kjack89

[kjack89]

The Radiance of the Dawn

I know it's been forever, but I couldn't let @barricadeday pass without writing at least a little something.

To that end... E/R, canon era, developing relationship, implied canonical character death.

The silence in the backroom of the Musain was punctuated solely by the scratch of Enjolras’s quill against the parchment, and the occasional dull thud as Grantaire’s bottle returned to the table between sips. It was a comfortable silence, the kind both men had borne in each other’s company more than either would likely admit.

As was usually the case this late at night, the only light came from a single, guttering candle that flickered in the light breeze that came in through the open window. Once, Grantaire might have suggested that Les Amis invest in some additional lighting sources should their Dear Leader insist upon straining his eyes in the dim light; now, he knew better than remark upon it, lest he risk Enjolras’s wrath. Again.

But even silence may only do so much to prolong the length of a wick, and without further warning, the candle spluttered out. “Last call, I take it?” Grantaire said from the sudden darkness.

Enjolras didn’t laugh, but there was still slight amusement in his voice as he sighed, “I suppose so.”

The silence of the night broken, both men gathered their things, another dance made comfortable by its familiarity. Easier than usual, also, by the faint light coming from the window, and Grantaire glanced over his shoulder as he drained the final dregs from his bottle. “Ah,” he said. “No longer can we call this another long night spent at the Musain.”

Enjolras looked out the window as well, his brow furrowed. “I don’t see—”

“Do you not?” Grantaire interrupted, giving Enjolras a small, lopsided smile. “One would think that Apollo would recognize the sun as it emerges yet again over the horizon.”

“Evidence, perhaps, that I am not Apollo,” Enjolras shot back. “Evidence, I am certain, that you shall ignore lest it ruin your metaphor.”

“I do love a metaphor,” Grantaire agreed, his smile widening. “How well you know me, to know as such.”

His words were saccharine, and Enjolras rolled his eyes. “As if you have given anyone a moment’s grace from your metaphors,” he huffed, with no real heat. “I am certain the only time you are ever truly silent is when asleep.”

“You’re welcome to accompany me to my bed to find out for yourself.”

Enjolras did not dignify that with a remark, instead leading the way down the stair, not waiting to see if Grantaire would follow.

He needn’t have, regardless, as wherever Enjolras led, Grantaire would inevitably follow.

By the time they spilled out onto the street, the sun had crept high enough in the sky to cast Paris in a golden glow, and when Enjolras turned to say something to Grantaire, he had no sooner opened his mouth than Grantaire gasped. “Wait,” he said, fumbling in his pockets, and Enjolras frowned.

“What could you possibly—” he started, exasperated, though he was cut off by Grantaire once more.

“Got it!” Grantaire said, emerging from his pockets triumphantly with a scrap of paper and a bit of charcoal.

If Enjolras was exasperated before, now he was downright baffled, and he raised both eyebrows as Grantaire pressed the paper against the nearest wall, sketching something with rapid movements. “Dare I even ask?”

“Just…stay…still,” Grantaire murmured, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

Enjolras, of course, was not much one for orders, and so immediately crossed to peer over Grantaire’s shoulder. “What are you—”

“Did I not tell you to stay?” Grantaire cried as he glanced over at him. “Now you’ve gone and lost the light!”

But Enjolras’s eyes were still on the half-completed sketch, something unreadable in his expression. “Is that meant to be me?”

Grantaire looked back at the drawing. “Well, it was going to be,” he muttered, a scowl darkening his expression. “Would that you had just stayed still for once so I could capture the image.” He glanced back at Enjolras, something almost hesitant in his expression. “It was just– the light had hit you just so, and I would have been remiss had I not tried to capture it.”

He made as if to crumple the paper but Enjolras intercepted him, smoothing the paper out against the wall once more. “It’s beautiful,” he told Grantaire, who squirmed slightly at the sincerity of his words.

“The dawn light makes even the ordinary seem beautiful,” he muttered.

Enjolras gave him a look. “Are you calling me ordinary?” he asked mildly, and when Grantaire just spluttered indignantly, he gave him a sharp smirk. “That is what I thought.”

“Well,” Grantaire huffed, taking the paper back from Enjolras, and this time folding it carefully before he slipped it back into his pocket, “if my own words are to be so taken out of context…”

He trailed off and Enjolras just shook his head affectionately. “Something that certainly no one has ever done to me,” he said pointedly. “But it is a fair likeness, and far more generous than I deserve. Thank you.”

Grantaire ducked his head. “Your praise is misplaced, but thank you nonetheless.”

“Of course,” Enjolras continued, with his never ceasing need for the final word, “if only your dedication to your craft could be matched by the dedication to our Cause.”

It was an old argument, of course, and Grantaire’s eye roll in response was practically de rigueur. “Firstly, if you think I have any dedication to ‘my craft’ whatsoever, I daresay I would assume you had drunk almost as much wine as I. Secondly, this is in service of the Cause.”

To say Enjolras looked skeptical would be an understatement. “How so?”

Grantaire shrugged. “The dawn is a metaphor,” he said, as if it was obvious.

“A metaphor for what?” Enjolras pressed, and when Grantaire just made a face, he prodded, amused, “Grantaire?”

Grantaire scowled at him. “Let a man think for at least a moment and he’s certain to come up with something.”

Almost certainly despite himself, Enjolras managed a light laugh, and shook his head. “That is what I thought,” he said, shaking his head, and he started down the street in the direction of his home. 

He had barely made it to the next door when Grantaire called after him, “The future.”

Enjolras half-turned to look back at him. “What?”

“That is for what the dawn serves as metaphor,” Grantaire told him. “The radiance of the future. A new horizon we seek to reach, and the hope that we shall some day get there.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Is that actually what you believe?”

“Does it matter?” Grantaire countered, and Enjolras shook his head.

“I suppose that is an answer in itself, and one I should have expected.”

Grantaire grinned at him. “You do me credit that for even one moment you expected otherwise from me,” he said sweetly.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Expected may be too strong a sentiment,” he said, something sour in his tone. “But for a moment– I suppose I hoped.”

Grantaire nodded slowly, taking a measured pace towards Enjolras. “Hope, like the dawn, is a fickle mistress, and disappears after far too brief a time,” he said evenly.

Enjolras’s lips pursed. “So says the Cynic.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “If one does not trust to hope, one will never be disappointed.”

Enjolras’s expression darkened, and he shook his head, turning away yet again. “Your drunken wit may ring like wisdom to a fool’s ears, but I’m afraid mine are not so easily affected,” he said scornfully.

But Grantaire reached out to grab his arm, holding him in place. “Enjolras—” he started, and Enjolras looked back at him.

“What?”

Grantaire wet his lips almost nervously. “Hope lies beyond my reach, but belief may yet be within my grasp.”

Enjolras’s expression didn’t flicker. “Belief in your full glass, as you’ve long proclaimed.”

“Yes,” Grantaire said, “but belief also in the dawn.”

Enjolras’s eyes met his evenly. “In the future?”

