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It is Wednesday when they finally get together.
Courfeyrac usually isn't nervous about things like this, but he has known Combeferre for years and the feelings have existed quite a while, only waiting to be discovered. Now that he sits there, in the Musain, looking at the man, he feels faint: that is the gorgeous creature to whom he is about to confess his feelings. One of his best friends, the man who has helped him through so much.
Combeferre smiles at something Joly has said. Courfeyrac wants to bury himself into a hole and stop existing for a moment. The clock is too quick and the air around him feels too thick to allow inhaling.
“Are you alright?” Jehan asks. He nods. Jehan squeezes his hand. It doesn't help.
When the meeting finally ends, Courfeyrac asks Combeferre to stay behind a moment. His voice shakes and it's pitiful. The medical student looks innocent with his pale blue eyes. The constant optimism Courfeyrac sees in them is nearly too much to bear.
“What is it?” Combeferre asks when they're alone, wearing their coats, standing at the door, ready to leave. It's not too late to back off. Even looking at the taller man feels hard. So, instead of talking, Courfeyrac closes his eyes and reaches for the medical student's hand. He squeezes it lightly and bows his head.
“I'm sorry,” he hears himself saying, “but I think I'm falling in love with you.”
There is silence. Nothing seems to move. The air is definitely too thick. Courfeyrac feels like his blood has suddenly become too hot in his veins.
He is just about to pull his hand away when Combeferre squeezes it, just as gently.
“You only have to be sorry for taking so long to say it,” the medical student says. His voice is soft as is his smile, when Courfeyrac finally dares to look at him. He can't misinterpret the look of the pale eyes since he has so often seen it in the mirror.
- - - - -
It is Wednesday when they share a bed for the first time as more than friends.
They've been exploring their relationship for a few months now, trying each other's borders, what is allowed, what is not. How to hold hands, how to cuddle, how to kiss and still give room. How to view the world through somebody else's eyes.
After a day full of debates, exams and errands to run Combeferre asks his boyfriend to come and stay the night, and Courfeyrac can't imagine refusing. He sees it in Combeferre's eyes they're thinking the same thing and it surprises neither one of them when the lazy kisses they trade on the medical student's narrow but soft bed soon turn into something more heated.
It's slow, it's intimate and it's wonderful. Courfeyrac loves the way Combeferre smells: the cologne he has started using quite recently, the pineapple smoothies they had a couple of hours before, a little sweat, a little shampoo. He loves the way Combeferre's lips feels against his neck, his chest, his stomach, his lips. His gentle, soft hands, his smile, the way his eyes close. His pulse and the quiet words. The way he holds Courfeyrac when they both are spent, the way he kisses his temple.
Courfeyrac realizes he is very lucky.
- - - - -
It is Wednesday when Courfeyrac's parents announce they don't approve of their son's choices in life.
“They told me not to come home before I've thought about it properly,” he says, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Combeferre's arm is around him, his side against his side as they sit on the floor of the medical student's room. Enjolras, who is also Combeferre's flatmate, is luckily out. During the last year he has been out often to give them space.
“It is me they disapprove of, isn't it?” Combeferre asks. Courfeyrac can feel the rise and fall of his chest on one of his arms and it calms him better than anything else.
“No,” he says, “they love you and you know that. It's just... the nature of our relationship they don't like. There's nothing wrong with you, only the way we like each other.”
Combeferre hums in response. Courfeyrac has never seen him angry and he isn't that even now. He himself isn't angry, no, just sad. Parents are supposed to want the best for their children. Combeferre is definitely the best thing that has ever happened to Courfeyrac.
“If you want to, uh, change the 'nature of our relationship' to respect your parents--” the medical student starts but Courfeyrac immediately slams a hand onto his mouth.
“Never say anything like that ever again,” he says, panic creeping into his voice, “unless--”
“Of course not, I just--”
“Then why--”
“For the best of your--”
“No but if you--”
“I don't want to give you up.”
At that point Courfeyrac starts to cry, his big fat tears uncontrollable. Combeferre pulls him into his lap and kisses his hair, his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his hands which he holds on his eyes.
“I'm sorry,” the taller man says, his voice quivering, “I'm so sorry.”
- - - - -
It is Wednesday when they have their house-warming party.
All their friends from the Musain are there and the party resembles a regular meeting very much but neither one of them really minds. The flat they have is just large enough for them all to fit in and still leave room for moving around. Courfeyrac sits beside his boyfriend of three years who will be graduating in a few months.
“How upset is Enjolras for me stealing you?” the law student asks, glancing at the leader of their group, who is sitting on the floor with Feuilly. Sometimes it feels like Feuilly is Enjolras' baby-sitter since he makes the younger man excessively more calm than he usually is.
“I think he is planning on moving together with someone soon, too,” Combeferre replies, passing his boyfriend a beer can. Courfeyrac pops it open and takes a sip. Despite all the windows being open the flat is very hot due to the amount of people in it. They should buy a fan.
“That's... surprising,” the law student mumbles. “Is it who I think it is?”
“It's not Feuilly,” Combeferre shrugs and turns to look at him. There's a smile in his eyes but not on his lips. That is one of the expressions he saves only for Courfeyrac.
