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Companionship: June, 1829
By the time the last few companions bestir themselves to leave Musain, it is close to midnight. Enjolras left some time ago, when things began to degenerate; Feuilly left not long after, having plans for the night. Courfeyrac and Combeferre have been talking idly together, but at last Combeferre realizes the hour and pushes back his chair to take his leave. Courfeyrac touches his arm lightly, smiling at him. "We could continue this elsewhere, if you like." Combeferre shakes his head. "Not tonight, Aimé. Julien is expecting me." "Again." Courfeyrac tsks. "All right. --I miss you, you know." Combeferre bites his lip. "And I you, but -- I should go home." "Sure?" Combeferre nods. "Quite." Courfeyrac sighs, and smiles at him. "Good night, then. Take care." Combeferre smiles back. "Good night." He leaves. When the door has shut, Courfeyrac's smile fades. He sits back with a sigh, pushing both hands through his hair. There is the sound of someone clucking his tongue. "Abandoned by all your friends, tonight, Aimé?" Grantaire asks, from where he has been half-listening and half-dozing in the corner. Courfeyrac starts slightly, and looks over at him, composed again and wryly amused. "I beg your pardon?" "Poor Aimé. All alone with no one to love him." Grantaire shakes his head. "A tragedy worthy of a great epic, if only I had the wit and the words, but I've had too much wine for that." "So I see." Courfeyrac stretches, slouching in his chair. "Fortunately, my straits aren't that dire yet." "No? Still have someone waiting at home, do you?" A wicked grin. "Perhaps." Grantaire gets up. "Lucky you, then. I should be getting home to my pitifully empty bed." "Is it really?" Courfeyrac says lightly. "How depressing." "One becomes accustomed to it, after the first decade or so," mildly. Courfeyrac looks at him again, oddly intent. "I see." "But then, would you know from experience?" "You might be surprised," mildly in his turn. Grantaire blinks at him. "Perhaps I would be, and perhaps not. Are you planning on being alone tonight, then?" Courfeyrac's expression is a curious blend of irony and apprehension. "I wasn't planning on it, but it seems likely." Grantaire shrugs. "Only if you want to be." A slight lift of the eyebrows, questioning. Grantaire shrugs again. "I don't, particularly," Courfeyrac says quietly. Grantaire offers him a hand, as a gentleman might offer his hand to a lady. Courfeyrac studies him a moment, then stands, unassisted. "After you." Grantaire smiles a little and goes out the door. Courfeyrac follows, closing the door meticulously behind him. "Well, did you say you had company waiting at home?" Grantaire asks. "I said I might," calmly. "Stranger things have happened. However, I haven't looked." "Shall I accompany you there, on the off-chance that your bed is occupied?" Courfeyrac glances at him. "If you like." Grantaire gives him a less than mirthful smile. "If you'll have me, it might be pleasant." After a moment, Courfeyrac touches his shoulder lightly. "Why not?" Grantaire's smile becomes more friendly. "I don't know why not, and I shan't conjecture for fear I'd scare you off. But -- lead on, let me see this oft occupied flat of yours, and find out if I'll have to stagger home alone in any case." Courfeyrac grins a bit. "Very well." He starts down the street. Grantaire follows closely, though he is not completely steady on his feet. The walk is not terribly long, though it takes Grantaire out of what would otherwise be his way. Courfeyrac lets them in without a word. "A well-appointed dwelling," Grantaire says, without much irony. "Though I must say I expected rather more of your decor, mon ami." "Really?" offhandedly. The light from the window is dim and pale. "How so?" Grantaire shrugs. "More pictures on the walls? More clothing on the floor? I'm not entirely sure." Courfeyrac chuckles a bit dryly. "Just how dissolute do you think I am?" "One can never be sure." Grantaire puts a hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder. "How dissolute are you?" Courfeyrac shrugs. "Shall