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “Or at least that the dawn shall come again on the morrow.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Enjolras just sighed, disappointment and disapproval clear on every plane of his face, lit still by the early light of day. “So you believe in certainty,” he said dismissively. “That which requires no faith.”

But Grantaire just took a step closer to him, his grip on Enjolras’s arm loosening, turning almost reverent. “And belief in one more thing,” he said, something almost hesitant in the words. “One that requires faith most of all.”

“What?” Enjolras asked, the word no more than a single breath for how it hung between them.

In answer, Grantaire closed the space between them and pressed his lips against Enjolras’s.

Enjolras did not return the kiss, did not lean into Grantaire’s touch or open his lips against Grantaire’s. He did not lace their fingers together, did not press his body against Grantaire’s, did not trace a gentle finger across Grantaire’s dark stubble or cup the back of Grantaire’s head.

And yet, he did not pull away.

Instead, it was only when Grantaire pulled back, his nose just brushing against Enjolras’s, that Enjolras finally sighed, a rebuke, perhaps, or a plea, “Grantaire…”

“Tell me I am wrong to believe,” Grantaire murmured.

But Enjolras just shook his head. “I cannot give you what you seek.”

“I seek nothing that cannot be found at the bottom of my glass,” Grantaire told him, hesitating before adding, “And to perhaps one day be worthy to kiss your lips once more.”

Enjolras swallowed, and ducked his head, but again he made no effort to push him away, even as he ordered, his voice low, “Go home, Grantaire.”

It was only then that Grantaire finally released his grip on Enjolras, his hand trailing down Enjolras’s arm to brush against his hand. “Goodnight, Enjolras,” he said, matching his pitch. “Or should I say, good morning.”

He squeezed Enjolras’s hand just once before finally letting go, and it was Grantaire who finally turned to walk away, leaving Enjolras standing in the street, the dawn light casting his indecision in shades of gold.

— — — — —

The dawn lit Enjolras from behind, casting him in a halo of defiance as he stared down the National Guard.

This time, the indecision was solely theirs as they exchanged hesitant glances, until—

“Long live the Republic! I am one of them.”

Grantaire emerged into the light, the dawn seeming to illuminate a fire within him, a fire not even Enjolras had ever dared to hope might kindle. Too late, perhaps, but as Grantaire declared, “Finish us both with one blow,” Enjolras knew that at the least, his hope had not been misplaced.

There was no further need for metaphor as Grantaire took his place at Enjolras’s side, belief made tangible, both men wrapped in the promise of the dawn and the ironclad certainty that while neither would see it, the sun would rise again the next day on a future which belonged now solely to their dreams.

[kjack89]

The Radiance of the Dawn

I know it's been forever, but I couldn't let @barricadeday pass without writing at least a little something.

To that end... E/R, canon era, developing relationship, implied canonical character death.

The silence in the backroom of the Musain was punctuated solely by the scratch of Enjolras’s quill against the parchment, and the occasional dull thud as Grantaire’s bottle returned to the table between sips. It was a comfortable silence, the kind both men had borne in each other’s company more than either would likely admit.

As was usually the case this late at night, the only light came from a single, guttering candle that flickered in the light breeze that came in through the open window. Once, Grantaire might have suggested that Les Amis invest in some additional lighting sources should their Dear Leader insist upon straining his eyes in the dim light; now, he knew better than remark upon it, lest he risk Enjolras’s wrath. Again.

But even silence may only do so much to prolong the length of a wick, and without further warning, the candle spluttered out. “Last call, I take it?” Grantaire said from the sudden darkness.

Enjolras didn’t laugh, but there was still slight amusement in his voice as he sighed, “I suppose so.”

The silence of the night broken, both men gathered their things, another dance made comfortable by its familiarity. Easier than usual, also, by the faint light coming from the window, and Grantaire glanced over his shoulder as he drained the final dregs from his bottle. “Ah,” he said. “No longer can we call this another long night spent at the Musain.”

Enjolras looked out the window as well, his brow furrowed. “I don’t see—”

“Do you not?” Grantaire interrupted, giving Enjolras a small, lopsided smile. “One would think that Apollo would recognize the sun as it emerges yet again over the horizon.”

“Evidence, perhaps, that I am not Apollo,” Enjolras shot back. “Evidence, I am certain, that you shall ignore lest it ruin your metaphor.”

“I do love a metaphor,” Grantaire agreed, his smile widening. “How well you know me, to know as such.”

His words were saccharine, and Enjolras rolled his eyes. “As if you have given anyone a moment’s grace from your metaphors,” he huffed, with no real heat. “I am certain the only time you are ever truly silent is when asleep.”

“You’re welcome to accompany me to my bed to find out for yourself.”

Enjolras did not dignify that with a remark, instead leading the way down the stair, not waiting to see if Grantaire would follow.

He needn’t have, regardless, as wherever Enjolras led, Grantaire would inevitably follow.

By the time they spilled out onto the street, the sun had crept high enough in the sky to cast Paris in a golden glow, and when Enjolras turned to say something to Grantaire, he had no sooner opened his mouth than Grantaire gasped. “Wait,” he said, fumbling in his pockets, and Enjolras frowned.

“What could you possibly—” he started, exasperated, though he was cut off by Grantaire once more.

“Got it!” Grantaire said, emerging from his pockets triumphantly with a scrap of paper and a bit of charcoal.

If Enjolras was exasperated before, now he was downright baffled, and he raised both eyebrows as Grantaire pressed the paper against the nearest wall, sketching something with rapid movements. “Dare I even ask?”

“Just…stay…still,” Grantaire murmured, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

Enjolras, of course, was not much one for orders, and so immediately crossed to peer over Grantaire’s shoulder. “What are you—”

“Did I not tell you to stay?” Grantaire cried as he glanced over at him. “Now you’ve gone and lost the light!”

But Enjolras’s eyes were still on the half-completed sketch, something unreadable in his expression. “Is that meant to be me?”

Grantaire looked back at the drawing. “Well, it was going to be,” he muttered, a scowl darkening his expression. “Would that you had just stayed still for once so I could capture the image.” He glanced back at Enjolras, something almost hesitant in his expression. “It was just– the light had hit you just so, and I would have been remiss had I not tried to capture it.”

He made as if to crumple the paper but Enjolras intercepted him, smoothing the paper out against the wall once more. “It’s beautiful,” he told Grantaire, who squirmed slightly at the sincerity of his words.

“The dawn light makes even the ordinary seem beautiful,” he muttered.

Enjolras gave him a look. “Are you calling me ordinary?” he asked mildly, and when Grantaire just spluttered indignantly, he gave him a sharp smirk. “That is what I thought.”

“Well,” Grantaire huffed, taking the paper back from Enjolras, and this time folding it carefully before he slipped it back into his pocket, “if my own words are to be so taken out of context…”

He trailed off and Enjolras just shook his head affectionately. “Something that certainly no one has ever done to me,” he said pointedly. “But it is a fair likeness, and far more generous than I deserve. Thank you.”

Grantaire ducked his head. “Your praise is misplaced, but thank you nonetheless.”

“Of course,” Enjolras continued, with his never ceasing need for the final word, “if only your dedication to your craft could be matched by the dedication to our Cause.”

