Feuilly didn’t notice the weight he carried around until he met Courfeyrac and felt light for the first time.
There was a contagious sort of buoyancy to the talkative gentleman that lifted Feuilly from himself as easily as if he were driftwood borne on saltwater. He never quite forgot the things that weighed him down, but they instantly became easier to bear in Courfeyrac’s presence, the way stones become easier to carry as you walk with them into the sea.
And that was what Courfeyrac was, Feuilly decided. A crystalline sea, simultaneously strong and pliant, whose laughter built and broke in waves. Waves that, Feuilly knew, would slowly erode the heaviness within him, if he stayed by Courfeyrac’s side long enough.
Feuilly wasn’t sure if he deserved that, but he decided, watching laughter lines crinkle at the edges of Courfeyrac’s eyes, that he would try to, nonetheless. He would try to swim in this sweetness for as long as he could, and he would try, with all his might, not to drag them both down.