Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No one was entirely sure how Courfeyrac had ended up in a photography class, not even Courfeyrac himself. It certainly hadn’t been his intention. It had all began when his advisor told him he would need to take some more electives to complete his degree. One thing had led to another, and the next thing he knew, Courf was in a beginner’s photography class. He had known it would be a change from his usual history classes, but he hadn’t actually expected to enjoy it. After his very first day, he was hooked. He rarely went anywhere without his camera. At first his friends were annoyed at the near constant candid photographs, but it made Courf happy. They could put up with it for one term. The farther into the term they got, the less they noticed them. It wasn’t long before they stopped noticing the pictures all together.

By the end of the term, Courfeyrac was busy putting together a collection of photos for his final. The students would have their collections displayed in the student gallery at the university. They were required to dress nice. Important figures in the community had been invited. The president of the university would be there. The mayor was coming. It was a Very Big Deal, and Courf was nervous. He wanted to talk to his friends about it.

Well, no, that wasn't entirely true.

He wanted to talk to Combeferre about it. His nerdy, brilliant, calm, gorgeous, perfect best friend—whom he was definitely not in love with—would make everything better. The problem was that he couldn’t talk to Combeferre about it, because then he would need to actually tell Ferre about it. If he told Ferre about it, he would have to tell all of his friends about it. There was absolutely no way he was going to do that. The student showcase was on Thursday night. It was a meeting night. He couldn’t ask his friends to skip the meeting and come to his stupid class thing instead, even though he knew they would do it in a heartbeat. Which was precisely why he couldn’t tell them about it. There was also the fact that he really didn’t want to tell his friends that they were the subject of his photography collection.

No, he would just have to suffer in silence and never tell them about it. It would be fine. Totally fine. It was a great plan.

It was a terrible plan.

Courfeyrac had somehow managed to forget that Grantaire worked at the student gallery. So when R came in late to the meeting on Tuesday night, shit eating grin plastered on his face, Courf was blissfully unaware of the crisis that was about to occur.

He was still unaware when Grantaire cleared his throat and loudly proclaimed, “Friends, I have an important announcement!”

It wasn’t until Grantaire reached into his bag and pulled out a bright green flyer that Courf finally understood what was about to happen. His stomach sank, but unless he was going to leap across the table and tackle the artist to the ground, it was already too late to do anything about it.

“Well, what is it?” Enjolras snapped impatiently, irritated that he had been interrupted.

Grantaire’s smile faltered momentarily, but he continued. “It seems Courf has been keeping a secret from all of us.” He paused and looked at Courfeyrac who sank down further into his chair. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

Courf groaned, but decided it was probably best if the news came from him. “There’s a student showcase Thursday night for my photography class.”

Cries of “What?!” and “Why didn’t you tell us?!” rang out from around the room.

Courfeyrac had the decency to look sheepish. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“Like hell it isn’t!” Grantaire exclaimed.

Courf continued on as if the artist hadn’t spoken, “Seriously guys, you don’t need to come. It’ll be boring. You’d all have to dress up. Besides, it's on a meeting night anyway.”

Enjolras blinked at his friend. “Courf, it’s one meeting. You’re more important than one meeting.”

Courf was definitely not tearing up at that. Nothing was more important to Enjolras that his causes. Except that wasn’t true, and he knew it. Nothing was more important to Enjolras than his friends. Courfeyrac looked around at the faces he loved so much—and, no, he absolutely did not linger a moment too long on Combeferre’s face—and asked, “So you guys are going to come?”

“Of course we’re going to come, you idiot,” Joly called from his place beside Bossuet. 

Courf’s smile was blinding. His friends were going to be at his showcase. They were going to see his photographs! They were going to make him forget that it was a Very Big Deal. Even if the showcase was a disaster and he failed his class, his friends would be there to make him feel better. He was so happy that he couldn’t even remember why he hadn’t wanted to tell them about it in the first place.

It wasn’t until later that night, when he and Ferre had finished eating dinner and were sitting side by side on his couch trying to find something to watch, that Courfeyrac remembered exactly why he didn’t want his friends to see the photos.

