music again | an it’s for you drabble
courfeyrac, enjolras, combeferre
If Enjolras hears this goddamn song one more time, he’s pretty sure he’s going to rip Courfeyrac’s head right off his shoulders.
Especially since his roommate keeps singing along at the top of his fucking lungs.
AND I AIN’T NEVER MET NOBODY BETTERER
YOU’RE SOMEONE ELSE’S BABY
Enjolras hauls himself up off of his desk chair with every murderous intent and storms out of his room, throwing open the door to Courfeyrac’s.
PUT YOUR LITTLE HAND IN MINE AND LOOK INTO MY EYES, BABY EYES.
Courfeyrac is lying on the floor of his room, splayed across the floor, belting as loudly and emotionally as he can.
OH YOU MAKE ME WANNA LISTEN TO MUSIC AGAIN.
“Listen, friend,” Enjolras shouts over the music, “I understand you are pining after your one true love and all, but you have got to stop playing this song or your problem will be quickly and violently resolved.”
“ ‘These violent delights have violent ends,’ ” Courfeyrac muses mournfully.
“Don’t fucking quote Romeo and Juliet at me,” Enjolras groans, falling limp against the doorframe. “If I hear that goddamn play quoted in a fucking romantic context one more time I will —”
“ ‘ANDINTHEIRTRIUMPHDIELIKEFIREANDPOWDERWHICHASTHEYKISSCONSUME!’ ”
“I will murder you,” Enjolras promises.
Courfeyrac pouts at him upside down.
THERE HAD BEEN MANY MOONS BEFORE I MET YA —
“CHANGE THE SONG!” Enjolras bellows, then slams the door on his way out.
To his great relief, a few seconds later, the song abruptly cuts off. This relief is short lived as another one quickly takes its place.
THERE HE GOES, MY BABY WALKS SO SLOW —
Enjolras will not admit to shrieking in frustration before storming out of the apartment to take refuge at Combeferre’s.
Without Enjolras there to hear him, it’s not quite as satisfying to scream out Adam Lambert songs in a fit of lovesickness, but Courfeyrac keeps at it anyway. It’s about fifteen minutes before Combeferre slips into his room and he stops short, rolling over to sit up off the floor.
“Don’t tell me you could hear me from your place?” he whines.
Combeferre smiles and steps over him to sit on the bed. “Enjolras said you’re feeling a little down about Jehan today?” he prompts.
Courfeyrac leans over to turn his music down, snorting. “Enjolras did not say that.”
“Well, no,” Combeferre admits, his smile growing to a grin. “Enjolras’ choice of words was a little more colorful. I deduced the rest.”
Courfeyrac sighs. “Did you come to tell me to stop moping around?” he asks sadly.
“No, of course not,” Combeferre replies. “I came because I know how hard this has been for you, and I thought you could use some company.”
“Really?” Courfeyrac gasps, looking like he’s just been offered water in the dessert. Combeferre pats the bed next to him in response and Courfeyrac scrambles to sit next to him.
He ends up with his head in Combeferre’s lap as Combeferre pets his hair and lets him make all the groany, sobbing noises he wants.
“Why doesn’t he love me?” Courfeyrac moans.
“Have you asked him?” Combeferre replies calmly.
Courfeyrac turns to glare up at him. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” he demands. “You don’t just say things like that to people.”
“You could to Jehan,” Combeferre tells him. “He’d be flattered, I think.”
“No,” Courfeyrac says firmly. “He’s not ready. If I told him I’m in love with him, he’d be overwhelmed and he’d freak out, and — You know he’s dating someone right now, right?”
“They’re not serious,” Combeferre returns. “Jehan never refers to him as his boyfriend, and he keeps saying they’re ‘messing around’ — sorry,” he adds as Courfeyrac groans again at the thought of someone else’s hands on Jehan’s body.
“But that’s the point, right?” he mumbles. “He’s not ready for anything serious and I’m desperately in love with him. Not really the ideal situation.”
Combeferre smiles kindly down at Courfeyrac and continues to pet his hair. “You read him really well,” he comments finally. “You’re going to be amazing for him.”
Courfeyrac makes a face. “He deserves better than that douche he’s running around with, anyway.”
“How do you know he’s a douche?” Combeferre asks, looking amused.
“Jehan isn’t happy,” Courfeyrac says simply, and Combeferre’s smiles disappears. “He deserves to be happy.”
Combeferre’s fingers stop carding through Courfeyrac’s hair and pat him gently on the head instead. “You might want to turn the music off,” he says. “Maybe take a shower.”
“Why?” Courfeyrac whines as Combeferre essentially evicts him from his lap.
“Because Jehan is going to be here in about twenty minutes.”
Courfeyrac’s eyes pop open. “What?! He’s coming here? Why?!”
“Because I invited him,” Combeferre replies, smiling serenely again. “The three of us are going to go see a movie. Except Enjolras is going to call me with urgent business right before we leave, and you two are going yourselves.”
Courfeyrac gapes at him. “How long have you been doing this?” he gasps, suddenly remembering all the times this has happened before. So many times the three of them were going to go do something and Combeferre had to bail at the last second. So many parties where Courfeyrac would find himself and Jehan left entirely alone in a corner somewhere. He’d never really thought anything of it — until right now.
“Since you two met,” Combeferre admits with no sense of shame.
Courfeyrac sputters at him. “I can’t tell him, ‘Ferre.”
“Then don’t,” Combeferre shrugs, standing up to rifle through Courfeyrac’s dresser. “Don’t tell him. Don’t hold his hand in the theatre. But go out with him. You need to see him.”
“Why?” Courfeyrac asks weakly as a clean shirt is tossed at his head.
“Because,” Combeferre answers logically, “if you’re upset because you’re not with him, you need to see him.”
“It doesn’t solve anything. He’s still not mine.”
“No, but it’ll make you feel better. Trust me. And go take a shower for God’s sake, you smell rank.”