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.
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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.”