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December 3rd
Courfeyrac’s apartment is quiet.
This troubles Marius; Courfeyrac’s apartment is not usually quiet.
Of course, it’s just him home at the minute, which is unusual in itself- but even so, Marius has grown accustomed to the constant barrage of Courfeyrac’s friends paying visits at any and all times of day. The curse of living in such a hotspot of city life , Courfeyrac had once complained to him, before winking in that way of his that makes Marius realise he’s telling a joke.
It’s sometimes too much for him, to tell the truth, and so Marius tends to busy himself around the city- looking for work, mostly, and studying when he gets tired of handing in CVs- so it is rare, when he is in the apartment and Courfeyrac isn’t.
Marius is just beginning to enjoy the solitude when the door bursts open.
“Marius!” Courferyac calls by way of greeting. Judging by the sounds of footsteps and muffled laughter, he is not alone. “Marius, come and help us!”
Only somewhat reluctantly, Marius gets to his feet.
And stops.
He can’t even see Courfeyrac, that’s how big the tree is. Eight foot, at least- maybe more. It would rival even the gaudiest, most ostentatious tree his grandfather used to insist upon each year.
Unlike Marius’ grandfather, however, Courfeyrac’s apartment does not have a grand entranceway or ceilings that stretch so high that you need a ladder to change the lightbulbs. What Courfeyrac does have is a room cluttered with furniture and doorways so low that Marius always has to be careful lest he bump his head.
“What-” he begins to say, but is interrupted by voices.
“Joly, get your elbow out of my face or I swear-”
“If I move my arm, I will drop this tree! I’ll drop it! Is that what you want? After we’ve struggled and toiled to get to this moment? To fall at the last hurdle?”
“No one is falling!” Courfeyrac laughs, obscured by a branch. “No one is falling! Marius? Marius, our saviour, please come and help.”
Marius warily walks up to the tree. “What am I supposed to do?”
“If you hold the bit opposite me, we think we can brace it in the doorframe whilst Bahorel and Joly climb underneath to get into the flat. Then all four of us will pull until we can bring it in fully. We just have to make sure it doesn’t fall on them.”
“Your life is in my hands, Pontmercy!” comes Bahorel’s voice from somewhere under the tree.
Courfeyrac laughs again and Marius hurries to take the side of the tree. It’s a ridiculous image, really; the tip of a huge tree poking into the apartment, Courfeyrac wedged between it and the doorframe, Marius lifting from the inside. Somewhere on the other side of the door, Joly and Bahorel appear to be taking most of the tree’s weight; Marius can feel the jerk when they place it down and struggles to not let the entire thing slip. Courfeyrac catches his eye and grins.
And Marius- well, Marius isn’t used to this. Isn’t used to the easy friendship Courfeyrac shows him, isn’t used to the chaos and whirlwind he seems to have found himself in whilst living in Courfeyrac’s apartment, isn’t used to a world that isn’t his grandfather’s. Sometimes, that is overwhelming. Right now, it’s thrilling .
There’s shuffling and more laughing and then Joly and Bahorel appear at Courfeyrac’s feet. There are pine needles in Bahorel’s hair and Joly’s glasses are skewed on his face but they too grin at Marius once they’re standing again and Marius smiles at them in return, happy to have been part of the scheme.
It’s with some manoeuvring that they manage to drag the tree the rest of the way into Courfeyrac’s apartment.
“I told you it would fit,” says Joly at one point, poking Courfeyrac in the side.
“I never doubted you!” Courfeyrac replies, raising his hands to defend himself from Joly’s attack.
Marius thinks ‘fit’ is a bit generous; the tree ends up in a corner of the room, obscuring Courfeyrac’s bookcase and the calendar that has yet to be changed from October. The top of the tree not only brushes the ceiling, but bends against it. Marius feels as if it could tip at any minute. He keeps that thought to himself as the other three stare up at the tree in wonder and satisfaction.
There are pine needles all over the floor and on Marius’ clothing and, he suspects, in a long trail up through the lobby of their building and up the-
“Wait,” says Marius, “did you guys carry this thing up five flights of stairs ?”
The three of them pause in their awe to stare at him and then they’re laughing again, laughing until tears leak out of Joly’s eyes and Bahorel is clutching his stomach in pain.
Courfeyrac comes up and wraps an arm around Marius’ shoulders. “Marius,” he says, voice solemn, having composed himself. “It was a Christmas miracle. ”
The story of the tree becomes a thing of legend. It seems all of Courfeyrac’s friends come round to visit in the following days, and each time Courfeyrac’s retelling of the story gets wilder and wilder. It goes from being a tree they found on the side of the road to a tree they bravely rescued from going into a woodchipper, the five minute walk down the street becomes a trek across the city, the scratch Bahorel acquired from a branch a life-threatening wound that had almost cost him his leg.
“And it would’ve been worth it, too!” Bahorel had cried, assisting Courfeyrac in the retelling when he visited with Jehan.
