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Bonding: September, 1827
Autumn is beginning to settle on Paris. The days are still warm, but the evening wind has the bite of September that promises colder days to come. In a small cafe, six young men end their meeting around ten-thirty. Two of them say their goodbyes and walk off together, murmuring to each other. Another pair stays a few minutes longer and finishes a tangential conversation. They leave arm-in-arm. The last two watch them go, then glance at each other and laugh. "Our friends are so discreet," Daniel Feuilly says, grinning. Aimery Courfeyrac grins, and leans back in his seat, stretching. "Quite," he agrees lazily. "I envy their restraint. Don't you?" Feuilly shakes his head. "They're restrained? I would hate to see them less so." "I was being facetious." Courfeyrac glances at him, and smiles a bit. "I'm sorry." Feuilly shrugs. "It's -- it's all right, I suppose. Shall we go?" Courfeyrac quirks an eyebrow. "Hand in hand?" he inquires wryly. "Ah --" Feuilly grins at him. "Not in public, mon chéri. I have some dignity." Courfeyrac blinks at the endearment, and his expression softens. "Ah. Well." Feuilly shakes his head. "Honestly, you fellows. I was joking." Courfeyrac grins, though the look of gentleness doesn't leave his eyes. "Pity." "I --" Feuilly blinks at him a moment, then looks away. "I suppose so." "Sorry," Courfeyrac murmurs. "Sorry, brother." He rakes a hand through his hair, absent-mindedly. Feuilly reaches over and thumps his shoulder. "It's all right." He pushes his chair back and stands. "Walk with me a bit?" Courfeyrac stretches again, smothering a yawn, and starts to climb to his feet. "If you like." "It's on your way, more or less." "True," grinning again. "I would be glad of the company." Feuilly walks toward the door. Courfeyrac yawns again, and follows. "All right." For a few minutes, Feuilly walks without making any further comment, then, "Do you ever feel lonely, around them?" "Hmm." Courfeyrac tucks his hands in his pockets. "I don't know. A little." "Ah." Feuilly glances at him. "Why?" Feuilly shrugs. "Hard to watch them being so damned happy, sometimes." Courfeyrac glances over, then. "I see." "It's just -- I don't think I've ever been that happy." Feuilly kicks a pebble. "Or that I ever will be." "Oh, come now! Give yourself time, mon ami." "Time for what?" Feuilly glances at him. "Time to establish myself in my profession? I don't have your advantages, nor your free time -- mon frère. And I don't -- I don't have your charm. If I am ever going to be happy, I will be happy by myself." Courfeyrac frees a hand to touch his arm lightly. "I don't believe that." "No?" "No," cheerfully. "I think you have your own charm in great measure. And you wouldn't want mine; it gets me in the damnedest scrapes..." Feuilly snorts. "I'm sure it does. Girls trailing after you, boys dragging you off -- your life is difficult, I'm sure." "It's when they start to trip over each other that I'm in trouble. --But you don't do yourself justice." "'course I do." "Bah. There's a girl somewhere who's pining after you at this very moment. I'd bet on it." Courfeyrac grins at him. "Indeed." Feuilly pats his pocket. "She lives in the next house over, and she's seen that I occasionally have a sou to spare. If I ever had a franc, she might let me requite her longing, but not for free." Courfeyrac pokes him. "That's just what I mean. No self-confidence. If I were to tell a certain young lady of my, er, acquaintance all about you--" Feuilly pokes him back. "I don't want that." Courfeyrac tilts his head, serious again. "What do you want?" "More than company for a night." "And if my hypothetical acquaintance should fall desperately in love with you, and beg you to carry her off and marry her?" Feuilly chuckles. "Then I'd be surprised." "I wouldn't." Courfeyrac grins again. "Which is why I have not yet introduced you to any of my female acquaintances." Feuilly shakes his head. "I doubt that I could manage to keep their attention for more than a moment, with you around." Courfeyrac chuckles. "I don't." "Then it is you who have too little confidence." "No, not really," cheerfully. "Aimery --" Feuilly pauses a moment. Courfeyrac looks at him, quizzical. Feuilly shakes his head. "I -- never