His panic must have been evident on his face, because Combeferre frowned at him. “Courf? You okay?”

Courfeyrac blinked at his best friend. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

“Are you worried about the showcase?”

“Yes.” It was close enough to the truth that Courf didn’t feel like he was lying .

“Come here,” Combeferre smiled and opened his arms.

Courfeyrac didn’t hesitate before snuggling closer to his friend. Because that’s what Combeferre was. His friend. His best friend. That was all. Courf definitely didn’t have butterflies in his stomach when Combeferre tightened his arms around him. And he definitely didn’t tuck his face into Ferre’s shoulder so he could breathe in the comforting scent that was distinctly Combeferre. And he definitely did not feel a blooming warmth envelope his heart as Combeferre gently ran his long, nimble fingers through Courf’s dark curls.

“Courf, you don’t have anything to worry about. Your pictures are going to be amazing.”

“How do you know?” Courf asked, his voice muffled against his friend’s shoulder.

“Because they’re yours.” Combeferre stated it as he would any given fact. The earth is round. Two plus two equals four. The sky is blue. Courf’s pictures were amazing because they were his.

Courfeyrac pulled away to stare at the man beside him. His heart was pounding and his breath caught in his throat. Combeferre had always had an unshakeable faith in his friends. Courf should have been used to it, but it somehow always managed to take him by surprise. It was one of the things he loved best about Combeferre. 

Platonically loved. Because that’s all he was feeling. Regular, run of the mill, friend love. Courfeyrac was definitely not in love with his best friend.

“Thanks,” he managed to say.

Combeferre smiled. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

Courf nodded, once again ignoring the butterflies in his stomach. He was not going to screw up his friendship with the best person he knew just because he had a stupid crush.

Combeferre got up and put Tangled into the DVD player. When he returned to the couch, he pulled Courfeyrac close to him once again. Courf did his very best to pretend his heart wasn’t racing at the contact. Instead, he wondered if it was too late to change the collection of photographs he had submitted for the showcase. If he could just switch a few of them out, he could get through the night without upsetting any of his friends.

----------

When the movie was over, Combeferre looked down at Courfeyrac. His friend had fallen asleep against his shoulder and slowly slid down until his head was resting in Combeferre’s lap. As adorable as Courf looked, Ferre couldn’t let him sleep like this. His neck would be hurting the next day.

“Courf?” he whispered, brushing the wild curls away from the other man’s face.

“Mm?” Courfeyrac nuzzled into his hand.

Combeferre smiled fondly at Courfeyrac. He had a habit of turning into an overgrown cat when he was sleepy. “Wake up, Courf. You need to go to bed.

“Don’t wanna,” Courf mumbled, not opening his eyes.

“Then get off me so I can go home.”

“No.” Courfeyrac’s arms went around Combferre’s waist.

Ferre laughed quietly. “Courf, I’m serious. I’m not sleeping on your couch.”

Courfeyrac sighed, but he still didn’t lift his head from Combeferre’s lap. “I don’t want to get up. Carry me?”

“I’m not going to carry you to your room. You’re twenty-one, Courfeyrac.”

“You hate me.”

He ran his fingers through Courf’s curls and said gently, “You know that’s not true. Now, come on. It’s late. I need to go home.”

Courfeyrac finally sat up and looked at his friend. “It’s late. Stay here.”

Combeferre answered without hesitation. “Alright, but I’m still not carrying you to your room.”

Ten minutes later, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were lying side by side in Courf’s bed. Courf turned off the lamp and rolled over to snuggle into Ferre’s side. Combeferre automatically wrapped his arms around the smaller man and pulled him closer.

“Courf?” Combeferre whispered, unsure if Courfeyrac had already fallen asleep.

“Mm?”

“What are your pictures of?” Ferre hadn’t intended to ask, but it was unlike Courf to keep anything secret. He was beginning to wonder if his friend’s nerves were because of the subject of the photographs rather than the showcase itself.

Courfeyrac didn’t respond for a few moments. Eventually, he said, “It’s a surprise.”

Combeferre found himself smiling into the darkness. He tightened his arms around Courfeyrac. “Well, whatever they are, I know they’re going to be great. Goodnight, Courf.”

