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Help is the only thing that the text message reads. Well, that and the frankly redundant signature Marius always puts on his text messages just in case someone forgets who he is. (Courfeyrac always rolls his eyes when Marius explains it that way—he’s not forgettable in the slightest, but Courfeyrac still isn’t sure if that particular trait of Marius’ is a good thing or not.)
What’s up? Courfeyrac taps back, waiting for the inevitably simple explanation to all of his friend’s woes.
Can you come over? It explains nothing, but Courfeyrac has a paper waiting for him that hasn’t been procrastinated on nearly long enough to bring any sort of inspiration to work on it. He replies with an affirmative and gathers up his wallet and phone charger, just in case this turns into a long night that includes a trip to a bar where he’ll probably be buying.
—-
Marius meets Courfeyrac at the front door of his building, looking worse for wear. His hair is sticking up in a rather odd fashion; Courfeyrac assumes Marius had been tugging at it for the better part of an hour with the hopes of plucking an idea from his brain. His clothing is a mess; an old, threadbare t-shirt from one of his jobs sits askew on his thin frame, while the jeans he had pulled on are spotted with a few new stains. Courfeyrac sighs and strides over to him, already starting to smooth some of the tufts down and righting his rumpled shirt. Marius visibly relaxes even though Courfeyrac tsks at him quietly, murmuring that he should have texted sooner.
“Do you have any coins?” he asks with a smile. Whatever Marius needed help with must be serious, or at the very least important to him. It may have something to do with Cosette, judging by the residual scent of perfume clinging to his clothing.
“Upstairs, yes. I think so.” Marius replies, taking a step back from Courfeyrac once he finishes grooming him.
Upstairs, Courfeyrac takes notice of the remnants of a dinner date gone wrong sitting out on the counter. A container of upturned Chinese food is cooling on the floor, which explains the stains on Marius’ jeans. Marius gathers up a few paper towels and starts to mop up the brown puddle of sauce, trying to save as much food as he can so he actually has something else to eat for the next few days. While Marius is cleaning his friend starts to put the other cartons in the barren refrigerator, deciding that he might just have to force a small trip to a grocery store on Marius that he’ll try to refuse. (Courfeyrac will end up paying for it while Marius goes off to put some decidedly unnecessary item away, leading to a small argument and a fairly meek thank you while they’re walking home.)
“Do you want to take those off and put something else on? I can run them down to the laundry.” Courfeyrac palms a few coins in his pocket, in case there isn’t any change to do the laundry with in the flat. It’ll give Marius time to collect his thoughts about what exactly he needs help with.
The other student nods and hands Courfeyrac what’s left of this week’s paycheque after he’d paid for dinner, refusing Cosette’s offer to pay for her part of it. He finishes cleaning up the mess, putting his next few lunches away before wandering back to his bedroom. Courfeyrac follows, leaning against the doorframe, eyes cast down to the floor.
“Give me some other laundry too, since you might as well get your money’s worth,” he mentions, glancing at the clothes hamper tucked into the corner of the room. “Laundry things are still in the bathroom right?”
“Yes. I’ll get a few things gathered up while you get them, if it’s not any trouble.”
Courfeyrac is already gone by the time Marius responds, returning a moment later with a netted laundry bag and a box of detergent. He’s down in the basement ten minutes later, loading things into an ancient washing machine. The night is warm enough to hang a few things to dry on the clothes line out on Marius’ balcony. He’d appreciate saving money where it was possible, even with a few wordlessly offered coins from his friend.
Courfeyrac whistles as he walks back up the stairs with Marius’ laundry back and soap, stopping to say hello to a few girls a floor down from his friend’s flat. A number is slipped into his pocket before they part ways, though he probably won’t use it any time soon. He has more pressing matters to address.
—-
“Cosette wants to see me again.”
The root of the problem is exposed once Courfeyrac returns to the flat, and the panic in Marius’ voice is palpable. He shrugs, starting to smile again. It extends only to his lips, though Marius doesn’t seem to notice as he paces around the living room.
“I don’t see where this is a bad thing.” Courfeyrac slings an arm over the back of the couch, watching his friend closely. Pacing was one of Marius’ many endearing nervous habits—the others: twisting his hair around his fingertips, and smoothing the front of his shirt (it did nothing but rumple it, however) all of which only served to augment his attractiveness. All of them helped him think and work through whatever he was facing at the moment, even if they did occasionally verge on the side of maddening. Still, Courfeyrac had tried to get Marius to sit down, even offering to make a cup of tea or coffee for him in exchange.
“It’s not, but…”
A switch clicks in Courfeyrac’s head, and he laughs as soon as he realises the real source of the issue. Of course. He should have seen it. A surge of happiness for his friend combats the twisting of a knot in his stomach. Cosette had been the object of Marius’ pining for months, and with a little push from Courfeyrac, he had asked her out.
“You’re afraid of the inevitable moment where you’d like to kiss her and vice versa. Have I hit the nail on the head?”
Marius swallows thickly and nods. He’s logically got nothing to worry about, but Cosette is perfect for him in absolutely every way, and she’s already put up with his minor bumbling earlier tonight. There had been nothing but kind words for him, and amused smiles that had been pressed against his cheek when he had gotten too nervous to speak properly. She had even told him that she looked forward to the next date.
“If there was some way to practice with someone else, I would be fine.”
“I humbly offer my services in the least awkward way possible.” Courfeyrac is aware of just how bad of an idea the offer is, and allows himself no illusions about how things would turn out. His friend’s happiness was his own, and that was enough.
Relief breaks over his features, and Marius starts towards the couch, kneeling in front of it. He had wanted to ask, but was unsure of how to go about it, “Is that all right? I would understand if you didn’t want to go through with it.”
A hand is waved dismissively in response, “Nonsense. Now, show me how you’d win fair Cosette’s heart.”
When Marius moves forward with hesitation and bequeaths a chaste kiss upon Courfeyrac, he realises there’s a great deal of work to be done. Nothing he can’t remedy with some minor coaching and a little practice. Marius says good night to Courfeyrac with more confidence than he can ever recall having, and a determination to make the next date go much better than tonight’s.
“I have the utmost faith in you, Monsieur Pontmercy.” Courfeyrac bows mockingly as he starts to grin, the first honest one of the night. “If you don’t succeed, I’ll gladly hand in my resignation for the position of your best friend.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he laughs, giving the other student a playful shove. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The older student rolls down the passenger window of his car before driving away, half shouting loudly enough for Marius to hear him as he retreats into the apartment building, “Text me in the morning if you’d like. And stop putting that stupid signature on your texts. I know who you are.”
—-
Courfeyrac forgets if the name he has listed for the number he’s calling is a real one, or one he made up so he had something to call the person on the other line, but neither of them particularly care during the in-between hours of the night after a few drinks. His sheets smell of sex and the impersonal scent of a stranger that’s fading more by the minute in the morning. He feels a bit better, though he could do without the hangover. The first class he has is long over, and he’s sure that the professor will give him a stern talking to about attendance tomorrow, easily dealt with through a sincere apology and a promise that he wouldn’t do it again.
A buzz comes from Courfeyrac’s phone on the night stand, miraculously plugged into the charger despite all of the distractions from a few hours ago. He opens the text, sighing at the signature on it again.
Thank you for last night. I don’t know what I’d do without a friend like you.
Marius Pontmercy
(He couldn’t forget Marius, not even if he wanted to.)