mind." "What?" "Nothing." Courfeyrac reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder, briefly. Feuilly frowns. "You're entirely too charming." "Am I?" wryly. "Yes. You are." Feuilly turns away. Silence for a moment. "I'm sorry." Feuilly shakes his head, again, and turns the corner. Courfeyrac sighs, almost inaudibly, and trails along after him. Feuilly lives halfway down this block, in a little room at the top of a boarding house. He pauses outside the ground-level door. "Would you come in?" Courfeyrac blinks once. "All right." "You can go, if you'd rather," diffidently. "Not at all," smiling at him. "I've nowhere better to be." "All right." Feuilly goes in. Courfeyrac follows, treading a little cautiously. Five staircases later, Feuilly unlocks the door to his flat, breathing a little hard. "Here we are." "Must be quite a view," Courfeyrac ventures. "The sunrise is spectacular, yes. I --" Feuilly breaks off and walks in. Courfeyrac ducks through the doorway after him. "Yes?" "Shut the door?" The room is dark, lit only by light from the street below, and it is bare. The only decorations are sketches, pinned to the plastered walls. In the darkness, they blur to unintelligibility. Glancing around curiously, Courfeyrac complies. Feuilly pauses just inside, watching him, then sighs. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes the distance between them and kisses Courfeyrac's cheek. Courfeyrac blinks, catches hold of his shoulder and returns the kiss, reflexively. Then, in bemusement, "Daniel...?" "I'm sorry." Feuilly looks away. "You needn't be," softly. "I am. I shouldn't." Courfeyrac reaches out to touch his hair lightly. "Why not?" "I don't think I want -- everything." He frowns. "I mean -- it was all so strange, unreal, when they -- you --" he shudders. "That was nothing I would have wanted, except that I wanted the strength of knowing all of you as brothers." This time it is Courfeyrac's turn to look away. "I'm sorry. I--" "You did not propose it." Feuilly touches his cheek. "And I don't know, now, if I would have been more -- more enthusiastic, if it had not been so very impersonal." "Daniel--" Courfeyrac begins, and hesitates. Feuilly backs away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't presume that you want anything of me. I -- I'm sure you don't. Goodnight." "Don't-- please. It isn't that." "I'm sorry." "Mon frère." Courfeyrac extends a hand toward him. "If that's what you want, I would be -- more than willing. If it isn't, you can say so. You're not going to offend me, either way." Feuilly looks at the floor. "You needn't." Courfeyrac grins. "I know I needn't. Nor should you feel compelled to offer." And, sobering: "Daniel, I-- I would like to. But not if it would make you uncomfortable." "I don't know. I'm sorry." "It's all right. --Come here?" Feuilly hesitates a moment, then goes a step closer. "It's all right," Courfeyrac says again, and embraces him, tightly but fraternally. Feuilly sighs. "I shouldn't have proposed it." "It's all right, I tell you. I'm not offended, I don't think less of you, and I shan't bring it up again unless you want me to." "I --" Feuilly returns the embrace. "I don't know what I want." Courfeyrac pats his shoulder. "All right." Feuilly lets him go, reluctantly, after a few minutes. Courfeyrac keeps his hands lightly on Feuilly's shoulders. "Don't worry about it, mon ami." Feuilly looks at him for a moment, then embraces him again. Courfeyrac hugs him tightly, ruffling his hair a bit. "I don't know," softly. "You don't have to know." Feuilly half-smiles. "Why do you have to be so charming?" Courfeyrac shrugs, lightly. "I don't know. It just seems to happen." Feuilly chuckles. "Unfair." "Sorry," making a token effort to be suitably contrite. Feuilly looks at him a moment, then kisses him. Courfeyrac catches his breath, and then returns the kiss, with affection and concentration. After a few moments, Feuilly breaks it. "Good God, Aimery," breathlessly. A dazed blink. "Yes?" "You -- God." Courfeyrac brushes Feuilly's hair away from his face, and then pushes back his own. "What?" "I -- should have asked you this weeks ago," teasing. "D'you think so?" "Yes." Feuilly kisses him again. "Oh," Courfeyrac murmurs, and acquiesces cheerfully.
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