“Night, Ferre.”

Chapter Text

Courf had, indeed, attempted to switch out some of his photos. Unsurprisingly, it had been too late. His professor had actually laughed at him when he had asked. Which was why Courfeyrac found himself dressed in a navy blue suit, standing inside the student gallery on Thursday evening, nervously waiting for his friends to arrive. He still hadn’t told any of them that they were the subject of his portfolio. He probably should have. It was probably a massive invasion of their privacy. He glanced around at the photographs, wincing internally. He seriously considered tearing them all down, his final grade be damned. 

But then Jehan arrived, followed closely by Joly and Bossuet. The rest of his friends began trailing in, and it was too late.

“It’s us!” Feuilly exclaimed, delighted, as he studied a photograph of Bahorel boxing with Grantaire while Joly, Combeferre, Eponine, and Feuilly cheered on the sidelines.

“Yeah,” Courf responded, his cheeks turning pink.

“They’re beautiful,” Jehan breathed as he leaned in to get a better look at a shot of Eponine and Gavroche drinking hot cocoa by the fireplace in Combeferre’s apartment. Combeferre could be seen in the background handing a plate of cookies to Bossuet.

Courfeyrac’s blush deepened. His friends were pleased. It was more than he had allowed himself to hope for. He had just started thinking that he might be able to get through the night without dying from embarrassment, when Combeferre walked in wearing a white button up and a bow tie. A green bow tie with goddamn moths on it. Courf’s heart clenched. Combeferre was going to be the death of him.

He forced himself to greet his best friend with a cheerful smile and a brief hug. He watched Combeferre’s eyes light up when he saw the subject of the showcase. That was the exact moment that his earlier panic returned. “Well, enjoy yourself, Ferre! I have to go charm people and impress my professor!”

Courfeyrac didn’t wait for Ferre to respond before he hurried away. He didn’t really need to impress his professor. He just couldn’t be there when Combeferre noticed what was wrong with the collection, and Ferre would definitely notice. The pictures obviously contained his friends. There were some group shots, but each of his friends were featured in his or her own photograph as well. 

All of them except for Combeferre.

It wasn’t as if Courf didn’t have any pictures of Combeferre. Hell, he probably had enough pictures of the other man to fill up the entire gallery. The problem was that every single one of them made it glaringly obvious that Courf was in love with him. He couldn’t have the evidence of that hanging on the walls for everyone to see—for Combeferre to see. It was bad enough that Ferre was in the background of almost every picture. That in itself said more than he was comfortable with. He couldn’t bring himself to say more.

Courf was certain that as soon as Combeferre noticed he wasn’t featured—and he would notice—he would be disappointed. He would know that there was something off. Ferre wouldn’t ask what it was, he respected Courf’s privacy too much for that, but he would look concerned. Courf knew he wouldn’t be able to handle that concerned look without breaking and admitting his feelings, and that would ruin everything. So instead, he decided he would just need to avoid Combeferre at all costs until the showcase was over. 

The gallery was crowded. It couldn’t be that difficult.

----------

Combeferre walked slowly through Courf’s section of the gallery. He studied each photo closely, a small smile on his lips. They really were wonderful. Not that Ferre had any doubt that they would be. They were Courf’s. Everything that man did was wonderful. Still, these pictures were absolutely perfect. He felt like he was getting a glimpse of how Courfeyrac saw all of their friends: Enjolras lit up with fervor as he made a passionate speech; Jehan’s dreamy expression as he stared out the window of his apartment watching the rain; the open look of love Marius gave Cosette as he looked down at her asleep on his lap. Then he got to a photo of Grantaire and paused.

It was evident that Grantaire was staring at Enjolras at one of their meetings. Enj wasn’t in the picture, but the angle from which it had been taken left little doubt in Combeferre’s mind. If that hadn’t been enough, the look on R’s face would have made it crystal clear. He was wearing his “God, Apollo, when are you going to wake up and realize I love you, holy shit you’re so beautiful I want to die” expression. 

