with. Eventually he settles for keeping quiet and giving his friend an earnest, interested look. God knows Enjolras usually needs less encouragement to keep talking. This seems to have been the right choice, because after a moment of conflicted silence Enjolras starts up again.
“Grantaire makes me feel…different,” he explains solemnly. “Not like those descriptions people usually give about being on fire or not being able to breathe or something like that. But when he smiles I wish he’d never stop and when he comes in looking sad I can’t concentrate until I know what is the matter and whether I can do something. He smells nice. His voice is…good, hearing it makes me feel good. Just knowing he’s somewhere near makes me feel good…”
Courfeyrac listens to Enjolras carefully list off feelings he is having trouble even describing and wonders if it is absolutely necessary for his friend to keep looking him straight in the eye all the while. He can’t help but smile though, because even when wrapped in a layer of frustrated confusion Enjolras is still all earnest intensity.
“So you don’t know if you’re in love with him, but…you love him,” Courfeyrac supplies when Enjolras finally falls silent.
“I love all my friends,” Enjolras says sincerely and Courfeyrac smiles.
“And I love you too, Enj,” he says. “But you’re not talking to Grantaire about how you don’t want to be my boyfriend, so…” A slightly uncomfortable thought pops up in his mind. “Tell me to shut it if this is unfair, but, could it be because he is in love with you?” he asks, cautiously.
“I thought it was!” Enjolras exclaims. “That makes sense right?” He fixes his eyes on Courfeyrac with renewed intensity. “But that shouldn’t…” He pushes his hair out of his face. “I don’t think that anymore. I do love you all, but I love R…differently? I think? Not more,” he hastens to add and Courfeyrac smiles again. “But different.”
He looks a lot more miserable than Courfeyrac would expect him to be under these circumstances. It’s not like Enjolras has to be afraid that Grantaire won’t—
“And I feel like I should be doing something with this,” Enjolras bursts out. “But I can’t tell any of this to R! It wouldn’t be fair. I don’t even understand this, how can I possibly expect him to?”
Courfeyrac agrees that R might not understand it, but he’s not convinced he would care about not understanding it. The words ‘I love you’ or even ‘I love you differently’ coming out of Enjolras’ mouth would probably be enough to stop Grantaire caring about a whole lot of things.
“But,” Enjolras continues sombrely, “not saying anything seems just as dishonest.”
“First of all,” Courfeyrac says firmly. “Not confessing feelings you are not ready to confess is not dishonest.”
Enjolras looks at him quietly, because he can listen with as much intensity as he can talk.
“But if you did want to talk to R…what do you hope would happen?” He looks inquiringly at Enjolras, who shifts uncomfortably.
“I…I want things to stay as they are…except…not.”
Courfeyrac waits patiently while Enjolras goes through a range of complicated facial expressions.
He sighs. “That is why I didn’t say anything before,” he says, rubbing his temple. “I’ve felt this before, or something like it, but I don’t want…” He sighs. “The whole boyfriend-relationship thing just doesn’t sound appealing at all.”
“It’s not that bad,” Courfeyrac smiles.
Enjolras pulls a face. “Joly sighing and moping all afternoon because Musichetta is too busy to text him? Marius talking of nothing but Cosette for entire evenings at the time?” He pulls a face. “Bahorel and Risa just-” He waves his hands around. “-forgetting what they are talking about in the middle of a sentence and sucking on each other’s faces.”
Courfeyrac snorts. Those are rather extreme cases, at least the last too, but fair enough. “Okay,” he says. “So you don’t want that. What do you want? With R I mean.”
“Nothing?” Enjolras exclaims almost frantically. “Just…exactly what we do now…except…more of it? I don’t know-” He gives Courfeyrac a helpless look. “I don’t know what I want, just that I want it.” He groans. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Makes as much sense as most romantic feelings,” Courfeyrac says. “Eh, they are romantic, right?”
“I guess so?” Enjolras says uncertainly. “How would I know?”
“Well, you said you like his smile, his voice, that being around him makes you feel good, that he smells nice,” Courfeyrac points out. “I’m sure you don’t feel that about everybody?”
“No,” Enjolras admits. “But I do about you and Combeferre…and Feuilly…and-”
“Alright,” Courfeyrac interrupts him, a tad impatiently. “But that’s n-” He frowns and loses his train of thought. “You think I smell nice?” he asks, temporarily distracted.
“Yes, I do,” Enjolras says earnestly. “You always smell a little sweet. I think part of it is that oil you put in your hair to keep it from frizzing.”
