some courferre sketches and cheek smooches for y’all because i’m trash and they’re cute and i think i’m finally settling on how i want to draw these dorks
Courfeyrac hears piano music in the hallway one day. It’s not an unusual thing, especially not when he’s passing the university choir room. There is something about the melody that draws him closer though; he doesn’t know if it’s because it sounds so familiar or if it’s simply curiousity. Either way, when he pokes his head in through the door, he is surprised to find Combeferre seated at the grand stage piano, fingers flying easily over the keys.
“I didn’t know you played,” he says. It’s not entirely true. Combeferre is a brilliant cellist, and has mentioned being more than capable of playing a handful of other instruments as well, but Courfeyrac never knew which ones. He never expected him to be this good at any of them.
“Just a bit,” Combeferre replies, which is clearly an understatement. “I took lessons as a child, before I found my true love. I guess I never really stopped playing though.”
The melody ends, and Courfeyrac is getting frustrated when he still can’t figure out where he knows it from. He steps into the room, dropping his backpack on a chair before he reaches the piano where Combeferre’s fingers are hovering silently over the keys as if he’s searching his mind for something else to play.
“You’re amazing,” he says, fingers tapping the black painted wood, and he feels Combeferre’s eyes on him.
“You play?” Combeferre’s fingers close over his, and Courfeyrac finds himself pulled down onto the bench, which is just barely broad enough for the two of them. Their thighs press against each other and Combeferre feels so warm.
“The piano?” Courfeyrac asks, remembering the question. “No. I played the guitar for a while in middle school, but that’s it.”
“That’s a shame,” Combeferre says. He’s still holding on to Courfeyrac’s hand, examining it closer. “You have such beautiful hands. They’re made for music.”
“My grandmother always tells me I should play the violin,” Courfeyrac admits, and Combeferre looks at him sharply over the rim of his glasses.
“Actually, I think you’re more suited for the viola.”
“I don’t even know the difference,” Courfeyrac says with a laugh, but it gets stuck in his throat when he sees the serious look on Combeferre face.
“I’ll teach you,” he says, “Or I could teach you how to play the piano.” He lowers their hands to the keys again, taking care to spread Courfeyrac’s fingers over them. It’s a simple offer, Courfeyrac thinks, to teach him how to play, but it feels like so much more. Combeferre’s hand remains on top of Courfeyrac, and it feels strangely intimate.
Courfeyrac considers it for a moment, hoping he’s not misreading anything, qnd when he turns his head, Combeferre is already watching him. It’s still Courfeyrac who leans in and brings their lips together, but Combeferre opens up and kisses him abck whole-heartedly within seconds. He links their fingers too, and Courfeyrac smiles into the kiss.
They part after a few more minutes, but remain seated as Combeferre shows him some scales. Then Courfeyrac asks him to play his favorite song, which turns out to be Ballade pour Adeline. “That’s my mother’s name,” he explains. “It reminds me of her.”
They’re about to leave when Courfeyrac finally asks about the song that’s been gnawing at his mind for over an hour now. “The song you played when I got here, what was that? I recognized it, but I can’t place it.”
Combeferre smiles and takes his hand, lacing their fingers like he had before. “The heart asks pleasure first.” Courfeyrac nods, recognizing it.
“It’s in that movie, right? The Piano.”
imagine Courf sneaking up on Ferre and hugging him from behind after returning earlier than expected from a trip
2/52 – Rising to a Challenge
(Combeferre/Courfeyrac) (for Kim, hope you feel better soon!)
“Come on Ferre!” Courfeyrac cupped his hands around his
mouth and shouted with pride at the top of his lungs.
Combeferre limped past Courfeyrac, his hair slicked to his
forehead with sweat and his face reddened with exertion.
“Only two more miles to go!”
Combeferre lifted his head, searching for Courfeyrac amongst
the crowd lining the route. Every muscle was aching, his feet were blistered
and screaming at him, and his lungs felt like they might burst. Why had he ever
thought that running a half marathon would be a good idea? It was for a good cause,
it must be for a good cause, why else would he be out here. The hospital; that
was it. Fundraising for vital equipment.
You know that I really, really love those ‘oh no he’s hot’-moments?
So please imagine high school Courferre where Courf is spending the summer holidays away like at his Puerto Rican grandma and they’re texting the whole summer and at one point Ferre goes ‘you know, apparently I’m incredibly short-sighted and need glasses’ for which Courf is teasing him endlessly.
And then the first day of school Courf’s just so happy and excited to see his best friends again and just runs around a corner and right into Ferre and he just… freezes because glasses, glasses that really bring out Ferre’s cheekbones and he also cut his hair and growth spurt and yep, those are skinny jeans and oh no, he’s hot?!
And Courf is still in the phase where he thinks brightly patterned Bermuda-shorts are cool and wears the fitting, terrible and too big back-to-school motto shirt and flip flops and Ferre’s whole mind suddenly goes blank because alright, he has glasses now, he can see things and Courf is like the most beautiful person he has ever seen?!
And they just stare at each other for like solid minute before Ferre just says the first thing that comes to his mind which happens to be, ‘You have freckles?’
(Cue to Enjolras in the background hitting his head against the closest locker)
if you’re ever sad just remember that killian donnelly and fra fee frequently take selfies together
i coloured that old courfeyrac/combeferre picture because i still like it