Grinning stupidly, Henri turns his head to press a kiss to her palm, tasking that bit of champagne that has dried there. He clinks his glass against hers and sips the drink - it’s predictably warm, and a tad too sweet, and almost as much is on their skin as is caught in their glasses, but how can he can about any of that. “And I love you,” Henri murmurs, and leans in to kiss her again, this time with a little more fervor.

But he has barely met her lips when the door bursts open. “Mes chers amis! I was wondering where you might have…ah.” The familiar voice turns knowing, and Combeferre can feel the interloper’s smirk.

He sighs. “Courfeyrac."