Marius’ role also becomes fictionalised; according to Courfeyrac, they’d barely been hanging on when they got to the apartment and it was Marius’ strength and determination that had saved the day. He’d bravely taken up most of the weight, lifting the tree himself so that the other three could scamper out before it fell completely and crushed them beneath it. A fate Courfeyrac makes sure to emphasise, which they surely wouldn’t have survived.
Marius bears all of this with grace. He is charmed by the ease with which Courfeyrac includes him and he is grateful for the ease with which the others accept it.
He is grateful, even if he knows that he’s intruding, that his presence is a burden for Courfeyrac, who is obviously very into this time of year whereas Marius… well. He’s sure his lack of enthusiasm hasn’t gone unnoticed by Courfeyrac, who seems, at times, desperate to imbue Marius with the same festive cheer.
So Marius smiles, and he responds good naturedly to the jokes from Courfeyrac’s friends, and he joins in, half-heartedly, when Courfeyrac begs him for a re-enactment.
He eats his breakfast whilst looking at the tree and sweeps pine needles from the floor in the afternoon and flips the switch for the fairy lights off whenever he goes to bed later than Courfeyrac. He comes and goes from Courfeyrac’s apartment and the tree always remains and Marius is fine with that, really, and he smiles and nods when Courfeyrac mentions anything to do with Christmas.
He tries not to think about the time ahead, when Courfeyrac leaves to stay with his parents, and Marius…
What will Marius do?
December 7th
"Hey," Courfeyrac says one evening, brushing past Marius on the couch. "A question. What do you think will work better: roast potatoes or mashed potatoes?"
Marius blinks. "Mashed," he decides. "Why?"
"For Christmas dinner. Last year I did roast but I was thinking about spicing it up, y'know?"
"Sure," Marius says. Why is Courfeyrac asking his opinion, of all people?
The twist in his gut is back. If he were braver, he would ask if he could stay in Courferyac’s apartment over the holiday season; he doubts Courfeyrac would say no, and he’s quickly running out of other options. But Courfeyrac has already done so much for him, and Marius still has to find a way to pay him back, to start contributing towards rent properly- not just the miniscule amount Courfeyrac says is his contribution towards rent.
“And what’s your opinion on brussel sprouts?”
This is an answer Marius has prepared: “I think they’re an underrated vegetable with an undeserved reputation.”
Courfeyrac blinks at him, then grins.
“What?”
“Nothing, I just wasn’t expecting you to be such a passionate sprout defender.”
Marius blushes, wonders if he should say something- but Courfeyrac is still grinning and Marius allows himself to exhale. Courfeyrac isn’t berating him, he’s being nice . Teasing, as friends do.
Marius still huffs. “I like them, that’s all.”
“Fair enough, man. Me too.”
Courfeyrac wonders over to the other side of the room, the part Marius has internally started referring as the tree side . He switches on the fairy lights and walks back.
Marius braces himself for further conversation, and sure enough-
“Is there anything else you usually have on Christmas dinners? Anything you couldn’t live without?”
It would be almost cruel, if Courfeyrac had the ability to be so. He thinks back to the lavish dinners his grandfather arranged for them, the stiffness with which they’d sat around the table to eat, food being brought out by people who most certainly would’ve rather been serving their own families.
“We used to have duck,” Marius hears himself say. It’d been his grandfathers favourite. “But I didn’t like it.”
A slight lie- Marius had liked it, once upon a time. Now, like so many things in his life, the memory of it feels tainted. Marius doesn’t think he ever wants to eat duck again.
He wonders, distantly, what his father had eaten on Christmas. If he’d even celebrated, or if he’d let the holiday pass him by, uncaring- or perhaps uncared for . Guilt writhes in his stomach as he thinks about all the times Marius had sat at his grandfather’s table when he should have been with his father instead.
Courfeyrac must notice Marius’ sudden solemnity. He smiles, though it’s strained. “No duck, got it.”
“You can still have duck,” Marius says.
Courfeyrac frowns. “No, no, it’s okay. I promise it wasn’t even on my list anyway.”
They settle into silence. Marius still isn’t sure why his dinner preferences should have any bearing on what Courfeyrac does whatsoever, but it’s a battle he can’t fight right now. He looks at the tree, and thinks about Christmas in a different house, across the city, what feels like lifetimes go but in reality has only been a year.
He thinks about Christmas in a different house, across the country, with a man he has never met and never will.
Beside him on the couch, Courfeyrac is still quiet. Marius wonders if he should say something- use this moment between them to just ask Courfeyrac if he can stay in Courfeyrac’s apartment whilst Courfeyrac isn’t here, but the moment passes quickly, and so does Marius’ resolve.
“Parsnips?” Courfeyrac asks, looking at Marius from the corner of his eye.
Marius sighs. “I like parsnips,” he says.
He doesn’t offer anything else and Courfeyrac must eventually get the message that Marius doesn’t want to discuss vegetables any longer, for he stops asking.
December 13th
“Okay,” Combeferre says, having finished washing up and turning towards Courfeyrac. “Now that we’re done with dinner- out with it.”