Courfeyrac blinks and fights the urge to pull Enjolras into a hug. “Thank you,” he says, grin tugging on the corners of his mouth.
Enjolras shrugs, smiling a little embarrassedly.
“Okay,” Courfeyrac says, recovering himself. “What else then?”
“About R?”
“Yes, Enjolras, about R,” he says, repressing the urge to throw in a fond roll of his eyes. “Tell me more about what you like about him.”
“But we’re friends,” Enjolras groans, exasperated. “Of course I like him. He makes me laugh, he makes me see things differently…” His tone grows more and more frustrated. “He has a nice face. I like his eyes. And the way he grins while resting his chin on his fist. And the way he sort of…contorts his face when I make a joke he wasn’t expecting…”
Courfeyrac watches the slightly glazed, happy look that diffuses the frustration on Enjolras’ face for a moment. That sure looks like being in love to him. It feels like it too. Looking at Enjolras sitting there, it genuinely does. “Look,” he says gently when Enjolras trails off again. “If R is happy to be your friend while being in love with you, he’ll be more than happy to be more than friends with you. Even if you’re not sure how much more.”
“But that isn’t fair,” Enjolras shakes his head. “That would be incredibly selfish of me! To just have the sort of…relationship I want, and not what he wants.”
“Have you asked him what he wants?” Courfeyrac asks.
Enjolras bites his lip. “R has had girlfriends,” he says. “And boyfriends.” He sighs. “And flings.”
Courfeyrac wants to laugh at the word ‘flings’, but instead he says: “Yeah, but it didn’t work out with any of them, did it?”
Enjolras makes a dejected sound.
“Look, regardless of what he wants or doesn’t want. R’s not going around finding people to sleep with now, is he?”
Enjolras looks mildly mortified.
“Your affection doesn’t have to come with a giant ‘I won’t have sex with you’ disclaimer, Enj.”
“That’s not- I know it doesn’t. It’s just, if I’m going to tell R I should at least have something to say about what I do want.”
“You said you want to be with him,” Courfeyrac smiles. “That’s a good start.”
“Yeah,” Enjolras says, unconvinced.
Courfeyrac pulls his feet up under him on the sofa and thinks of how Grantaire is around Enjolras and how Enjolras is around Grantaire. He thinks he understands. Enjolras wants to make his own definition for their relationship, but then he does need something to define… Sometimes it isn’t quite enough to know something is special. You want to be able to point at something and say: ‘that’s one of the things that makes it special.’ Besides, Enjolras with all his convictions and ideals, cannot be very used to not knowing what he wants.
“I thought they’d go away,” Enjolras agonizes. “The feelings.”
Courfeyrac opens his mouth.
“My feelings,” Enjolras clarifies. “Which is why I thought I should wait it out until his feelings went away. But they didn’t and now I don’t think I want them to anymore.” He swallows and continues hoarsely: “And saying nothing seems dishonest and saying something seems unfair and why can’t I figure this out?”
“You don’t need to, not all at once at least,” Courfeyrac says soothingly. He had no idea Enjolras was walking around with all this. He wonders if Combeferre knows.
Enjolras groans and lowers his head into his hands.
Courfeyrac reaches out to pat the mess of blonde hair and suddenly his face lights up. “Enj! Do you remember that time the three of us went to visit your parents?”
“Yeah,” Enjolras says, looking up with a small smile. It had taken ages before both he, Courfeyrac and Combeferre managed to get the timing right to make the trip together.
“Well,” Courfeyrac says. He’s trying to keep the excitement in his voice down, but he has just remembered a night not too long ago when Enjolras had a little too much to drink and… “You know how we watched that documentary and you cuddled up with your mom?” he continues.
“Yeah…?” Enjolras frowns.
“And she said you should learn to cuddle people as well as hug them, because you clearly didn’t get enough cuddles.”
Now there’s a slight red tinge to Enjolras’ face. “Where are you-”
“That time Jehan messed up the cocktail recipes and you got drunk-” Courfeyrac interrupts him.
“I wasn’t drunk,” Enjolras protests.
“You nearly fell asleep on Grantaire,” Courfeyrac says accusingly.
Enjolras’ cheeks burn bright red and Courfeyrac beams at him.
“Enjolras,” he says, looking his friend straight in the eye. “Do you want to cuddle Grantaire?”
“Yes?” Enjolras says after a moment’s silence.
Courfeyrac bounces up until he’s sitting on his knees. “Do you want to cuddle me?” he asks, energy rising.