It was an old argument, of course, and Grantaire’s eye roll in response was practically de rigueur. “Firstly, if you think I have any dedication to ‘my craft’ whatsoever, I daresay I would assume you had drunk almost as much wine as I. Secondly, this is in service of the Cause.”

To say Enjolras looked skeptical would be an understatement. “How so?”

Grantaire shrugged. “The dawn is a metaphor,” he said, as if it was obvious.

“A metaphor for what?” Enjolras pressed, and when Grantaire just made a face, he prodded, amused, “Grantaire?”

Grantaire scowled at him. “Let a man think for at least a moment and he’s certain to come up with something.”

Almost certainly despite himself, Enjolras managed a light laugh, and shook his head. “That is what I thought,” he said, shaking his head, and he started down the street in the direction of his home. 

He had barely made it to the next door when Grantaire called after him, “The future.”

Enjolras half-turned to look back at him. “What?”

“That is for what the dawn serves as metaphor,” Grantaire told him. “The radiance of the future. A new horizon we seek to reach, and the hope that we shall some day get there.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Is that actually what you believe?”

“Does it matter?” Grantaire countered, and Enjolras shook his head.

“I suppose that is an answer in itself, and one I should have expected.”

Grantaire grinned at him. “You do me credit that for even one moment you expected otherwise from me,” he said sweetly.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Expected may be too strong a sentiment,” he said, something sour in his tone. “But for a moment– I suppose I hoped.”

Grantaire nodded slowly, taking a measured pace towards Enjolras. “Hope, like the dawn, is a fickle mistress, and disappears after far too brief a time,” he said evenly.

Enjolras’s lips pursed. “So says the Cynic.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “If one does not trust to hope, one will never be disappointed.”

Enjolras’s expression darkened, and he shook his head, turning away yet again. “Your drunken wit may ring like wisdom to a fool’s ears, but I’m afraid mine are not so easily affected,” he said scornfully.

But Grantaire reached out to grab his arm, holding him in place. “Enjolras—” he started, and Enjolras looked back at him.

“What?”

Grantaire wet his lips almost nervously. “Hope lies beyond my reach, but belief may yet be within my grasp.”

Enjolras’s expression didn’t flicker. “Belief in your full glass, as you’ve long proclaimed.”

“Yes,” Grantaire said, “but belief also in the dawn.”

Enjolras’s eyes met his evenly. “In the future?”

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “Or at least that the dawn shall come again on the morrow.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Enjolras just sighed, disappointment and disapproval clear on every plane of his face, lit still by the early light of day. “So you believe in certainty,” he said dismissively. “That which requires no faith.”

But Grantaire just took a step closer to him, his grip on Enjolras’s arm loosening, turning almost reverent. “And belief in one more thing,” he said, something almost hesitant in the words. “One that requires faith most of all.”

“What?” Enjolras asked, the word no more than a single breath for how it hung between them.

In answer, Grantaire closed the space between them and pressed his lips against Enjolras’s.

Enjolras did not return the kiss, did not lean into Grantaire’s touch or open his lips against Grantaire’s. He did not lace their fingers together, did not press his body against Grantaire’s, did not trace a gentle finger across Grantaire’s dark stubble or cup the back of Grantaire’s head.

And yet, he did not pull away.

Instead, it was only when Grantaire pulled back, his nose just brushing against Enjolras’s, that Enjolras finally sighed, a rebuke, perhaps, or a plea, “Grantaire…”

“Tell me I am wrong to believe,” Grantaire murmured.

But Enjolras just shook his head. “I cannot give you what you seek.”

“I seek nothing that cannot be found at the bottom of my glass,” Grantaire told him, hesitating before adding, “And to perhaps one day be worthy to kiss your lips once more.”

Enjolras swallowed, and ducked his head, but again he made no effort to push him away, even as he ordered, his voice low, “Go home, Grantaire.”

It was only then that Grantaire finally released his grip on Enjolras, his hand trailing down Enjolras’s arm to brush against his hand. “Goodnight, Enjolras,” he said, matching his pitch. “Or should I say, good morning.”

He squeezed Enjolras’s hand just once before finally letting go, and it was Grantaire who finally turned to walk away, leaving Enjolras standing in the street, the dawn light casting his indecision in shades of gold.

— — — — —

The dawn lit Enjolras from behind, casting him in a halo of defiance as he stared down the National Guard.

This time, the indecision was solely theirs as they exchanged hesitant glances, until—

“Long live the Republic! I am one of them.”

Grantaire emerged into the light, the dawn seeming to illuminate a fire within him, a fire not even Enjolras had ever dared to hope might kindle. Too late, perhaps, but as Grantaire declared, “Finish us both with one blow,” Enjolras knew that at the least, his hope had not been misplaced.

There was no further need for metaphor as Grantaire took his place at Enjolras’s side, belief made tangible, both men wrapped in the promise of the dawn and the ironclad certainty that while neither would see it, the sun would rise again the next day on a future which belonged now solely to their dreams.

[kjack89]

The Radiance of the Dawn

I know it's been forever, but I couldn't let @barricadeday pass without writing at least a little something.

To that end... E/R, canon era, developing relationship, implied canonical character death.

The silence in the backroom of the Musain was punctuated solely by the scratch of Enjolras’s quill against the parchment, and the occasional dull thud as Grantaire’s bottle returned to the table between sips. It was a comfortable silence, the kind both men had borne in each other’s company more than either would likely admit.

As was usually the case this late at night, the only light came from a single, guttering candle that flickered in the light breeze that came in through the open window. Once, Grantaire might have suggested that Les Amis invest in some additional lighting sources should their Dear Leader insist upon straining his eyes in the dim light; now, he knew better than remark upon it, lest he risk Enjolras’s wrath. Again.

But even silence may only do so much to prolong the length of a wick, and without further warning, the candle spluttered out. “Last call, I take it?” Grantaire said from the sudden darkness.

Enjolras didn’t laugh, but there was still slight amusement in his voice as he sighed, “I suppose so.”

The silence of the night broken, both men gathered their things, another dance made comfortable by its familiarity. Easier than usual, also, by the faint light coming from the window, and Grantaire glanced over his shoulder as he drained the final dregs from his bottle. “Ah,” he said. “No longer can we call this another long night spent at the Musain.”

Enjolras looked out the window as well, his brow furrowed. “I don’t see—”

“Do you not?” Grantaire interrupted, giving Enjolras a small, lopsided smile. “One would think that Apollo would recognize the sun as it emerges yet again over the horizon.”

“Evidence, perhaps, that I am not Apollo,” Enjolras shot back. “Evidence, I am certain, that you shall ignore lest it ruin your metaphor.”

“I do love a metaphor,” Grantaire agreed, his smile widening. “How well you know me, to know as such.”

His words were saccharine, and Enjolras rolled his eyes. “As if you have given anyone a moment’s grace from your metaphors,” he huffed, with no real heat. “I am certain the only time you are ever truly silent is when asleep.”

“You’re welcome to accompany me to my bed to find out for yourself.”

Enjolras did not dignify that with a remark, instead leading the way down the stair, not waiting to see if Grantaire would follow.