“What?”
“Whatever’s bothering you,” says Combeferre.
“Who said something is bothering me?”
“Oh please,” says Enjolras, still stood with his back to them as he dries the dishes. “You’ve been moping for the past hour.”
Courfeyrac sighs. “We don’t get to hang out with each other very often. I don’t want to spend the time we do have talking your ears off about my woes.”
“What’s the point of hanging out if we don’t get to hear about your woes?” asks Combeferre.
“I, for one, feel woe-deprived,” adds Enjolras.
“Also, Enjolras spent a good twenty-five minutes ranting about the trouble he and Feuilly are having with the rent control campaign.”
“And Combeferre started the evening off by decrying his lack of a work-life balance; it’s officially your turn to moan.”
Courfeyrac laughs. Tuesday night is historically the night they try to set aside to catch up with one another; the chaos of the past few weeks has meant it hasn’t happened in a while. Courfeyrac was reluctant to bring up the whole Marius issue when they were still catching up, but now… well, he supposes it would be good to get it off of his chest.
"It’s Marius,” he complains, flopping down onto Combeferre’s couch cushions. “He’s being weird .”
Combeferre sits down much more gently, taking the space next to Courfeyrac. "I'd be more worried if he weren't being weird. This is Marius we're talking about."
Courfeyrac pokes him in the side. "Be nice."
Combeferre raises his hands in apology.
"How is he being weird?" asks Enjolras, frown on his face from across the room.
"He's just… he keeps avoiding conversations about Christmas plans, or giving me really short answers when I try to include him. I don't want to push him, obviously, but I'm worried he's got some kind of Christmas-related trauma and hates the mention of it. Maybe he doesn't want to celebrate, maybe he has bad experiences, maybe he's- what if he follows a different religion, and he thinks I'm trying to make him assimilate to Christian religious tradition?"
"Have you asked him?" questions Combeferre reasonably.
"Well, no. But you don't get it- I don't ask things about him. Some things he's willing to talk about- he told me straight up about his ultra-conservative grandfather and how that's one of the main reasons he left. But whenever I try for more, or probe after what his life was actually like... he gets cagey. It's only happened a couple times, and so I stay away from it. I don't think he had a very happy home life. It's- I mean, why else would you run away, right? He's in a vulnerable position right now and he needs a friend and I don't- I don't want to jeopardise that, or, or, make him feel unsafe by digging up that trauma."
Enjolras nods along as if this is reasonable, but Combeferre frowns. “You don’t necessarily have to go near any of that to ask if he wants to celebrate Christmas with you. You can find subtle ways to ask, to bring it into conversation.”
“I tried asking him if there’s anything he wants for Christmas dinner. All he said was no duck. Who has duck on a Christmas dinner anyway?”
“My family used to have duck,” says Enjolras.
“And that,” Courferyac says, “is why you spend Christmas with me, here, instead of with your family.”
Enjolras nods in concession.
“I just don’t get it,” Courfeyrac whines- and he is whining, without a doubt, but if there’s anyone he’s allowed to whine around, it’s Enjolras and Combeferre. “I wish he’d just say something if he doesn’t want to celebrate. We could think of something else.”
Even as he says it, he’s not sure if it’s true. Christmas with his friends has been Courfeyrac’s tradition since leaving for university; it’s sacred to him. It’d started that first year, just him and Enjolras and Feuilly, delighting in the freedom of a holiday spent with friends. Each year, it had grown as their group had and now Courfeyrac treasures it, the event they’ve come to lovingly refer to as Chosen Family Christmas.
Not everyone stays- Combeferre spends alternating years with his grandmother, and this year Courfeyrac is pretty sure Joly is taking Bossuet to meet his parents, but… nevertheless, Courfeyrac wants to celebrate. He isn’t sure what he’d do if Marius didn’t want to- because it’s not like he can leave Marius alone either.
At long last, Combeferre takes pity on him. "Maybe he just needs someone to talk to about this stuff. You've been there; who better to help him through it?"
And that, too, makes sense. Courfeyrac would've liked to talk about it with Marius, for Marius obviously needed a friend who understood. "I don't want to push," he said quietly. "What if I make it worse?"
"You've never made anything worse by trying to help," says Enjolras from above him, having come to stand at the back of the sofa. Courfeyrac just about manages to lift his head up to smile at his friend. "I agree with Combeferre; you should just be forthright and ask him."
Forthright. God, Courfeyrac loves his friends.
"Okay," he says, considering. "I’ll ask him."
December 15th
Marius is on the sofa when Courfeyrac finally decides to confront him about why he’s acting so weird.
He’s staring at the tree, again , and Courfeyrac- well, Courfeyrac feels like a grade A idiot whenever he remembers the giant Christmas tree in their living room because he’s not usually this dense. He really should’ve asked Marius before dragging the tree halfway across the city into their apartment. He’s not living alone anymore; he can’t make reckless decisions like that on behalf of both of them.