Grantaire was going to be livid when he saw the photo. It was unfortunate, because Ferre knew Enjolras felt the same way about the artist. He promised himself that he would force Enj to really look at the photograph at some point during the night. It was about time something was done about those two.

Combeferre moved on to the next picture. Bossuet was laughing on the floor, covered in some kind of dark liquid, most likely wine. A terrified Joly was hurrying to his side. Grantaire was standing off to the side, doubled over with laughter. In the background, Combeferre was absorbed in a book, completely oblivious to what was happening around him.

Enjolras was standing in front of the next photograph with a scowl on his face. Combeferre frowned. He was about to ask what was wrong when he noticed what was in the picture. Joly and Grantaire stood in the foreground, laughing. Enjolras was in the background, the only part of the photo that was in focus. He was looking at R with the expression he only wore when he thought no one was looking: the soft smile, eyes filled with something dangerously close to love. It was a simple expression, but somehow managed to convey everything Enjolras couldn’t find the words to say.

“I’m going to murder him, Ferre,” Enjolras whispered.

“Why?”

Enj looked at Combeferre incredulously. “You’re joking, right? Look at that, Ferre. Courf put this up for Grantaire to see.”

“Is that really so bad?” Combeferre asked gently.

“Yes! I can’t handle him knowing how I feel when I know he doesn’t feel the same way.”

Combeferre shook his head and steered Enjolras over to the picture of Grantaire he had seen a few minutes before. He knew Enj wouldn’t believe him, no matter what he said. Ferre would have to show him.

“Why are you making me stand in front of a picture of Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, his voice miserable.

“Just look at it, Enj.”

Enjolras sighed heavily, but did as he was told. It took a few minutes before he finally understood. His mouth fell open. “Ferre, is he looking at me?” he whispered, his eyes glued to the photo.

“He is,” Combeferre confirmed.

“How long ago did Courf take this?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Enjolras glared at his friend. “Yes it does! What if he took this months ago? What if R doesn’t look at me like that anymore?”

“R looks at you like that all the time.”

“He does?” Enjolras breathed, turning back to the picture. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Before Ferre could respond, the artist in question approached. “You’ve been standing in front of that picture forever, Apollo. Maybe you should move over so someone else can appreciate the—” Grantaire stopped short as he finally took in the photograph.

Enjolras turned to look at him. Grantaire’s eyes darted from the photo to Enjolras. His face had gone pale. He looked like he was going to be sick. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, he spun around and fled from the gallery. Enjolras only hesitated for a second before he ran after him.

A few minutes later, when Combeferre saw Enjolras dragging a reluctant Grantaire toward the photograph that had captured Enj’s soft expression, he was almost positive that everything was going to be okay. 

He watched as Enjolras honest-to-God stomped his foot and exclaimed, “Well, if you would quit being so goddamned difficult and just look at it, you’d be able to answer that question for yourself!”

He watched as Grantaire finally looked at the picture while Enjolras nervously shifted from foot to foot beside him.

He watched as the pained expression melted off of Grantaire’s face and was replaced by one of wonder as he turned to look at Enjolras.

He stopped watching when the two of them started kissing.

As Combeferre continued to look at the pictures, he began to get the feeling that something was missing. It wasn’t until he reached the final photograph that he realized what it was: every member of their little group was featured in an individual picture, everyone but him.

The realization hurt more than it should have. He was in the background of the majority of the group shots. It wasn’t as if Courf had left him out completely. So what if Courf hadn’t taken any pictures of just Ferre. It shouldn’t matter.

But it did matter, and Combeferre couldn’t even pretend he didn’t know why. He had been in love with Courfeyrac for years. Once he had realized the subject of the showcase, he had been looking forward to seeing himself through Courf’s eyes. He had wanted to see how the other man thought of him, to see if there was a chance he felt the same way Ferre did. It seemed that Courf didn’t think of him as anything more than a slightly blurry figure in the background.