He needn’t have, regardless, as wherever Enjolras led, Grantaire would inevitably follow.

By the time they spilled out onto the street, the sun had crept high enough in the sky to cast Paris in a golden glow, and when Enjolras turned to say something to Grantaire, he had no sooner opened his mouth than Grantaire gasped. “Wait,” he said, fumbling in his pockets, and Enjolras frowned.

“What could you possibly—” he started, exasperated, though he was cut off by Grantaire once more.

“Got it!” Grantaire said, emerging from his pockets triumphantly with a scrap of paper and a bit of charcoal.

If Enjolras was exasperated before, now he was downright baffled, and he raised both eyebrows as Grantaire pressed the paper against the nearest wall, sketching something with rapid movements. “Dare I even ask?”

“Just…stay…still,” Grantaire murmured, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

Enjolras, of course, was not much one for orders, and so immediately crossed to peer over Grantaire’s shoulder. “What are you—”

“Did I not tell you to stay?” Grantaire cried as he glanced over at him. “Now you’ve gone and lost the light!”

But Enjolras’s eyes were still on the half-completed sketch, something unreadable in his expression. “Is that meant to be me?”

Grantaire looked back at the drawing. “Well, it was going to be,” he muttered, a scowl darkening his expression. “Would that you had just stayed still for once so I could capture the image.” He glanced back at Enjolras, something almost hesitant in his expression. “It was just– the light had hit you just so, and I would have been remiss had I not tried to capture it.”

He made as if to crumple the paper but Enjolras intercepted him, smoothing the paper out against the wall once more. “It’s beautiful,” he told Grantaire, who squirmed slightly at the sincerity of his words.

“The dawn light makes even the ordinary seem beautiful,” he muttered.

Enjolras gave him a look. “Are you calling me ordinary?” he asked mildly, and when Grantaire just spluttered indignantly, he gave him a sharp smirk. “That is what I thought.”

“Well,” Grantaire huffed, taking the paper back from Enjolras, and this time folding it carefully before he slipped it back into his pocket, “if my own words are to be so taken out of context…”

He trailed off and Enjolras just shook his head affectionately. “Something that certainly no one has ever done to me,” he said pointedly. “But it is a fair likeness, and far more generous than I deserve. Thank you.”

Grantaire ducked his head. “Your praise is misplaced, but thank you nonetheless.”

“Of course,” Enjolras continued, with his never ceasing need for the final word, “if only your dedication to your craft could be matched by the dedication to our Cause.”

It was an old argument, of course, and Grantaire’s eye roll in response was practically de rigueur. “Firstly, if you think I have any dedication to ‘my craft’ whatsoever, I daresay I would assume you had drunk almost as much wine as I. Secondly, this is in service of the Cause.”

To say Enjolras looked skeptical would be an understatement. “How so?”

Grantaire shrugged. “The dawn is a metaphor,” he said, as if it was obvious.

“A metaphor for what?” Enjolras pressed, and when Grantaire just made a face, he prodded, amused, “Grantaire?”

Grantaire scowled at him. “Let a man think for at least a moment and he’s certain to come up with something.”

Almost certainly despite himself, Enjolras managed a light laugh, and shook his head. “That is what I thought,” he said, shaking his head, and he started down the street in the direction of his home. 

He had barely made it to the next door when Grantaire called after him, “The future.”

Enjolras half-turned to look back at him. “What?”

“That is for what the dawn serves as metaphor,” Grantaire told him. “The radiance of the future. A new horizon we seek to reach, and the hope that we shall some day get there.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Is that actually what you believe?”

“Does it matter?” Grantaire countered, and Enjolras shook his head.

“I suppose that is an answer in itself, and one I should have expected.”

Grantaire grinned at him. “You do me credit that for even one moment you expected otherwise from me,” he said sweetly.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Expected may be too strong a sentiment,” he said, something sour in his tone. “But for a moment– I suppose I hoped.”

Grantaire nodded slowly, taking a measured pace towards Enjolras. “Hope, like the dawn, is a fickle mistress, and disappears after far too brief a time,” he said evenly.

Enjolras’s lips pursed. “So says the Cynic.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “If one does not trust to hope, one will never be disappointed.”

Enjolras’s expression darkened, and he shook his head, turning away yet again. “Your drunken wit may ring like wisdom to a fool’s ears, but I’m afraid mine are not so easily affected,” he said scornfully.

But Grantaire reached out to grab his arm, holding him in place. “Enjolras—” he started, and Enjolras looked back at him.

“What?”

Grantaire wet his lips almost nervously. “Hope lies beyond my reach, but belief may yet be within my grasp.”

Enjolras’s expression didn’t flicker. “Belief in your full glass, as you’ve long proclaimed.”

“Yes,” Grantaire said, “but belief also in the dawn.”

Enjolras’s eyes met his evenly. “In the future?”

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “Or at least that the dawn shall come again on the morrow.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Enjolras just sighed, disappointment and disapproval clear on every plane of his face, lit still by the early light of day. “So you believe in certainty,” he said dismissively. “That which requires no faith.”

But Grantaire just took a step closer to him, his grip on Enjolras’s arm loosening, turning almost reverent. “And belief in one more thing,” he said, something almost hesitant in the words. “One that requires faith most of all.”

“What?” Enjolras asked, the word no more than a single breath for how it hung between them.

In answer, Grantaire closed the space between them and pressed his lips against Enjolras’s.

Enjolras did not return the kiss, did not lean into Grantaire’s touch or open his lips against Grantaire’s. He did not lace their fingers together, did not press his body against Grantaire’s, did not trace a gentle finger across Grantaire’s dark stubble or cup the back of Grantaire’s head.

And yet, he did not pull away.

Instead, it was only when Grantaire pulled back, his nose just brushing against Enjolras’s, that Enjolras finally sighed, a rebuke, perhaps, or a plea, “Grantaire…”

“Tell me I am wrong to believe,” Grantaire murmured.

But Enjolras just shook his head. “I cannot give you what you seek.”

“I seek nothing that cannot be found at the bottom of my glass,” Grantaire told him, hesitating before adding, “And to perhaps one day be worthy to kiss your lips once more.”

Enjolras swallowed, and ducked his head, but again he made no effort to push him away, even as he ordered, his voice low, “Go home, Grantaire.”

It was only then that Grantaire finally released his grip on Enjolras, his hand trailing down Enjolras’s arm to brush against his hand. “Goodnight, Enjolras,” he said, matching his pitch. “Or should I say, good morning.”

He squeezed Enjolras’s hand just once before finally letting go, and it was Grantaire who finally turned to walk away, leaving Enjolras standing in the street, the dawn light casting his indecision in shades of gold.

— — — — —

The dawn lit Enjolras from behind, casting him in a halo of defiance as he stared down the National Guard.

This time, the indecision was solely theirs as they exchanged hesitant glances, until—

“Long live the Republic! I am one of them.”

Grantaire emerged into the light, the dawn seeming to illuminate a fire within him, a fire not even Enjolras had ever dared to hope might kindle. Too late, perhaps, but as Grantaire declared, “Finish us both with one blow,” Enjolras knew that at the least, his hope had not been misplaced.