The tree isn’t exactly subtle, either. Courfeyrac eyes it with growing distaste.
“Do you like the tree?” he asks Marius. It isn’t how he’d meant to start this conversation, but it’s as good a beginning as any; proven by the way Marius looks up at him, startled.
“Yeah,” he says after a significant pause, “I like the tree. Why?”
“I realised I should’ve asked you before bringing it back.”
“It’s okay,” Marius says. “It’s your apartment.”
And that’s another thing Courfeyrac hates but doesn’t know how to address; Marius’ insistence that it’s Courfeyrac’s apartment, Courfeyrac’s belongings, Courfeyrac’s life, as if Marius’ place in it doesn’t matter .
“You live here too,” he protests. “Your opinion matters. We can get rid of it if you don’t like it.”
“It’s fine,” Marius insists. He cocks his head. “Besides, how would we get rid of it?”
“I don’t know,” Courfeyrac says, frustration tugging at him. “We got it in, we can get it back out again.”
Marius shakes his head. “It would be a lot of effort, though. I like the tree, it’s fine.”
Courfeyrac feels close to begging. He’d had a plan for this conversation, had gone over it again and again, meticulously, whilst with Combeferre and Enjolras. Now, that plan that has very much gone off-script- it had gone out the window the moment he’d stepped inside their apartment to see Marius staring sadly at that fucking tree.
“Okay,” Courfeyrac says, and then, while he still has the nerve: “Do you like Christmas? Do you celebrate?”
Again, that inexplicably strickened look crosses Marius’ face, the same way it did when Courfeyrac had asked about Christmas dinner. Like Courfeyrac had made Marius tea and proceeded to spit in it, and Marius was trying to figure out how to refuse the mug.
“We celebrated. My grandfather took it quite seriously. It was quite traditional.”
Any lingering frustration Courfeyrac had felt at Marius for lying about the tree dissipates with that one sentence. If Marius does have some Christmas-related trauma, if the holidays are a hard time for him…
“Would you rather not celebrate this year?” Courfeyrac asks, telling himself it’ll be fine if the answer is ‘no’.
But Marius just frowns at him. “I’m not going back to my grandfather,” he says- no, spits, as if the mere thought were reprehensible.
“I- yeah, no, of course you’re not. I didn’t expect you to.”
They stare at each other for a while. Courfeyrac feels a lot of things- hurt, frustration, sympathy- but above it all, confusion . Why would Marius feel the need to clarify that, as if Courfeyrac hadn’t known , as if Marius wasn’t spending Christmas here, with Courfeyrac and his friends-
Shit.
He-
“Marius,” Courfeyrac starts. He feels like he could cry.
If Marius had looked strickened before, it’s nothing compared to the way his eyes widen in panic now. “What-”
“Marius,” Courfeyrac says again, composing himself. “You know you’re invited to Christmas with us this year, right? Please tell me you know that.”
“I-” Marius says, then stops, his eyes darting to Courfeyrac, then the tree, then back. He swallows. It’s obvious he hadn’t known that, and Courfeyrac-
Courfeyrac could kick himself.
He takes a deep breath, decides to start from the beginning. “We always spend Christmas together, me and Enjolras, sometimes Combeferre, along with whoever else fancies staying. It started during our first year of uni and has kind of evolved from there. It’s a tradition. I thought you knew about it; I thought you knew you were invited this year.”
Marius is staring at him, brow furrowed. “I… assumed you were going to spend the holidays with your parents.”
Courfeyrac almost laughs. He hasn’t spent Christmas with his parents since he was nineteen years old. The thought is so absurd, so ludicrous, he almost does.
But that wouldn’t be fair to Marius, because- Courfeyrac realises with a jolt- Marius doesn’t know that . Courfeyrac has never told him- not outright, at least. He might’ve alluded to it- in fact, he’s sure he has, his fraught relationship with his parents isn’t something he tries to hide, and so he must’ve . Only… Marius struggles with subtext, Courfeyrac knows that, and so….
And so, Courfeyrac feels guilt well up in him once more. It’s ironic, really: for all he’s wanted to be a friend to Marius, for all he’s wished that Marius would confide in him… Courfeyrac realises that he hasn’t been confiding in Marius.
“I don’t speak to my parents anymore,” says Courfeyrac, “I haven’t spent Christmas with them in six years.”
For a while, Marius just… looks at him. Courfeyrac tries to smile, to be reassuring because this- well, it can only be a good thing, for Marius to see that there are other people with imperfect family situations who are doing just fine. It’s important for him to know that, and Courfeyrac feels like the world’s biggest fool for not showing it to him sooner.
“Oh,” Marius says eventually, thoughtful. And then, once again, the troubled look is back. “I knew you weren’t close but I didn’t… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“It’s okay,” Courfeyrac says, because it is. “I’m sorry I forgot to invite you to chosen family Christmas.”
“I remember you mentioned it,” says Marius. “I just thought… I thought it was like a dinner before Christmas. I didn’t realise it was…” he trails off.