I go?" "You needn't." Courfeyrac moves away, straightening the papers on his desk aimlessly. "I... could use the company." Grantaire leans against the wall and watches him. "You don't seem to want it particularly, even if you could use it." Courfeyrac turns swiftly to look at him. "I-- Truth?" It is, oddly, the straightforward tone that he would ordinarily use with one of his friends: do you want the honesty I promised you? Grantaire looks wry. "Might as well tell the truth as lie, if you know what the truth is." "I hate sleeping alone." Courfeyrac meets his eyes, nearly as wryly. His tone is brittle. "I don't particularly want anything of you. I don't mind-- but that isn't why I asked you. I just-- needed someone. To be here." "Ah. Shall I sleep on m'sieur's floor, then, to be out of the way?" "I didn't say that," more softly. Grantaire shrugs. "You've odd affections, that's all." Courfeyrac chuckles a bit. "You've only just now noticed?" "I didn't say that. Just -- I don't know. Been a while since I shared a bed with somebody who wasn't a lover." "Yes, well..." Courfeyrac sighs, leaning on the desk. "I wasn't entirely grasping at straws, you know." "I suppose I don't mind, much." Grantaire shrugs. "Worse places to spend the night." "Thank you," dryly. "Well? If you want enthusiasm -- I can be enthusiastic. But probably not in moderation." Courfeyrac grins suddenly, brightly. "Who cares for moderation?" Grantaire smiles. "If you want to sleep, Aimery, you'll appreciate my attempts at moderation." "Really," quirking a brow. Grantaire gives him a mild look. "I'm not quite as, ah, popular as you are. Which is not to say I can't behave myself -- rather, I've had entirely too much practice at behaving." Courfeyrac straightens, smiling. "That's a pity." He comes over to settle both hands on Grantaire's shoulders. "Really. How so?" putting a hand on his hip, in return. "Too much practice at anything gets dull." Courfeyrac bends to kiss him lightly. "Ah. -- Are you quite sure you want to do this?" "Why not?" Grantaire smiles. "Any number of reasons, really -- but if I tell you, I might dissuade you." He kisses Courfeyrac. * * *Around noon, in a break between classes, Combeferre knocks on the door of Courfeyrac's flat, and stands there fidgetting with his sleeves until he hears an answer. "Who is it?" "Audric. May I come in?" "Of course, cher." Combeferre opens the door, walks in, and closes the door behind him. "I'm sorry about last night." Courfeyrac has evidently just gotten dressed. He runs a hand through his tousled hair, and blinks. "No need. It's perfectly all right." Combeferre smiles wistfully at him. "It's just that Julien has been out of sorts, recently, and I couldn't leave him." "Of course not." Courfeyrac crosses the room to embrace him. "Why, what's the matter with him?" "He --" Combeferre accepts the embrace. "Really, I shouldn't tell you, except --" He sighs. "Grantaire upset him a few weeks ago." Courfeyrac blinks. "Again?" "Worse than last time." Combeferre bites his lip. "He was rather -- aggressive." "What, did they fight?" Courfeyrac pulls back a little, bemused. Combeferre shakes his head. "No. Nothing like that. Grantaire was, um. Rather rude." "More than usual?" lightly. "Differently than usual." Combeferre waves a hand. Courfeyrac frowns. "What are you talking about, Audric?" Combeferre winces. "I don't know how to explain, because he didn't actually accomplish anything, but he -- made unwelcome advances." Courfeyrac blinks again. "You're joking." But the protest is automatic. "No." Combeferre sighs. "I wish I were, but I would never jest about something as serious as this." "I know you wouldn't. Just-- God." Courfeyrac glances away, frowning. "I'm sorry. -- Please, don't tell Julien I told you. He would be embarrassed." "When was this?" "Two weeks ago." Combeferre touches his shoulder. "I should have told you sooner, perhaps." "Yes. Most likely." Courfeyrac shakes his head. "He hasn't said anything to you, has he?" "No," frowning. Combeferre touches his cheek. "Good." "No. Not really." Courfeyrac reaches up to take his hand. "How are you this morning?" "What