There was no further need for metaphor as Grantaire took his place at Enjolras’s side, belief made tangible, both men wrapped in the promise of the dawn and the ironclad certainty that while neither would see it, the sun would rise again the next day on a future which belonged now solely to their dreams.

[kjack89]

It's that time of the year again! Remember to leave out bread and absinthe for Victor Hugo and he will leave you 50 pages on a subject that is off-topic but that he is vaguely interested in. Be safe out there!

[kjack89]

Guess who saw Hadestown again tonight…

Saw Hadestown today, and you know what means…Orpheus and Eurydice AU.

Grantaire as our Eurydice, hardened, world-weary, who is so used to running but stays only because of his love for Enjolras.

And Enjolras as Orpheus, touched by the gods – “Or maybe just touched in the head,” Grantaire mutters, but with a smile just peeking out of the corner of his mouth. After all, he’d have to be touched to believe he can change the world, right?

(“Of course,” Grantaire adds, “what does it say about me that I love him for it?”)

But times are hard and getting harder and changing the world doesn’t pay the bills, or keep the fire going or food in their bellies. And Grantaire—

Well. You know what they say of the frailty of man.

(“He’s gone,” Combeferre tells Enjolras, his hand heavy on his shoulder. “I am sorry, but this is one thing not even you can change.”

“He always said he would die for me,” Enjolras says, his voice broken. “I just never thought—“

His face hardens and he stands. “He said he would die for me,” he repeats, louder, stronger, iron banding his words and spine. “But I would kill for him.”

“You cannot kill the gods, or fate,” Combeferre says, exasperated.

Enjolras smiles, the sight chilling Combeferre to the bones. “Watch me.”)

And he goes after him, and his belief is strong enough to get him passage through the Underworld to Grantaire’s side, strong enough to bring Hades and Persephone back together, strong enough to convince Hades—

“There is a condition,” Hades says, his voice low. “You may leave, but not hand in hand. You will have to walk in front, and him behind.”

Enjolras squares his shoulders. “Fine,” he says. “We can—“

“Not you,” Hades says. “Grantaire will lead. And if he turns around to make sure you’re there, he returns here. Forever.”

But what choice do they have? The road is long, and dark, and Grantaire’s never been that good at belief under the best of circumstances.

And these are not the best of circumstances.

But he knows something Hades doesn’t know. Hades has looked at the whole of his life, at his lack of faith in anything, but like so many others, has never seen, or never understood, that Grantaire believes in Enjolras.

When Grantaire emerges into the triumph of the sun, he shouts his victory. (“Long live the Republic! I am one of them”.)

And he turns back to Enjolras.

(“Do you permit it?”)

’Cause here’s the thing

To know how it ends

And still begin to sing it again

As if it might turn out this time…

[kjack89]

Butterfly kiss🦋

Along with a logo I made

[kjack89]

enjolras shoots him a fond look ONCE and r immediately breaks down, paints a mural on the floor, then breaks down again

also side note look at r's shirt . once again pushing my gang of youths agenda

this has literally been a wip for s o long (by wip i mean i had a rough comp from essentially scrapbooking 2 refs) but finally got around to actually painting over it

[kjack89]

Ahhhh!!!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables) Characters: Combeferre (Les Misérables), Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras (Les Misérables), Grantaire (Les Misérables), Les Amis de l'ABC Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - The West Wing Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, The West Wing AU, Developing Relationship, prior relationship, Established Relationship, Trust Issues, Flirting, Oval Office, Podfic, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes Summary:

The West Wing AU. Courfeyrac, a journalist with whom Combeferre has a past, returns from abroad and joins the White House Press Corps, which is going to make Combeferre’s job as Press Secretary a lot more interesting

********************************************

I have spent more time than I should’ve on this, but what can I say, I love @kjack89 and I want Courferre back in the @lesmisshippingshowdown so. Enjoy!

[kjack89]

happy ides of march <3

[kjack89]

Go listen and go vote!!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables) Characters: Éponine Thénardier, Cosette Fauchelevent, Grantaire (Les Misérables) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Podfic, Podfic Length: 10-20 Minutes Summary:

“Shit,” she hissed, grabbing Grantaire’s arm. “Shit shit shit—”

“What?” Grantaire asked, sounding far more curious than concerned, and to Éponine’s horror, he craned his neck, clearly trying to figure out who she had seen. “Is it one of your exes?”

“No,” Éponine said shortly. “Worse.”

Or, Éponine sees Cosette at a lesbian bar and handles it super well.

Keep reading

[kjack89]

Do not put my bones apart from yours

Have some exr. As a treat.

Based on this screencap from maurice 😌

[kjack89]

Tragic Ships Tournament Quarter Finals

Propaganda under the cut!

Enjoltaire:

"Okay so the whole thing with them is that Enjolras is like the leader of the Les Amis; he believes in the revolution in his heart and soul and his being. He is a shining beacon of hope like Victor Hugo calls him Apollo in the book. He believes in freedom and in the future and that beyond the barricade, there's a new tomorrow waiting for them. Grantaire, on the other hand, doesn't believe in anything. He's a drunk and a cynic and he doesn't believe in that new tomorrow. If nothing had something to offer, Grantaire would stop believing in nothing. When he offers to do something to help the Les Amis, he gets distracted and drunk and I think he ends up playing dominoes? It might have been cards. Anyway, that's Grantaire. BUT Grantaire believes in ONE thing. And that ONE thing is ENJOLRAS. No matter how cynical and pessimistic Grantaire is, he believes in Enjolras. If Enjolras is Apollo, Grantaire is Icarus flying ever closer to him. And then at the end. When their revolution has failed and they are facing down the barrel of guns. Grantaire gets up and stands next to Enjolras and asks if he can hold his hand so that they can die together, and they do. It's heartbreaking and heart wrenching and Icarus brings the sun down with him as he falls."

Madohomu:

"madoka magica aired 12 episodes in 2011, with a sequel movie titled “rebellion” released in 2014. it’s been over 10 years since then, and these two have become the face of yuri. if someone makes a meme about loving yuri and makes a collage of example ships, madohomu are 100% gonna be present. video essays, fanart, fics, music videos and all kinds of fan projects featuring them are still wildly popular on all social media platforms.

but let’s talk about them (without going into too many spoilers, so this will be about the thematics in their relationship). they are light and darkness. the ying and the yang. forever intertwined. one would not exist without the other, yet they cannot exist together. for madoka has too much love for every living thing and too little for herself. and homura has too much love for madoka it blinds her to everything and everyone else, and she struggles with deep self-hatred. madoka has forsaken her own existence for the world, and homura has forsaken the world she created for her. the show has a lot of religious imagery, and madoka is akin to a god; there’s a shot of homura, who grew up catholic, kneeling at the feet of a gigantic statue of madoka, praying, but her hands stain her clothes. because if madoka is god, then homura is lucifer - specifically, iblis, the muslim version of lucifer, who loved god so much he betrayed him, for he’d rather defy him than bow to his creation, humans. and homura would rather defy the sanctity of madoka’s wish, rather than obey its laws, for she will take madoka’s happiness in her hands, if she refuses to. in the movie, dolls representing homura’s inner machinations yell, “gott ist tot”, for homura’s god, madoka, dies in the movie, when homura remembers that madoka was human first, and godhood was something she reached to save everyone, against her best interest and happiness. their relationship is one of love, kindness, obsession, devotion, hope, faith, worship - they are the thesis and the antithesis, the beginning and the end, the alpha and omega, an unstoppable force and an immovable object. forever locked in a struggle, never fully embracing, for madoka will always sacrifice herself for the world, and homura will always doom the world and herself for madoka."