“What?” the shorter man asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I'm just very happy about your existence at the moment,” Combeferre replies, placing a hand on his knee. Courfeyrac giggles and presses a quick, beer-smelling kiss onto the side of his neck.
“Spoken like a true scientist,” he murmurs. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
During the night Grantaire manages to drop a flower vase and break it, Bahorel falls asleep and snores loudly on their kitchen mat, Enjolras quotes Robespierre to his heart's content and Joly gets a nosebleed from unknown reasons. Nothing of it can make Courfeyrac even worry because he feels like he is in the right place, in the middle of his friends by Combeferre's side.
- - - - -
It is Wednesday when Combeferre loses his first patient.
Courfeyrac doesn't hear it from him – it's Joly who calls the law student, his normally quiet voice barely audiable when he says the words. Reacting to the news is hard and Courfeyrac knows there's nothing he can do but wait. According to Joly, Combeferre should be on his way home at the very moment.
It takes half an hour before the door of their shared apartment opens. Combeferre looks closed when he puts his bag down and hangs his coat away, slowly running a hand through the mop of sand-brown hair. Only then he notices Courfeyrac, sitting at their dining table, watching him.
“I missed the bus. Twice,” the doctor says. His voice is sand and his movements wood. Courfeyrac wants to embrace him and hide him from the world.
“It's okay,” the law student says, offering a careful smile.
“Twice. I missed the bus twice,” Combeferre repeats, more to himself than to anyone else. His light blue eyes are so very tired. Beaten.
“It's okay,” Courfeyrac repeats and stands up. He wants to cry but he doesn't have the right. Not before Combeferre does. He walks to his boyfriend and takes his arm, stroking his thumb over the underside of his elbow.
“The bus,” Combeferre says, closing his eyes as he breathes deep.
“I know,” Courfeyrac whispers.
They spend the following two hours in silence, Courfeyrac sitting on the sofa with Combeferre's head in his lap. The doctor is exhausted, beginning many sentences but finishing few. He doesn't have the energy to cry; instead he nuzzles his nose against the soft fabric of Courfeyrac's trousers and breathes through the mouth. Courfeyrac cards his fingers through the sand-brown hair, slow and light.
“She was breathing and I didn't...” is the most common start of a sentence. It never gets finished but it doesn't have to. Courfeyrac understands anyway.
- - - - -
It is Wednesday.
They have been working the whole day in Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta's garden; the three of them have been together for eight years and have bought a house together a month ago. The whole Les Amis de l'ABC has been helping them with renovating and putting things to place. The garden is the beginning of the end of the project.
“Everything hurts,” Courfeyrac announces as he sits down on the sofa of Combeferre's and his flat (the second one in which they've lived together), “and I have five clients tomorrow. Help me.”
“I think I've found some new muscles in my lower back, too,” Combeferre states as he sits down on the sofa as well, placing two cups of tea on the floor.
“We talk like we're about to retire. Tell me, do I have wrinkles?” Courfeyrac asks, turning to look at the man beside him.
“Darling, you're 28 years old,” Combeferre smiles, shaking his head, “and besides, if you take after your mother, the first wrinkles you'll have will appear around your eyes and tell people you've had a happy life. I, on the other hand, might inherit the huge forehead wrinkles every man in my family has.”
“Don't worry, I'm going to love them.”
“How reassuring.”
They sit quietly and just smile at each other, both of them tired after the day's work.
“The house is going to look very nice once the garden is ready,” Courfeyrac comments.
“It is, yes,” Combeferre nods, “although the interior design is... very unique.”
“You can't stand flower patterns,” Courfeyrac chuckles, “but the dinosaur curtains in our kitchen are alright with you.”
“Yes. You have taught me to be interested in dinosaurs,” Combeferre replies. “Besides, I find their bone structure fascinating.”
“I think Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta are going to get a child,” the lawyer yawns. The sun is setting and painting the walls orange. He likes orange. It reminds him of carrots and the first time he baked carrot cake. It was for Combeferre's 30th birthday. The cake was a success.
“I think so too,” Combeferre says quietly, giving him a strange look before sipping his tea. He puts it back to the floor immediately. “Still too hot.”
“I think I'll go to shower, then come back to drink the tea and then go to sleep,” Courfeyrac says half to himself, kissing Combeferre's nose. “Do you mind?”
“Go ahead. I should probably do the same after you,” the taller man smiles fondly.
Courfeyrac stands up and gets to take three steps toward the bathroom before Combeferre catches his hand. He has a quizzical expression on his face.
“Courfeyrac,” he says and inhales but no more words come out. Instead he just looks at his boyfriend's face.
“Yes?” the lawyer asks, tilting his head. A little, unsure smile ventures to tug at the corners of Combeferre's lips.
“Will you marry me?”
“Of course I will.”
They stare at each other for a heartbeat before they're hugging one another so hard Courfeyrac wonders if he'll suffocate or if he'll suffocate Combeferre. He feels ridiculously happy and can't help kissing his boyfriend's – no, fiancé's – face all over.
“Of course I will,” he repeats. Combeferre's smile is so wide it barely fits into his face. Their kisses are full of the sunlight they've bathed in the whole day.
“You'll set the date,” the taller man says when they allow themselves to breathe again, “but... It's a little uncommon and there are painful memories, too, but I think it should be a Wednesday.”
Courfeyrac grins.
“I think so too.”