“You didn’t realise it was actually on Christmas?”
Marius grimaces.
Courfeyrac smiles. He’s still stood near the tree, Marius on the sofa. Taking action to rectify this distance, Courfeyrac walks over and flops next to Marius on the couch. “Hey, it’s fine; no harm, no foul.” He nudges Marius in the side. “Nevertheless, it is my duty to extend an invitation, since we were both labouring under false assumptions before: Marius Pontmercy, would you like to spend Christmas here this year?”
Marius smiles one of those rare smiles, the kind he only shares when Courfeyrac has told a particularly successful joke or cajoled Marius into a ridiculous scheme.
“Yes,” he says. “I think I would.”
December 17th
Chosen Family Christmas, as it turns out, also brings with it a lot of other traditions that Marius is now to be inducted into. Top amongst them: the annual gift-giving exchange that Courfeyrac and his friends participate in.
“Secret santa,” says Bahorel.
“We don’t call it that,” scowls Enjolras.
Courfeyrac, unphased by what seems a frequently repeated argument, smiles as he brings the hat round towards Marius.
Marius only feels a slight trepidation as he reaches in for a name. He doesn’t quite know where he fits in with these people yet, but he’s going to spend Christmas with them, so he pushes through the awkwardness he feels and picks a name.
Marius glances at the name in his hand and tries not to let the panic he feels show on his face.
Of course.
His eyes stray from Courfeyrac, now moving on to the next person in line, and to Combeferre, sitting with Jehan at the other end of the room.
He hasn’t spoken to Combeferre much, since their first interaction all those months ago. He isn’t quite sure what transpired between them that evening, but it had certainly left him feeling wrong-footed and unsure of himself. Courfeyrac has told him not to worry, that no-one remembers the time Marius was left red-faced and bewildered after engaging Combeferre in a debate, that it’s just ‘something that happens’ where Combeferre is concerned, and that Marius shouldn’t worry about it.
Easy for him to say. Courfeyrac isn’t the one who now has to buy him a secret santa gift.
Across the room, Combeferre catches Marius’ eye and gives him a questioning look. Right; he’d been staring. Marius mentally chides himself and looks away quickly.
It's fine, he tells himself. Completely and utterly fine.
December 19th
Five days before Christmas, Marius gets a card from his grandfather.
Of course, it doesn’t say it’s from his grandfather; that’s why he opens it. Once he lays eyes on the sickening cursive writing inside, it takes a real effort not to tear it to pieces there and then. Instead, he takes a deep breath, and holds it until he can’t anymore. He breathes out; repeat.
Marius throws the card in the bin.
Unfortunately for him, it’s Courfeyrac’s turn to take out the recycling and Courfeyrac must see the card, for he asks Marius about it that same night.
“I noticed you got a card from your grandfather,” he says, after they’ve finished eating.
“I did,” says Marius, wondering why Courfeyrac feels the need to inform him; the card was already opened so Marius had obviously known about it.
Courfeyrac blinks at him when Marius doesn’t say anything further. “Sorry,” he says, though what he’s apologising for Marius doesn’t quite know. “I just… how do you feel about it?”
Marius squints as he thinks of an answer. How does he feel about it? “Angry,” he says, grabbing it as the word comes to mind. “I’m annoyed at him. I don’t know why he thinks I’d want a card from him.”
Courfeyrac nods. “Fair enough. I wouldn’t want a card from my parents, either. Not that they’d send one.”
He doesn’t seem bothered by it, and Marius wonders if this is one of those times he’s supposed to ask questions, to get Courfeyrac to say more.
“How do you feel about that?” he asks, and cringes when it comes out. It sounds less natural coming from him than it had from Courfeyrac and Marius feels that rush of panic again.
But Courfeyrac just smiles like that had been the right thing to ask, and some of the anxiety in Marius’ chest recedes. “A few years ago I’d’ve been pretty bummed out. Now it doesn’t even occur to me- I’m more than that one relationship, y’know? I surround myself with people I love, people who love me, and they give me cards that I treasure.”
He gestures to the wall behind them, on the tree side of the room, where cards have been stuck to the space around the mirror. Marius recognises a hand-drawn card that’s probably from Grantaire, as well as a photo card with Courfeyrac, Enjolras, and Combeferre on the cover.
On the opposite side of the mirror, the card that Courfeyrac had given Marius- store-bought, but with additional doodles added by Courfeyrac’s own hand.
Marius smiles. “Your card is a lot nicer than my grandfather’s,” he says, delighted when it makes Courfeyrac smile at him in return.
He helps Courfeyrac clean and dry the dishes and it’s nice- it’s a nice evening. Now that he doesn’t have to worry about being without a place to stay for Christmas, it’s actually pretty nice, this routine the two of them have settled into. With Courfeyrac being off-work and Marius’ on semester break- it’s nice.
He’s more grateful than he knows how to say- for Courfeyrac, and for all his friends, for taking Marius in and letting him encroach upon their traditions- all because it took Marius far too long to realise what a terrible person his grandfather was.