[kjack89]

Tragic Ships Tournament Round 3

Propaganda under the cut!

Tenrose:

"Oh my god they're so. ugh. they mean literally everything to me. From the wiki: 'They frequently bring out the best in each other, supporting and uplifting the other person, comforting them, and sometimes just acting totally giddy to be in each other's presence. They both display their trust in the other person's capabilities on numerous occasions, and seem uncommonly matched.' HOW CUTE IS THAT 😭😭😭😭 . BRO HE LITERALLY SAYS I LOVE YOU TO HER AND THEN FLIES AWAY. OH MY GOD. BEING THE DOCTOR PREVENTS HIM FROM MAKING ACTUAL CONNECTION BUT THAT DOESNT STOP MY BOI. OGH AND ALSO " “I made my choice a long time ago. I'm never gonna leave you.” ROSE WTF"

Enjoltaire:

"Okay so the whole thing with them is that Enjolras is like the leader of the Les Amis; he believes in the revolution in his heart and soul and his being. He is a shining beacon of hope like Victor Hugo calls him Apollo in the book. He believes in freedom and in the future and that beyond the barricade, there's a new tomorrow waiting for them. Grantaire, on the other hand, doesn't believe in anything. He's a drunk and a cynic and he doesn't believe in that new tomorrow. If nothing had something to offer, Grantaire would stop believing in nothing. When he offers to do something to help the Les Amis, he gets distracted and drunk and I think he ends up playing dominoes? It might have been cards. Anyway, that's Grantaire. BUT Grantaire believes in ONE thing. And that ONE thing is ENJOLRAS. No matter how cynical and pessimistic Grantaire is, he believes in Enjolras. If Enjolras is Apollo, Grantaire is Icarus flying ever closer to him. And then at the end. When their revolution has failed and they are facing down the barrel of guns. Grantaire gets up and stands next to Enjolras and asks if he can hold his hand so that they can die together, and they do. It's heartbreaking and heart wrenching and Icarus brings the sun down with him as he falls."

[kjack89]

Just going to try to write my way through it, I guess.

Pre-slash/friendship, modern AU. Cw: suicide ideation, depression.

“Hey,” Grantaire said, a little awkwardly, and Enjolras glanced up at him. “Can I, uh, talk to you?”

For a brief moment, Enjolras was tempted to either point out that they were already talking, or the grammatically correct way of asking was ‘May I’, or any other of their usual way of mostly mocking the other, but something about the way Grantaire was toying with the hem of his t-shirt made Enjolras think this was something serious.

“Yeah, of course,” he said instead, tucking his phone in his back pocket. “Do you, uh, want to go outside?”

The back room of the Musain had thinned after the meeting had wrapped up, but there were enough stragglers that someone would probably overhear if they stayed. Grantaire jerked a shrug and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. He rolled his eyes but did, heading out to the alley with Grantaire on his heels.

“So,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and resting his back against the brick wall. “What’s up?”

Grantaire mirrored his pose, his shoulder just brushing against Enjolras’s. “So you know I had surgery recently.”

Enjolras glanced sideways at him. “Yeah,” he said, a little cautiously. “Gallbladder, right?” Grantaire nodded. “How, uh, how’s the recovery been?”

“Fine,” Grantaire said. “As expected.”

Enjolras nodded. “Ok,” he said, still cautious about where this was headed. “I mean, I’m glad to hear it, but—”

Grantaire turned to face him, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I need you to do me a favor.”

That was not entirely what Enjolras had expected. “Sure?”

Grantaire took a deep breath before withdrawing one hand from his pocket, extending it to Enjolras. “I need you to hold onto these.”

Enjolras reached out automatically. “What—” he started, breaking off when he saw that Grantaire had just handed him a pill bottle. “You’re allowed to take painkillers.”

He didn’t mean to blurt it like that, didn’t even know that they were painkillers, though given Grantaire’s history, it probably made the most sense, and besides—

“I know that,” Grantaire said, breaking Enjolras’s thought spiral.

At least temporarily.

“I mean,” he said, scrambling for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot, “even with your– your problem.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “My addiction,” he said. “You can say it, it’s not a dirty word.”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “Right, of course. I just mean—”

“I can take prescription painkillers as prescribed by a doctor without violating my sobriety, I know,” Grantaire said. He gave Enjolras a sideways look. “Little curious why you know that.”

Enjolras shrugged, feeling a flush cross his face. “I did some research,” he muttered.

Grantaire blinked. “Did you?” he asked, sounding surprised.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “So then why—”

Grantaire looked away. “I just. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to hold onto them right now.” He shrugged. “But I am still in some pain so if I need one, I’ll come to you.”

Enjolras glanced down at the pill bottle. “Don’t you think Joly, or Combeferre—”

“You’re the only one whose schedule is as fucked as mine is.”

Enjolras half smiled. “Fair enough.” His smile faded as he turned the pill bottle over in his hand. “I still don’t understand,” he admitted. “If you think you might relapse…” Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression, and Enjolras felt his stomach plummet with realization. “You’re not worried about relapsing, are you.”

He didn’t pitch it as a question, and Grantaire shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “No I’m not.”

Enjolras’s mouth went dry. “R—”

Grantaire scrubbed a hand across his mouth before forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Look, it’s not– things just aren’t great right now, you know?” he said, something dismissive in his tone, as if this wasn’t a big deal, or as if he was trying to convince himself of that. “And I don’t need to have any, uh, means on hand to do something stupid.”

Enjolras’s grip on the pill bottle was so tight that his knuckles were white. “Are you—”

Grantaire’s eyes darted to his and away again. “I don’t have any plans, I promise.” He shrugged again, twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “But it’s also getting harder and harder to see a way through it, you know?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said quietly. “I know.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “Anyway. Like I said, I’ll, um, I’ll let you know if I need one.”

He turned as if to leave, as if he thought there was any world in which Enjolras would let him just walk away. There wasn’t, of course, and Enjolras reached out automatically to grab his arm. “Grantaire—”

“What?” Grantaire asked, something wary in his expression as he glanced back at him.

“You’re not allowed to do anything stupid.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression before he barked a dry, humorless laugh. “To listen to you, I do something stupid every day.”

But Enjolras refused to let him brush this off. “You know what I mean.”

Grantaire sighed. “I promise, I have no plans—”

“But you have thought about it,” Enjolras said sharply, daring Grantaire to contradict him. “And like I said, you’re not allowed to.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I never was very good at following orders, Apollo.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Like my order for you to never call me that again?”