----------

Courfeyrac may have been avoiding Combeferre all evening, but he continued to keep an eye on him. He watched him help Enj realize that Grantaire returned his feelings. He smiled along with Ferre as Enjolras and R finally got their shit together and kissed. He also watched Combeferre the exact moment that he realized he wasn’t featured like the rest of their friends. He could feel the disappointment radiating from his best friend. He had anticipated the disappointment, but the look on Combeferre’s face broke his heart. He looked so sad. Courf wanted nothing more than to go to him, wrap him in a hug, and tell him why he had to leave him out. Unfortunately, Courf was 100% sure that his explanation would make the situation even worse. So instead, like the coward he was where Ferre was concerned, he did nothing.

After the showcase, his friends insisted on taking Courfeyrac out to dinner to celebrate. The dinner was nice. He loved his friends. He loved spending time with them. He loved that they loved the show. But Combeferre hadn’t spoken to him once, and he definitely did not love that. Ferre hadn’t even taken a seat next to him. Ferre always sat next to him. 

Always.

Instead, Courf was at one end of the table between Grantaire and Jehan while Combeferre had chosen to sit at the opposite end, as far away as possible. He was holding what looked to be an intense conversation with Feuilly and Bahorel. Courf kept trying to make eye contact, but Ferre never once looked in his direction.

By the time they left the restaurant, the pit of dread in Courfeyrac’s stomach had quadrupled in size. He had never intended to make Combeferre angry. He needed to do something, but he didn’t know what. The group began to split up as everyone headed to their respective homes. Jehan broke away from the group first, followed shortly by Joly and Bossuet. Eponine and Gavroche each gave Courfeyrac a hug before they separated as well. Feuilly and Bahorel were next. Marius and Cosette waved goodbye after making Courf promise to take their engagement photos for them. Enjolras walked off with Grantaire, vaguely stating that they had things to talk about. Finally, it was only Courf and Ferre walking together.

Combeferre remained silent.

Courfeyrac was dying to say something—anything—to make his friend happy again, but he had no idea what would work. He couldn’t tell what the other man was thinking. So the pair walked in silence until they reached the intersection where their paths split. Combeferre paused and finally looked down at Courf. He was biting his lip and Courf was definitely not distracted by that at all.

“Courf, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Courf’s heart was pounding in his chest. He held his breath. This was it, the question he had been dreading all night.

“The showcase tonight, that’s how you see everyone?”

Courfeyrac tilted his head in confusion. That had not been the question he expected. “Well, yeah. I tried to show what I see what I look at you all. Staged pictures would have been more ascetically pleasing, but they wouldn’t have been real.”

Combeferre was silent for a moment before he quietly stated, “I was in the background of a lot of them.”

Courf felt his cheeks go scarlet and was thankful that it was too dark outside for Ferre to see. “You were in the background of most of them. You’re always in the background, Combeferre,” he admitted. Of course Ferre had noticed. He should have tried harder to find pictures that hadn’t had the other man in them. Not that there were any. Courf seemed to have a sixth sense that knew exactly where Ferre was at any given time. Even when he was actively trying not to take a photo of Combeferre, the man always ended up in the background.

Courfeyrac’s palms started to sweat. Ferre had realized that he was all that Courf saw. Ferre knew and he was going to reject him and Courf was never going to be happy again. He held his breath and waited for Ferre to frown and explain gently why the two of them could never be together.

Those words never came.

Ferre was silent for a long moment before he gave a little smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and pulled Courf into a hug. “Your pictures were really nice, Courf.”

Once Ferre released him, they went their separate ways. Courf knew he should be happy. His assignment was a success. His friends were amazing. Enjolras and Grantaire were finally dating. But the hurt he had seen on Ferre’s face at the gallery tainted all of that. Even after their conversation on the street, Courf could see the hurt in Combeferre’s eyes. How could he be happy when he hurt the person he cared about—loved—more than anything? He sighed deeply and continued home with a heavy heart.

Chapter Text

In the days following the showcase, Combeferre avoided most of his friends. He didn't want any of them to realize that something was wrong. It was difficult since he lived with Enjolras. Luckily, Enj had been so wrapped up in his new relationship with Grantaire that he hadn’t noticed how withdrawn Ferre became. 

Courfeyrac noticed though.

“What’s wrong, Ferre?” he asked at the next meeting.