He stares at the cards on the mirror again before he goes to bed. He thinks about the card in the recycling bin beneath their apartment. He wonders if his father ever tried to send him a Christmas card before, and if his grandfather had torn it up just as Marius had wanted to do earlier.
He wonders: if he’d been quicker to realise the truth, would he have two Christmas cards right now, instead of one?
December 21st
“Why are you nervous?” Enjolras asks, giving a pointed look towards Courfeyrac’s jittering leg.
“I’m not nervous,” Courfeyrac snaps.
Enjolras looks at him in alarm, and Courfeyrac sighs. “Sorry. I’m sorry, it’s just… there’s still something bothering him, and I don’t know what it is, and I know he’s still awkward around Combeferre and I just really don’t want to make things worse.”
Enjolras hums in consideration. “I don’t think you’re giving them enough credit,” he says. “Combeferre isn't a wild animal; he isn’t going to bite Marius if you leave them unattended. Likewise, Marius has already proven he can hold his own against people who disagree with him. They’re fine.”
Courfeyrac remains unconvinced; he knows how much Marius is stressing about Combeferre’s secret santa gift, but he lets the matter drop.
“Who do you have for the gift exchange?” he asks Enjolras, hoping the topic change might prompt him to answer.
Enjolras stares at him flatly. Yes, he will argue every single year about the consumerism inherent to the Christmas season and how gifting unnecessarily plays into that, but Courfeyrac sees right through him; when it comes down to it, Enjolras takes their secret santa just about as seriously as he would an execution. He might be the only one of their friends Courfeyrac hasn’t been able to crack.
“All right, then. Keep your secrets.”
“I will,” says Enjolras smugly. Courfeyrac rolls his eyes.
In the other room, Marius and Combeferre do in fact seem to be getting on fine. This relieves Courfeyrac immensely. It had been his suggestion, after all, to invite Marius to their Tuesday gathering, and he’s glad that the evening was mostly a success. After all, if Marius is living with Courfeyrac now, Courfeyrac wants to try and break down the barriers that Marius has seemingly erected between him and all other aspects of Courfeyrac’s life. What better place to start than here, with Courfeyrac’s two best friends in the entire world?
The dinner goes smoothly- better, in fact, than Courfeyrac had hoped for. Combeferre even manages to make Marius laugh, telling the story of how he’d lost his favourite scarf in an incident involving Bossuet, a seagull, and a very rainy day.
Enjolras and Combeferre see them off with a wave when it’s time to leave and Courfeyrac, unwilling to wait for a bus that may or may not turn up, calls them a taxi home. Marius is quiet on the journey back and Courfeyrac tells himself that it’s nothing, that Marius just gets like this sometimes- quiet, and a little bit withdrawn- but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything is wrong.
“That went well, right?” he asks as they hang their coats up and take off their shoes.
“I think so,” Marius says.
He doesn’t say anything else. Courfeyrac has learnt that it’s important to ask follow up questions to get Marius to divulge anything specific- lucky for him, he’s never been particularly shy about doing such, so it’s with little hesitation that he says: “Is everything okay? You’re a little quiet.”
Marius shakes his head, then stops abruptly. “I had a question, actually.”
“Fire away.”
“Why don’t you talk to your parents anymore?”
That had not been the question Courfeyrac was expecting, but it’s not one he minds, either. They had spoken a lot about Combeferre’s grandmother over dinner, it’s not surprising that family might be on Marius’ mind right now.
“There wasn’t a single defining incident, really.” Courfeyrac says. “We were never really that close and when I started developing political opinions that they didn’t agree with, we got even less close. We drifted apart when I left for university and as I got more radical, they became more conservative. We were having more and more fights, they didn’t show up to my graduation, and after that, we just kind of… stopped pretending that we were interested in maintaining a relationship. They send me a text on my birthday, but that’s about the only contact I have with them these days.”
There’s a little more to it than that, but Courfeyrac hopes it gets the point across. He remembers his graduation as the final nail in a very slowly closing coffin, the sadness and anger he’d felt at them in that moment as the first time he’d properly grieved what he’d lost with them. Christmas celebrations with his friends had meant a whole lot more that year, and Combeferre has never said it, but Courfeyrac knows that he’d been due to see his grandmother that year and had stayed with Courfeyrac instead.
It lacks the finality that he knows others have experienced in their relationships- he didn’t get thrown out, or run-away, or have a huge argument with them about anything in particular. It was little things that had built up and chipped away at him over time. It was sitting around the dinner table as his dad made yet another homophobic remark and realising I can’t do this anymore.
It’s definitely not the same as Marius’ situation, but Courfeyrac hopes that sharing it helps anyway.
“Do you miss them?” Marius asks next.
“I miss the relationship I could’ve had with them. I grieve for the relationship we might’ve had, if things were different.”
Marius nods- he can’t quite seem to meet Courfeyrac’s eyes, staring instead at the tree behind. “Me too,” he says quietly.
Courfeyrac makes what he hopes is a reassuring noise. “Your grandfather?”