A ghost of a smile twitched across Grantaire’s lips. “Exactly.”

Enjolras didn’t dignify that with a response. “I don’t care,” he said stubbornly, finally letting go of Grantaire’s arm. “I’m giving you an order anyway. If the thought of disobeying an order or, I don’t know, disappointing me or whatever gives you even a second’s hesitation, then it’s worth it.”

Grantaire sighed, his expression tightening again. “The disappointment angle is a nice touch, but I disappoint you in everything I do, so.”

He jerked another shrug but Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “You don’t.” Grantaire didn’t look convinced and Enjolras frowned, searching his expression. “If the thought of disappointing me won’t help, what will?”

“Intensive in-patient therapy that my insurance won’t cover, an updated drug regimen that I can’t get approved because the next appointments to see a psychiatrist are 6 months out at the earliest, and a society that’s not on the precipice of fascism, mostly.”

Enjolras nodded. “Well. Good thing I’m already doing what I can on that last front.”

Grantaire managed a small, tired smile. “I know.”

Enjolras hesitated before asking, “Is there anything else?”

“It’s not the kind of problem that has a solution,” Grantaire told him.

“I know that.”

“I mean, I’m sure you’d love to organize a march against my mental illness or whatever—”

“I really would,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire’s lips twitched. “Change.org petition?”

Despite everything, Enjolras snorted a laugh. “Oh, absolutely. Sign here to tell Grantaire’s depression to fuck off.”

Grantaire’s smile widened. “If we get 10,000 signatures, the White House has to respond.”

“Exactly.” Enjolras hesitated before telling him, “If there was anything I could do, I would. In a heartbeat.”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “Yeah, well.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Kind of a moot point. But, uh, thanks. For, you know.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, matching his tone. “You’re welcome.”

Grantaire hesitated, glancing up at him. “Enjolras—”

“What?”

“Give me a reason not to.”

Enjolras sucked in a breath. His immediate, initial instinct was to tell Grantaire anything he wanted to hear, to tell him that he knew Grantaire had feelings for him and maybe, with time, Enjolras could develop feelings back. It wasn’t entirely a lie, after all.

But it also wasn’t what Grantaire needed to hear.

He needed to hear the truth.

So instead, he took a deep breath, and he told him, “Because I want to win.”

Grantaire stared at him. “What?”

“Four years from now, ten years from now, however long it takes. I want to be able to tell you, ‘I told you so’.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

“Any of it,” Enjolras told him. “All of it. That we were right, that we changed things, that things got fucking better because we fought tooth and nail for every scrap of better we could get. I want to be able to tell you that.”

Grantaire cocked his head. “So to be clear, you want me to stay alive so that you can gloat?”

He sounded almost amused, and Enjolras shrugged. “I figure if your spite’s not enough to keep you going, maybe mine will.”

“You’ve got enough spite to share?” Grantaire asked dryly, and at the look Enjolras gave him, barked a laugh. “Ok, stupid question.”

“Very,” Enjolras agreed.

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re supposed to say there’s no such thing as a stupid question.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “And yet you’re bound and determined to prove that statement wrong every single day.”

“Maybe that’ll be what keeps me going,” Grantaire said.

But Enjolras didn’t laugh at that. “Whatever it takes.”

Grantaire nodded. “Right. Thanks, I think.”

Again he turned to go, and again Enjolras couldn’t let him. “Grantaire—”

“What?” Grantaire said, and Enjolras reached out to pull him into a hug. “Oof. Um. Hi?”

Enjolras didn’t let go as he told him, as fiercely as he had promised anything in his life, “If you do anything to hurt yourself, I will kill you.”

Grantaire huffed a light laugh, patting Enjolras’s back. “I think that would kind of defeat the purpose—”

“I mean it.”

Grantaire shook his head and tried to pull away. “Enj… I’ve failed at everything you’ve ever asked of me.”

Enjolras nodded. “I know.”

“What makes you think this time will be different?”

“Because it has to be.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, after a long moment. “We’ll see, I guess.”

Enjolras nodded and gave Grantaire a tight smile. “I’m going to be unbearable for a while, just as a fair warning.”

Grantaire made a face. “I would expect nothing less.” He hesitated before adding, “And you can tell people, I guess. It’s not really a secret.”

“You realize I’ll be roping all of our friends into making sure you stay alive.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “It’s not the worst thing you’ve roped them into.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

But Grantaire didn’t smile at that, instead looking away as he told Enjolras, “I really never wanted to be one of your causes.”

Enjolras shook his head. “You’re not,” he said firmly, and when Grantaire gave him a look, he added, “But you are one of my friends.”

Grantaire jerked a nod. “I– thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Enjolras repeated. “And I’ll, uh, I’ll keep these safe.”

What he wanted to say was, I’ll keep you safe, but judging by the small, lopsided but nonetheless genuine smile Grantaire gave him, he understood anyway.

And hopefully, he might find a way to believe that Enjolras meant it.

[kjack89]

Just going to try to write my way through it, I guess.

Pre-slash/friendship, modern AU. Cw: suicide ideation, depression.

“Hey,” Grantaire said, a little awkwardly, and Enjolras glanced up at him. “Can I, uh, talk to you?”

For a brief moment, Enjolras was tempted to either point out that they were already talking, or the grammatically correct way of asking was ‘May I’, or any other of their usual way of mostly mocking the other, but something about the way Grantaire was toying with the hem of his t-shirt made Enjolras think this was something serious.

“Yeah, of course,” he said instead, tucking his phone in his back pocket. “Do you, uh, want to go outside?”

The back room of the Musain had thinned after the meeting had wrapped up, but there were enough stragglers that someone would probably overhear if they stayed. Grantaire jerked a shrug and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. He rolled his eyes but did, heading out to the alley with Grantaire on his heels.

“So,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and resting his back against the brick wall. “What’s up?”

Grantaire mirrored his pose, his shoulder just brushing against Enjolras’s. “So you know I had surgery recently.”

Enjolras glanced sideways at him. “Yeah,” he said, a little cautiously. “Gallbladder, right?” Grantaire nodded. “How, uh, how’s the recovery been?”

“Fine,” Grantaire said. “As expected.”

Enjolras nodded. “Ok,” he said, still cautious about where this was headed. “I mean, I’m glad to hear it, but—”

Grantaire turned to face him, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I need you to do me a favor.”

That was not entirely what Enjolras had expected. “Sure?”

Grantaire took a deep breath before withdrawing one hand from his pocket, extending it to Enjolras. “I need you to hold onto these.”

Enjolras reached out automatically. “What—” he started, breaking off when he saw that Grantaire had just handed him a pill bottle. “You’re allowed to take painkillers.”

He didn’t mean to blurt it like that, didn’t even know that they were painkillers, though given Grantaire’s history, it probably made the most sense, and besides—

“I know that,” Grantaire said, breaking Enjolras’s thought spiral.

At least temporarily.

“I mean,” he said, scrambling for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot, “even with your– your problem.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “My addiction,” he said. “You can say it, it’s not a dirty word.”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “Right, of course. I just mean—”

“I can take prescription painkillers as prescribed by a doctor without violating my sobriety, I know,” Grantaire said. He gave Enjolras a sideways look. “Little curious why you know that.”