“Nothing.” It wasn’t technically a lie. Nothing was wrong. He had been disappointed, sure, but it wasn’t Courf’s fault that he didn’t see Combeferre the same way Ferre saw him. He would never hold something like that against his friend. He just needed time to get over Courf. Sure, maybe he was a little bit sad, but that didn't matter. He forced himself to put a smile on his face and returned his focus to the meeting.

Once it was over, Combeferre was the first one to slip out the door. He didn’t think he could handle any more of Courf’s concern that night. He hadn’t been home for more than ten minutes when his phone buzzed.

//Courf// u sure ur ok?
//Ferre// Of course.
//Courf// do u need anything?
//Ferre// No. Thanks though.
//Courf// …
//Courf// Ferre, u’d tell me if u were mad, rite?
//Courf// if I’d done something to make u mad?
//Ferre// I’m not mad.
//Courf// u promise?
//Ferre// Promise.

Combeferre sighed heavily and tossed his phone to the other end of the couch. 

“You alright, Ferre?” a voice asked from the doorway.

Combeferre jumped. He looked up and saw Enjolras and Grantaire. He hadn’t realized they were going to be at the apartment that night. “Hey,” he said lamely.

“Seriously, Ferre, are you alright?” Enjolras asked, moving to sit beside his roommate.

“I’m fine,” Combeferre insisted.

“No, you’re really not,” Grantaire frowned as he took the spot on the other side of Combeferre. “I’m something of an expert in ‘not fine’, and you, mon ami, are not fine.”

“He’s right, Ferre,” Enjolras added.

“I don’t know how I feel about the two of you agreeing on everything now,” Ferre muttered and dropped his head to the back of the couch.

“Your phone keeps buzzing,” R said as he pulled it out from under his leg. He studied the screen. “They’re all from Courfeyrac.”

Combeferre didn’t move to take the phone from the artist.

Enj frowned. “Does this have to do with Courf?”

Ferre put his head in his hands without responding.

“Do we have to guess what it’s about, or are you going to tell us?” Grantaire asked, glancing at the phone again.

Ferre sighed in defeat. “Yes, it’s about Courf.”

“What did he do?” Enjolras wondered.

“He didn’t do anything. It’s not his fault that I’m in love with him.” Combeferre's face remained buried in his hands.

Enjolras and Grantaire shared a look. The artist was the one who spoke. “Why don’t you talk to him about it?”

Combeferre looked at him, eyebrow raised. “What would that solve? He doesn’t feel the same way. It would just ruin our friendship.”

“How do you know he doesn’t feel the same way if you haven’t talked to him about it?” Enj asked.

“You were at the showcase. You saw his pictures. Every one of you was featured except for me. I wasn’t even in focus.”

“Did you ask him why?” Grantaire probed.

“Yes. He said that I’m always in the background. He doesn’t see me.” Ferre paused and looked down at his hands. “It’s fine. It is. I’m not entitled to his affection just because I’m in love with him. I’m just a little sad. I’ll get over it.”

“And what’s your plan until then? Just avoid Courfeyrac?” Grantaire asked, waving the phone in front of Combeferre.

Ferre shrugged. “Just for a little while. Just until I get my feelings back under control.” He took his phone from R and went to lie down in his room. He waited until he was in bed before he allowed himself to look at the messages he’d received from Courfeyrac.

//Courf// I know u said ur not mad, but r u sad?
//Courf// if ur sad, I can help
//Courf// cupcakes and hot cocoa at my place?
//Courf// we can watch anything u want
//Courf// even a space documentary
//Courf// …
//Courf// even a boring moth documentary
//Courf// that’s how much I love u

Combeferre’s chest ached as he tapped out a reply.

//Ferre// Thanks Courf, but I don’t think I’m up for it tonight.
//Ferre// I'm just going to go to bed.
//Courf// oh
//Courf// sure, that’s fine
//Courf// see u tomorrow?
//Ferre// Sure. See you tomorrow.
//Courf// nite, Ferre

Combeferre put his phone on his nightstand and rolled over. Staying away from Courfeyrac was going to be torture.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for Courf to come to the conclusion that Combeferre was avoiding him. They still ran into each other and talked, but never alone. Ferre still responded to Courf’s texts, but his responses were much shorter than they used to be. Sure, it was possible that he was just busy, but Combeferre had been busy before and always managed to find time for Courf. 