Marius shakes his head. “My father. My real father.”
Courfeyrac doesn’t know much about Marius’ father other than the fact that he’s no longer alive.
“Were you close?” he asks.
Marius shakes his head. “I never knew him,” he says. “My grandfather lied to me, told me he wasn’t interested in raising me. I believed him. But he lied.”
The sentences are said in short, quick bursts, as if Marius doesn’t say them now he never will.
“By the time I worked it out, it was too late. He died. I never got to meet him.”
“Oh, Marius…” Courfeyrac says. A lot of things start to click into place. “I’m sorry.”
Marius shrugs. “I keep thinking about him. How it could’ve been different, if I’d realised earlier.”
Courfeyrac doesn’t know what to say- he has a feeling he can’t make whatever hurt Marius is feeling ease with words alone. Instead, he rests a hand on Marius’ shoulder and squeezes.
“It’s not your fault you didn’t realise,” he says- because that’s important , “and… I get it. Christmas can be a really hard time, especially because there’s so much emphasis on family. But you’re not alone. And if you want to, like, light a candle for your father at Christmas, or anything like that, we can do that.”
Marius nods. “I’d like that.”
He smiles at Courfeyrac then, and Courfeyrac feels relief flood through his veins. Judging it safe to do so, he grips Marius round the shoulders and pulls him further into the apartment, ruffling his hair as he does so. Marius laughs and bats his hand away but stays close to him and Courfeyrac thinks that, this, at least, is something he can do.
He might not know all the intricacies involved in navigating freshly sprouted grief and complicated family situations at Christmas, but he’s not a complete stranger to them either. Whatever help Marius needs to have a good Christmas, Courfeyrac is determined to give it.
December 25th
Christmas arrives, and with it: chaos.
Marius had never participated in cooking their Christmas meal before. Most of it was done in the morning whilst he opened box after box of presents from his grandfather, the kitchen staff quietly labouring away all the while. Even when he’d gotten older, Christmas mornings were for sitting around the tree and indulging his grandfather’s whims.
Now, however, he stands in Courfeyrac’s small kitchen as Courfeyrac runs around him frantically opening and closing cupboards, spilling mixing bowls and tea towels as he goes.
“I just fucking had them, where the fuck have they gone, how the fuck have I lost them…” he is muttering to himself, whilst Marius stands back, and stirs the mashed potatoes as he’s been told, and tries to stay out of Courfeyrac’s way.
A minute more of this searching and Courfeyrac proves victorious. He holds the oven gloves aloft with a cheer.
The kitchen around them is a mess; there are approximately eleven baking trays cluttering the counters, and vegetable peel litters the floor. Marius didn’t even know Courfeyrac owned so much cooking equipment and he feels more than a little silly standing in the midst of it all with a single bowl and spoon when Courfeyrac is like a one man Christmas dinner cooking machine.
“Okay, so… stuffing, almost. Turkey in the oven. Carrots, yes. Parsnips, yes. Potato- Marius, how is the potato doing?”
“It’s doing well,” Marius replies, happy to help even in this small way.
Courfeyrac grins at him. Then, another timer goes off and Courfeyrac curses before once more becoming little more than a blur to Marius’ eyes as he darts around the kitchen checking all is well.
This is how Marius spends his Christmas morning. It is delightful.
Around noon, all of Courfeyrac’s friends arrive, and Marius is gratified when they sit down to eat the meal that Marius helped Courfeyrac prepare. He has to duck his head lest anyone see how red his cheeks are when Bahorel makes a comment about the mashed potato being excellent and Courfeyrac waves all of the praise Marius’ way.
It’s a much more boisterous Christmas than he’s used to, but Marius finds he doesn’t quite mind.
By afternoon, there is singing and dancing, and Marius only feels a little left out; it helps that Enjolras, too, is not participating in the festivities, but instead sat watching his friends with a small smile on his face. It makes Marius feel less awkward about his place on the sofa, even when Courfeyrac tries to get him to duet Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.
All too soon, he finds himself sat as part of a large circle for their gift exchange.
It’s not that he’s dreading the gift exchange, but he is nervous. He’s never liked being the centre of attention, and he’s worried about the gift he got for Combeferre, no matter how many times Courfeyrac has assured Marius that Combeferre will love it.
Jehan goes first, and gifts Courfeyrac a crocheted crop top of some sort. It’s neon green and quite hideous in Marius’ opinion, but there are real tears shining in Courfeyrac’s eyes when he hugs Jehan in thanks. Courfeyrac gives Feuilly a camera that prints out pictures and Feuilly wastes no time in snapping one of Courfeyrac in his new top. Feuilly has Enjolras, and tells him that he has donated money to a migrant rights group in Enjolras’ name; this provokes the strongest reaction so far, which is for Enjolras to take Feuilly’s hands in his own and profess such deep respect and admiration that it makes Marius blush.
Enjolras, as it turns out, has Marius.
He reveals a large, brick-like object wrapped in red wrapping paper from his bag and hands it to Marius.
