#THE courfeyrac!!!! will never be dethroned

[euphraisette]

i just wanna talk to whoever thought it was ok to include fra fee sobbing over gavroche like that in les mis 2012. i just. wanna. talk.

[astarion-dekarios]

Marius/Courfeyrac, 18. While someone’s crying

Seeing Courfeyrac in a temper was not an unusual sight. He rose quickly to anger, but that anger ebbed just as fast. Altogether he was agreeable, and cheerful, and warm. None of those things described Courfeyrac now, and when his anger persisted into the third week, Marius himself began to feel a bit waspish.

“I really don’t see what you’re so upset about,” he snapped, after Courfeyrac, in a fit of pique, had snatched away the paper he was reading about King Louis Philippe’s latest declaration.

“I thought you’d grown out of your royalist phase by now,” Courfeyrac said, in that infuriating faux-casual voice of his, and Marius sat up a little straighter in indignation as Courfeyrac balled up the paper and tossed it into the fire.

“Phase?” Marius asked, standing and staring forcefully at him. “You’re the one acting like a child who didn’t get what exactly what he wanted.”

“We were betrayed! And you just sit there, reading La Quotidienne without a care in the world, as if you agree with that drivel.”

“It’s only a newspaper, Courfeyrac!”

“Only?”

“You won! You dethroned Charles X! You won and you’re still unhappy, and you’re taking it out on me as if it were my fault!”

“We won nothing!” Courfeyrac said, and his face twisted into such a grimace that Marius began to fear that something may be truly wrong. They’d disagreed before, certainly, but he’d never felt that Courfeyrac’s friendship could hinge on their political accord, and Courfeyrac had never yelled at him before.

“That isn’t true! You won the Charter, you ousted the Bourbons, you’ve improved things for–”

“To hell with the Charter.” Courfeyrac was shaking, now, and Marius reached out an arm just as Courfeyrac turned violently away from him. “To hell with Louis Philippe, and Lafayette, and all of it! We won nothing. We lost–” He’d reached the desk, and looked for all the world as though he might sweep everything onto the floor in his anger (at least that would not be new, for Courfeyrac), but instead he crumpled, leaning heavily onto the table. “Good men, Marius. We lost good men. We…” His voice wavered, and instead of continuing he let out a whimper, and Marius realized at once what was happening, and took in a breath of horror.

“You’re crying,” said Marius, softly, to no response. He’d seen Courfeyrac cry before, naturally, at the theatre or over a novel, but never like this.

For a moment he stood uncertainly, shocked into silence, clenching and unclenching his fists. He didn’t know what to do, now, with his dearest friend in tears before him, especially when he’d been the one who caused this. It was always Courfeyrac who could bring a smile out of him in his darkest moods. But what would Courfeyrac do now?

Marius stepped forward, cautious as a wild animal, and placed his hand across Courfeyrac’s shoulders, opening his mouth to try to say something comforting. But no sooner had he done so than Courfeyrac turned again, just as violently, to squeeze him tight and bury his face into Marius’s cravat with a sob.

“I… I’m sorry,” Marius said, staggering backwards for a moment but then wrapping his arms around Courfeyrac as well, chin against his shoulder as he took in and then let out a deep breath.

“No, Marius,” sniffled Courfeyrac into his clothes, shakily taking in a breath himself and then lifting his head just enough so that his voice wouldn’t be so muffled. “No, it’s me who’s terribly sorry. I’ve been unkind to you, my friend, and you’re right. This certainly isn’t your fault, and I hope you’ll forgive how badly-humored I’ve been these past weeks.” He lifted his head, and sniffled again, and gave him a watery smile as he pulled away to wipe at his eyes.

But Marius didn’t let him go; he grabbed him by the arm, and led him over to the sofa, sitting them both down and curling himself around Courfeyrac, who made no effort to resist, and in fact lay his head against his chest. Marius ran his fingers through Courfeyrac’s curls, pulling them out of shape, and for once he didn’t protest against that either, only leaned into his touch. “I forgive you everything, my friend,” he said, and closed his eyes. At last, for the first time in a month now, he felt a sense of peace come over him, and he breathed easily.