The worst part of all of it was that Courf knew there was something wrong with Ferre, something he wasn’t telling him. He could see it hidden behind Combeferre’s smile, hear it behind Ferre’s words. However, every time Courf asked about it, Ferre just waved him away.

Not knowing was killing him.

Finally, Grantaire approached him at the end of the next week. “Come on. I’m buying you a drink. I can’t handle that kicked puppy look on your face for another minute.”

Courfeyrac frowned, but allowed Grantaire to drag him to the bar.

Once they both had their drinks and were settled in a quiet corner of the room, R spoke again. “Enj told me not to get involved, but I can’t help it. He may think it’s best to let you sort it out for yourselves, but I don’t. If we leave it to you, you’ll never figure it out. Besides, you fixed my life. The least I can do is try to help you with your own mess.”

Courf blinked at the artist. “What are you talking about?”

Grantaire sighed heavily. “Combeferre is hurt because of your showcase. You featured every one of us in ways that really showed how you see us, but not him. You even pointed out to him that he was always in the background. He thinks that means that you don’t see him at all. That he’s not important to you.”

Courfeyrac felt like he was going to be sick. “That’s not it at all! Of course he’s in the background of every picture. He’s the only thing I see, R. Even when I’m actively trying not to see him, there he is. That’s why I couldn’t put a picture of him up there. It was already too obvious that I’m in love with him. I just couldn’t do it. Not in public.”

“Look, I get it. I do. It would have been like me putting up a painting of Enj before I realized that he felt the same way, but you need to fix this. Combeferre is sad which is making Enj sad which is making me sad. I just found out that the love of my life loves me back. I shouldn’t be sad right now, Courf. Fix it.”

He knew R was right. He did need to fix it. He just didn’t know how.

And then, suddenly, he did.

He looked up at the other man. “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to need your help. Do you still have access to the gallery?”

“Yep.”

“How do you feel about severely abusing your power?” Courf asked.

A mischievous smile spread slowly across Grantaire’s face. “Whatever you’re planning, I’m in.”

----------

Combeferre was sitting on his couch, finally able to relax after what had been a very long day, when someone knocked on his door. He groaned quietly, but got up to answer it anyway. When he saw Courfeyrac standing in the hallway, he couldn’t keep the look of surprise off his face. In all the time he had known the man, Courf had never once knocked on his door. He simply barged right in, knowing he was always welcome. Ferre felt a little guilty that his recent actions had made Courfeyrac—his best friend—feel like he wasn’t welcome in Ferre’s apartment anymore.

“Courf?”

“You need to come with me,” Courf said without a greeting.

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise. Just, please, come?” Courf stared at him with wide, pleading eyes.

Combeferre knew he should decline. Going anywhere with Courfeyrac was a terrible idea. He had been sticking with his plan to avoid the other man until his feelings were under control, and judging by his internal reaction to seeing Courf in his button down shirt and tight jeans, Ferre was decidedly not in control of his feelings. 

But how could he possibly say no to his friend when he was standing there looking so nervous and hopeful? Besides, he missed Courf so much. He hadn’t gone so long without spending time with him in years. The man’s absence was killing him.

So even though he knew it was a terrible idea, Combeferre sighed and allowed Courfeyrac to grab his hand and pull him out of the apartment. He was so focused on slowing the erratic beating of his heart that he didn’t pay attention to the direction they were walking in. He was taken aback when they stopped in front of the student art gallery at the university.

“Courf, what are we doing here? The gallery is closed. The showcase is over.”

“It’s not closed. This is a one night only exhibit, and I thought that you needed to see it. I think—I hope—you’ll like it.” He pulled the door open and waited for Ferre to enter the building.

Combeferre did not want to be there, but he had already allowed Courf to drag him out of his apartment. He couldn’t just leave. He walked in and glanced around the room. Sure enough, there was a new collection of photographs hanging on the walls. Ferre instantly recognized them as Courfeyrac’s. His stomach gave a nervous lurch, but he made himself step closer to examine them. They were of him. 