Marius opens the gift and tries to ignore all of the eyes on him. Once he tears off the wrapping paper he uncovers… a book. He hasn’t heard of it before, but it’s almost intimidatingly thick, and the back promises an invigorating read through the trials and tribulations of the most downtrodden in society.
“It has a large section on the Battle of Waterloo,” Enjolras tells him.
At once, warmth flows in Marius’ chest. He smiles at Enjolras. Enjolras smiles back.
“Thank you,” Marius says, and brings the book closer to his chest.
Then, it is Marius’ turn.
He tries desperately hard not to feel too awkward as he reveals the lumpy parcel he’d wrapped the previous evening.
“Combeferre,” he says, trying not to make direct eye contact. “This is for you.”
Combeferre takes the box from Marius with a small ‘thank you’, and Marius holds his breath, for-
“Oh, wow,” Combeferre says, pulling the scarf Marius had gotten him out of its wrapping. “It’s lovely, Marius. Thank you.”
“I remember you saying you needed a new scarf,” Marius says, “so… yeah.”
Combeferre wraps the scarf around his neck and smiles. Beside Marius, Courfeyrac nudges him in the ribs. “Told you he’d love it,” he mutters.
Combeferre has a present for Grantaire, which turns out to be a set of watercolour pencils that Grantaire practically drools over. Grantaire in turn gifts Bahorel a teddy bear that, when squeezed, says a combination of incredibly lewd phrases in Grantaire’s voice. Bahorel had Jehan, and brought the gifting to a close by handing over something which Marius thinks might’ve been a taxidermy squirrel.
It’s as lovely a Christmas as Marius has ever experienced, and it’s with something akin to regret that he finds himself next to Courfeyrac, waving bye to their friends that evening.
It takes them a little time to clean up, but when everything’s done and Marius is sitting next to Courfeyrac on their couch, he feels a deep content settle within him.
“Thank you,” he says to Courfeyrac. “For everything.”
“No need to thank me,” Courfeyrac says with a smile. “I’m just glad you had a good time. You did, right?”
“I did,” Marius confirms. “I had a great time.”
“I know it can be a little much, sometimes, with all of them, but…”
“I like them,” Marius says, surprising himself by interrupting. “I don’t always understand, or feel like I fit in, but I do like them.”
Courfeyrac hums, as if this is an acceptable answer.
“Is there anything you wish had gone differently?” Courfeyrac asks.
Marius thinks for a long time. “Not really,” he says eventually. “Nothing that’s within my power to change, at least. I still wish…” he trails off.
Courfeyrac nudges his side gently. “You still wish..?”
Marius takes a deep, steadying breath. “I wish my father were here,” he says- the first time he’s said it out loud, to anyone. “I didn’t know him, but I wish I had. I wish we could’ve spent Christmas together.”
The anger at his grandfather is still there- Marius assumes it always will be- but it feels less urgent, now. He’s experienced a Christmas surrounded by people who care about him, and he only wishes it weren’t too late, that he could also experience that with his father.
There’s a weight on his shoulders, and Marius looks up from his hands to find Courfeyrac’s arm around him, Courfeyrac pulling him in closer.
“Is this okay?” Courfeyrac asks and Marius nods as he lets himself be manoeuvred into a hug. He can’t remember the last time he hugged anyone and it’s that realisation which makes him cling tight to Courfeyrac once their bodies are pressed together. Courfeyrac is still wearing the neon green vest Jehan made him, and the fabric scratches Marius where it brushes against his skin, but Marius can’t find it within himself to mind.
He is held by Courfeyrac, and lets himself remain as such for a few precious moments. When he pulls away, there are tears shining in Courfeyrac’s eyes and he grabs Marius’ hands even as he lets Marius move back to his side of the sofa.
“Christmas can be complicated,” Courfeyrac says. “I know that, probably more than most. I know the situation with my parents isn’t the same as you and your father but… I want you to know, you’ll always have a place with us. With people who understand,” Courfeyrac tells him. “No matter what; you’re always welcome.”
“Thank you,” Marius says, and the words feel inadequate, but he has no idea how else to express them.
He believes Courfeyrac, now, when he tells Marius that things will be alright, when he says it will all work out, when he calls Marius a friend and treats him like one would a younger sibling.
He smiles, pulling his hands back to stretch them out above his head. He yawns, the tiredness suddenly hitting him.
“Tired?” Courfeyrac asks.
“Exhausted.”
“A good Christmas will do that to you.”
Marius smiles. “It was a pretty great Christmas.”
“It was a fantastic Christmas,” Courfeyrac agrees.
“Now we just have to worry about getting the tree down.”
At once, Courfeyrac starts laughing. “Oh man,” he says, sinking further down on the couch. “Don’t remind me.”
Marius smiles, pleased with his ability to tease Courfeyrac for once.
It has been a good Christmas. Marius doesn’t know what the new year will bring, but he has a feeling that with Courfeyrac by his side, he’ll be able to handle it.