“No?” Enjolras says, still doubtful. “I mean, if you wanted me to I’d-”
“Would you rather cuddle Grantaire?” Courfeyrac says, rolling his eyes. Really, this shouldn’t be quite this difficult. Then again, he only has to deal with this second hand, it must be much worse for Enjolras.
Enjolras is looking less frustrated though. He looks flustered instead, but under the circumstances that might not be a bad thing. “Yeah,” he says, rubbing at the back his neck. “Yeah, I’d rather cuddle Grantaire.”
“Yes!” Courfeyrac cheers, stretching his arms above his head. “Then tell him that!”
“What?” Enjolras says, eyes widening. “I want to cuddle you? What kind of confession is that?”
“A good one,” Courfeyrac grins. One Grantaire will be delighted to hear at least. He counts on three fingers: “I love you as a friend but I also love you differently. I want what we have now but more of it. And I’d like to cuddle if you’re cool with that.”
Enjolras bites his lip again. “That doesn’t sound…” he trails off uncertainly.
Good enough? Convincing enough? Courfeyrac isn’t worried. Not when it comes to Grantaire. “It’s the truth, Enjolras,” he says emphatically. “You can’t be dishonest or unfair when you’re just telling the truth.”
His friend is wavering, Courfeyrac can see it. There is a frown on his forehead and a blush on his cheeks. Courfeyrac can hardy sit still. This has to happen. Now he knows, he’s not going to let it go. If Enjolras chickens out this time he’ll find another way to make it happen.
Suddenly Enjolras takes in a deep breath. “You’re right,” he says and he straightens up. “You’re right,” he repeats. “I’ll tell him that.” He smiles at Courfeyrac with a sudden and amazing composure. “Thank you, Courf. I’m so glad you’re my friend.”
“Wait, just like that?” Courfeyrac splutters. “You’re really going to tell him?”
“Yes,” Enjolras says, a little puzzled. “Like you said, it’s the truth, I shouldn’t be afraid to say it.” He sighs a little. “If it’s not enough for Grantaire I’ll understand,” he says seriously. “But at then least both of us will know.”
“Yes!” Courfeyrac cheers and he throws himself forward, hugging Enjolras round his neck. “When will you tell him?”
“As soon as I can,” Enjolras says, hugging him back with some difficulty, since Courfeyrac won’t hold still. “Believe me, I don’t want to walk around with this any longer.”
“Yes, of course,” Courfeyrac says, drawing back with a grin so wide it is almost painful. He has to stop himself from offering to call Grantaire over right now. Courfeyrac really hopes Enjolras will talk to Grantaire before he sees him again though, because if he doesn’t Courfeyrac is not sure he’ll be able to keep a straight face. On second thought, no, he definitely won’t be able to keep a straight face. “It’ll be great,” he beams. “I know it will!”
“Thanks,” Enjolras says with a smile. He looks over at the side table. “Oh, we forgot our hot chocolates. And you put marshmallows in and everything. I’m sorry.”
“Never mind that,” Courfeyrac waves it away. “Are you going to try meet with him now?”
“I might…” Enjolras considers. “I’m pretty sure he has class today…which means there’s a fifty percent chance of him being at home.” He gets to his feet. “I guess I could call him, or stop by, I’ll see what feels better.”
“Yes!” Courfeyrac chimes. “And when you do, you will tell me what happened, right?”
“I will,” Enjolras smiles.
“Good,” he beams at him, following him to the door. “Good luck!”
Enjolras has his hand on the doorknob when Courfeyrac stops him.
“Hey,” he says warmly. “I’m glad you came to talk to me. That you felt you could I mean.”
“So am I,” Enjolras smiles. “And of course I do, you’re my oldest friend, Courf.”
“One more thing,” Courfeyrac says. “When you talk to Grantaire-”
“Yeah?” Enjolras asks, a flutter of nerves passing over his face.
Courfeyrac gives him a serious look. “Do not start the conversation with the words ‘I don’t want to be your boyfriend’. “Or ‘you are in love with me’ for that matter.”
Enjolras grimaces. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says, a little indignant.
“Just making sure,” Courfeyrac says fondly, patting him on the shoulder.
Enjolras rolls his eyes and steps out into the corridor. Courfeyrac watches him leave and waves him off with the excitement nearly boiling over inside him. As soon as Enjolras is gone he pulls out his phone and sends ten texts to Combeferre in the space of two minutes. For eleven agonizing minutes there is no response and then his phone starts buzzing like it’s about to combust.