They were all of him.

Combeferre studying in the library, his glasses slipping down his nose, his hair a mess. Combeferre sighing in bliss at the first sip of his morning coffee. Combeferre with a lunar moth on his hand, his eyes alight with excitement and wonder. Combeferre sleeping at a table in the cafe, his notes spread out before him.

Combeferre. Combeferre. Combeferre.

He was breathless and dizzy as he made his way from picture to picture, finally getting the opportunity to see himself through the other man’s eyes. He reached a photo where he was stretching his arms above his head, a strip of bare stomach exposed where his t-shirt had ridden up. When he slowed down and forced himself to really look at it, the pieces started to slide into place. There were still a few things he didn’t understand. 

He turned slowly to look at Courf who was standing in the center of the room, watching Ferre with a nervous expression. Combeferre took a step towards him. “Why didn’t you put any of these in the showcase for your class?”

“I…couldn’t,” Courf answered, dropping his gaze to the floor.

Ferre took another step forward. “I thought you just didn’t see me,” he said in a small voice.

Courf’s head snapped up. “Don’t you get it, Ferre? You’re the only thing I see!”

“You told me that I was always in the background.”

“Of course you are, Ferre. No matter what I’m doing, no matter where I’m looking, there you are. I always know where you are, and I always see you.” He gestured around the room. “I couldn’t put that on display.”

“You put Enj and Grantaire on display,” Combeferre pointed out as he took another step toward his friend.

“That’s different. They needed to see that they were both in love with each other.”

Ferre tilted his head. He was almost certain he understood what was going on. He stepped closer still. “Are you saying that we don’t need that same thing?” His heart was racing. He could have chosen better words, but he hoped Courfeyrac would be able to understand what he was trying to say.

Instead, Courf winced. “No, Ferre, that’s not what I’m saying. I just didn’t want everyone—I didn’t want you to see how ridiculously in love with you I am. I couldn’t handle the public rejection. But then you were mad, and I couldn’t let you keep being mad at me. I needed you to understand why I couldn’t put any of this in my assignment. I need you to not be mad at me, Ferre.”

Combeferre took one last step toward Courf. He was close enough to reach out and hold him, but he didn’t. Not yet. 

His heart was full to bursting. Courf loved him. Courf was in love with him. “You’re wrong, Courf,” he said gently.

Courfeyrac looked up, hope filling his big brown eyes. “You’re not mad at me?”

Ferre laughed softly and shook his head. “Of course I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you.”

Courfeyrac heaved a sigh of relief. “Good.”

“That wasn’t what I was talking about though.”

“Oh,” Courf frowned. “Then what am I wrong about?”

The adorably confused look on Courf’s face was too much for Combeferre. He couldn’t stand that they weren’t touching. He brought his hand up to cup Courfeyrac’s cheek. Courf leaned into the touch, but he was still frowning.

Combeferre leaned forward, bringing their foreheads together. “I definitely wouldn’t have rejected you,” he whispered before gently pressing his lips to Courf’s. He had meant for it to be a quick, chaste kiss. He hadn’t counted on Courfeyrac’s enthusiastic response. He hadn’t counted on Courf’s arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him in, eliminating any space between them. He hadn’t counted on his own hands weaving into Courf’s hair, pulling him gently to one side as he kissed his way down Courf’s neck. He certainly hadn’t counted on whimpering as Courf whispered his name with all the reverence of a prayer.

Eventually, he managed to pull away. They were both breathing hard, faces flushed, eyes darkened with desire. Ferre ran his thumb along Courfeyrac’s cheekbone. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Courf took Ferre’s hand and kissed his palm. “Dinner?”

Combeferre smiled. “Sure. Or, we could, you know, just go back to my apartment. Enj is staying with Grantaire tonight.”

“God, I love you.”

Combeferre laughed as Courfeyrac pulled him from the gallery.

----------

Later that night, as they drifted off to sleep tangled up in one another, Combeferre whispered, “Courf?”

“Hm?” Courfeyrac hummed sleepily against Ferre’s bare chest.

“For the record, I love you too.”