do you mean?" Combeferre asks, disregarding the second question. "How is your health, how are your spirits, do things go well or are you simply muddling through?" "No. I meant -- why is it not good that Grantaire hasn't approached you?" Courfeyrac sighs. "I didn't say he hadn't approached me. I said he told me nothing of this." "God, Aimé, why didn't you tell me?" Combeferre hugs him tightly. "I'm sorry, chéri." Courfeyrac returns the hug roughly. "Yes, well, it's not your fault. Next time I'll know better." "What?" Combeferre asks, bewildered. "What do you mean?" "What do you think I mean?" Courfeyrac's tone is harsh with chagrin. "He was here last night. He left a couple of hours ago. If I'd known this yesterday--" Combeferre lets him go and takes several steps back. "God, Aimery." "Yes," dryly. "I'll think rather long and hard before I do it again." Combeferre shudders and turns away, crossing his arms defensively. "I don't understand you at all." "What the hell is there not to understand? Did you expect me to know?" "He may not wear his sins listed on his face, but he's not a pleasant man. You couldn't have borne to be alone for a night?" Combeferre's voice grows sharp. Courfeyrac turns away. After a moment he says thinly, "All right. Go ahead and be angry with me, get it out of your system. I don't have the heart to fight with you today." "I don't want to fight with you." Combeferre sounds tired. "I'll leave you alone." "Damn it, Audric," tiredly. "Don't assume. Don't jump to conclusions." "I didn't assume anything. You told me he spent the night here." Combeferre turns again and gives him a pained look. "I miss you, Aimery, you must know that -- but perhaps it's better if I continue to do so." "Oh, Christ." Courfeyrac swings around to face him. "Daniel's dropped me for his ladylove, now you're going to drop me for doing something you neglected to warn me against, and you wonder why I look elsewhere for company? Don't assume, Audric, and don't come the noble martyr with me." His indignation acquires a note of pleading. "I do the best I can." "It isn't just this. Julien is still terribly upset." Combeferre frowns at Courfeyrac. "I can't just run off on him, not now, even if I were inclined to do so. It's not just about last night, or Grantaire, or anyone. God." He gives Courfeyrac a wan smile. "I'll forgive you last night -- which was an honest mistake, though it disgusts me -- if you promise it won't happen again. But that doesn't mean I feel free to spent the night with you." But Courfeyrac scowls. "Oh, how gracious of you. I appreciate your magnanimity. I don't need your forgiveness for making honest mistakes -- which you might have prevented, if you had a little more care for common sense and a little less for pride -- and I didn't ask you to spend the night with me." "Aimé," more softly, "it wasn't my place to tell you or anyone else, no my choice to keep it secret. And -- no. I suppose you'd rather not see me tonight, though you protest that I'm abandoning you. That's just as well." Combeferre sighs. "I would have told you, if I'd thought Julien would be all right for half an evening. And I don't mean to sound martyred -- just busy." Courfeyrac clenches one hand, then relaxes it. "And I don't mean to reproach you for being busy. Just-- don't expect me to sleep alone until Julien's nerves are recovered, that's all." "When have I ever expected you to be chaste?" Combeferre asks, dryly. Courfeyrac gives him a small, wry smile. "Good. Don't start now." "I haven't. -- Damn it, I hate fighting with you." Courfeyrac offers a hug, mutely. Combeferre hugs him. "I'm sorry, Aimé." "It's all right." Courfeyrac ruffles his hair. "No harm done, n'est-ce pas?" "I suppose not." Combeferre kisses his cheek. Courfeyrac returns the kiss. "Ah, mon frère." "Am I forgiven?" "Of course, if you like." "I would prefer it to being unforgiven." Combeferre squeezes him a little, then lets him go. Courfeyrac smiles at him. "I should be going, really. Walk with me?" "All right." Combeferre kisses his cheek again and turns toward the door.
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