Combeferre squinted at his computer screen, typing furiously to get some reports done. He loved his job at the blood bank, but it left him with work long after he left the offices. He needed to get things done. because he had a Skype date with Eponine the next day, and if he wanted any rest before work, he needed to get to sleep before Enjolras got home.

He glanced at the clock. If he was lucky, the man wouldn't be home for a few more hours.

He loved his friend, but if Enjolras was home, he would no doubt stay up, working all night, and Combeferre would have no choice but to stay up all night, too, worrying about how little his friend had been sleeping in the three months they'd been in New York.

Yes, if he was really lucky, he could finish the hour's worth of work he had to do, and get to sleep before Enjolras came back from drinks with Adam…if he got home from drinks with Adam. Combeferre shook his head and took off his glasses, wiping them clean on his shirt. Even if the date went incredibly well, there was no way Enjolras would go home with him. He sighed, wondering if that made him happy or sad.

He had just put the period on his concluding sentence, when the apartment door swung open.

"I really hate you sometimes." Enjolras muttered.

Combeferre looked to see his beloved roommate resting his head against the open door. "I apologize. May I ask why you hate me at this point in time?"

"You had to set me up with him."

Combeferre sighed. "No one else you've dated has been successful. Adam's a nice guy. I thought you might–"

"He looks like Grantaire." He interrupted.

"Yes." Combeferre admitted.

"Why would you do that?"

"As I said, none of your dates that haven't looked like him have ended really well, and I thought a change might be good." He tried explaining.

"It was the worst thing ever." He snapped. "I'm just staring at this guy, with the same hair and eyes, and thinking, 'God, he almost could be him,' but he's not. He' s nothing like him. And, I can't stop thinking, 'Aire would interrupt me here, or argue that point, and tell me some stupid joke, which would still make me laugh…" By the end of his speech, tears were running down Enjolras's face. "And, seriously…" he choked out a laugh, "The whole night just gets more and more awkward, as it becomes painfully clear that my brain's not there…"

"Duly noted."

"'Ferre, stop it!"

"What?" Combeferre's eyes nearly hit the ceiling. He slid his chair back, so he could stand and properly look at his friend.

"Being calm and collected and rational!" With a few steps, the blond crossed the room to stand directly in front of Combeferre, who noticed the blaze of anger amidst the tears in Enjolras's bright blue eyes.

"It's what I do!" He shouted to defend himself.

Enjolras grasped Combeferre's shoulders tightly. "I know! Just–for fuck's sake, why? Why do you always need to be so perfect? Can't you just get angry for once? Like, you're always so together, and I just want–I need–I need–"

"What?" Combeferre challenged.

Suddenly, the reasons for his arguments fell apart and left his brain, and his head instead filled with white noise, as he felt Enjolras's hands on his neck and lips on his. His eyes flew open, and in spite of the close proximity, he could see Enjolras's eyes tightly shut, streaks of tears down his face.

As quickly as it had begun, the kiss ended. Enjolras pushed him back, as if he had touched a hot stove. His hand flew to cover his mouth, and his eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets. Without a word, Enjolras strode away, slamming the door to his room behind him.

Combeferre groaned.

The next morning Enjolras puttered around the kitchen making breakfast, steadfastly not meeting Combeferre's eyes, when he entered the kitchen. They ate in silence, which in and of itself was not unusual, but the fact that Enjolras never looked away from the water stain on their table, made the entire meal tense.

Combeferre rolled his eyes, as Enjolras stood to clear his plate away, and commanded, "Sit down."

Finally the blond's eyes met his, as Enjolras's knees bent, almost automatically, to seat him again.

"In the hopes of not actually avoiding each other for the foreseeable future, we're going to talk about this."

Enjolras nodded and words poured from his mouth, "I'm sorry. I can't believe–I just–I didn't mean to really, I'm just so sorry–"

"If you're apologizing for the kiss, you can stop."

"I–wait, what?"

"I mean, never do it again, but I understand."

"Do you? Because, I really don't…"

"Three months ago you stupidly ended the most serious relationship you've had as long as I've known you. Since then, you've been seeking companionship, love, and well, let's say it, sexual release. Last night, you were upset, and therefore more emotional than you could hide, because of the date, missing Grantaire more than ever, and needing physical comfort from someone. You couldn't get it from Adam, which left you with me."

By the end of Combeferre's explanation, Enjolras was blushing slightly, but wore a half-smile. "How is it that you can always explain these things?"

"Because, I've been wanting to yell at you for 'these things' for the past two-and-a-half months."

Enjolras buried his hands in his hair, resting his elbows on the table, and letting out a hopeless laugh. "Of course you have. Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I've known you long enough to know you wouldn't listen until something happened. I guess last night was as good an event as any."

"Fair enough." He rested his chin on his folded hands.

After a long, and fortunately not terribly uncomfortable anymore, pause, Combeferre asked, "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, what can I do, really?"

Combeferre rolled his eyes, "Because, avoiding Grantaire has worked so well so far…"

"'Ferre, I'm in New York City, and he's in D.C. We didn't exactly end on the best of terms, and–"

"And, you never said good-bye to him."

"No…"

"E, I stand by what I said. He would probably get back with you, if he thought it was what you wanted, but at the very least, you need to talk to him."

"I don't know. I mean, now, after everything–"

"Enjolras, seriously? You come home from a date, breakdown, and then, kiss the straightest guy you know, and you don't think that's worth maybe a phone call?"

A grin broke across Enjolras's face, "Straightest guy I know?"

"Can you name someone else?"

"Well…Feuilly, maybe." He responded with a shrug.

Gesturing with his fork, he answered, "I'd agree, if he hadn't had a thing with Bahorel for the last year."

"WHAT?" Enjolras braced his hands on the table.

"God, you're clueless, aren't you?"

"Clearly…" Enjolras looked horrified.

"So, when are you going to talk to him?" Combeferre encouraged.

"I…" He sighed.

"I'm not going to leave you alone, until you try." He interrupted.

For a long beat, Enjolras seemed to consider this. "I can't do it over the phone."

"Well, we have some vacation time coming up in the next couple months. A trip to D.C. may be in order." He reasoned.

"Oh?" Enjolras's smile became amused.

"If nothing else, we should see our friends, and I'd really like to see Eponine."

"Eponine?" Enjolras's half-smile became a grin.

"I told you, straightest guy you know."

With a laugh, Enjolras nodded, "Alright, I'll book the tickets," he said before standing to clean-up. After placing the dishes in the sink, he quietly added, "Thank you, 'Ferre."

Combeferre nodded. "Anytime, E."