Enjolras shrugged, feeling a flush cross his face. “I did some research,” he muttered.

Grantaire blinked. “Did you?” he asked, sounding surprised.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “So then why—”

Grantaire looked away. “I just. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to hold onto them right now.” He shrugged. “But I am still in some pain so if I need one, I’ll come to you.”

Enjolras glanced down at the pill bottle. “Don’t you think Joly, or Combeferre—”

“You’re the only one whose schedule is as fucked as mine is.”

Enjolras half smiled. “Fair enough.” His smile faded as he turned the pill bottle over in his hand. “I still don’t understand,” he admitted. “If you think you might relapse…” Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression, and Enjolras felt his stomach plummet with realization. “You’re not worried about relapsing, are you.”

He didn’t pitch it as a question, and Grantaire shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “No I’m not.”

Enjolras’s mouth went dry. “R—”

Grantaire scrubbed a hand across his mouth before forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Look, it’s not– things just aren’t great right now, you know?” he said, something dismissive in his tone, as if this wasn’t a big deal, or as if he was trying to convince himself of that. “And I don’t need to have any, uh, means on hand to do something stupid.”

Enjolras’s grip on the pill bottle was so tight that his knuckles were white. “Are you—”

Grantaire’s eyes darted to his and away again. “I don’t have any plans, I promise.” He shrugged again, twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “But it’s also getting harder and harder to see a way through it, you know?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said quietly. “I know.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “Anyway. Like I said, I’ll, um, I’ll let you know if I need one.”

He turned as if to leave, as if he thought there was any world in which Enjolras would let him just walk away. There wasn’t, of course, and Enjolras reached out automatically to grab his arm. “Grantaire—”

“What?” Grantaire asked, something wary in his expression as he glanced back at him.

“You’re not allowed to do anything stupid.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression before he barked a dry, humorless laugh. “To listen to you, I do something stupid every day.”

But Enjolras refused to let him brush this off. “You know what I mean.”

Grantaire sighed. “I promise, I have no plans—”

“But you have thought about it,” Enjolras said sharply, daring Grantaire to contradict him. “And like I said, you’re not allowed to.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I never was very good at following orders, Apollo.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Like my order for you to never call me that again?”

A ghost of a smile twitched across Grantaire’s lips. “Exactly.”

Enjolras didn’t dignify that with a response. “I don’t care,” he said stubbornly, finally letting go of Grantaire’s arm. “I’m giving you an order anyway. If the thought of disobeying an order or, I don’t know, disappointing me or whatever gives you even a second’s hesitation, then it’s worth it.”

Grantaire sighed, his expression tightening again. “The disappointment angle is a nice touch, but I disappoint you in everything I do, so.”

He jerked another shrug but Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “You don’t.” Grantaire didn’t look convinced and Enjolras frowned, searching his expression. “If the thought of disappointing me won’t help, what will?”

“Intensive in-patient therapy that my insurance won’t cover, an updated drug regimen that I can’t get approved because the next appointments to see a psychiatrist are 6 months out at the earliest, and a society that’s not on the precipice of fascism, mostly.”

Enjolras nodded. “Well. Good thing I’m already doing what I can on that last front.”

Grantaire managed a small, tired smile. “I know.”

Enjolras hesitated before asking, “Is there anything else?”

“It’s not the kind of problem that has a solution,” Grantaire told him.

“I know that.”

“I mean, I’m sure you’d love to organize a march against my mental illness or whatever—”

“I really would,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire’s lips twitched. “Change.org petition?”

Despite everything, Enjolras snorted a laugh. “Oh, absolutely. Sign here to tell Grantaire’s depression to fuck off.”

Grantaire’s smile widened. “If we get 10,000 signatures, the White House has to respond.”

“Exactly.” Enjolras hesitated before telling him, “If there was anything I could do, I would. In a heartbeat.”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “Yeah, well.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Kind of a moot point. But, uh, thanks. For, you know.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, matching his tone. “You’re welcome.”

Grantaire hesitated, glancing up at him. “Enjolras—”

“What?”

“Give me a reason not to.”

Enjolras sucked in a breath. His immediate, initial instinct was to tell Grantaire anything he wanted to hear, to tell him that he knew Grantaire had feelings for him and maybe, with time, Enjolras could develop feelings back. It wasn’t entirely a lie, after all.

But it also wasn’t what Grantaire needed to hear.

He needed to hear the truth.

So instead, he took a deep breath, and he told him, “Because I want to win.”

Grantaire stared at him. “What?”

“Four years from now, ten years from now, however long it takes. I want to be able to tell you, ‘I told you so’.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

“Any of it,” Enjolras told him. “All of it. That we were right, that we changed things, that things got fucking better because we fought tooth and nail for every scrap of better we could get. I want to be able to tell you that.”

Grantaire cocked his head. “So to be clear, you want me to stay alive so that you can gloat?”

He sounded almost amused, and Enjolras shrugged. “I figure if your spite’s not enough to keep you going, maybe mine will.”

“You’ve got enough spite to share?” Grantaire asked dryly, and at the look Enjolras gave him, barked a laugh. “Ok, stupid question.”

“Very,” Enjolras agreed.

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re supposed to say there’s no such thing as a stupid question.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “And yet you’re bound and determined to prove that statement wrong every single day.”

“Maybe that’ll be what keeps me going,” Grantaire said.

But Enjolras didn’t laugh at that. “Whatever it takes.”

Grantaire nodded. “Right. Thanks, I think.”

Again he turned to go, and again Enjolras couldn’t let him. “Grantaire—”

“What?” Grantaire said, and Enjolras reached out to pull him into a hug. “Oof. Um. Hi?”

Enjolras didn’t let go as he told him, as fiercely as he had promised anything in his life, “If you do anything to hurt yourself, I will kill you.”

Grantaire huffed a light laugh, patting Enjolras’s back. “I think that would kind of defeat the purpose—”

“I mean it.”

Grantaire shook his head and tried to pull away. “Enj… I’ve failed at everything you’ve ever asked of me.”

Enjolras nodded. “I know.”

“What makes you think this time will be different?”

“Because it has to be.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, after a long moment. “We’ll see, I guess.”

Enjolras nodded and gave Grantaire a tight smile. “I’m going to be unbearable for a while, just as a fair warning.”

Grantaire made a face. “I would expect nothing less.” He hesitated before adding, “And you can tell people, I guess. It’s not really a secret.”

“You realize I’ll be roping all of our friends into making sure you stay alive.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “It’s not the worst thing you’ve roped them into.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

But Grantaire didn’t smile at that, instead looking away as he told Enjolras, “I really never wanted to be one of your causes.”

Enjolras shook his head. “You’re not,” he said firmly, and when Grantaire gave him a look, he added, “But you are one of my friends.”

Grantaire jerked a nod. “I– thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Enjolras repeated. “And I’ll, uh, I’ll keep these safe.”

What he wanted to say was, I’ll keep you safe, but judging by the small, lopsided but nonetheless genuine smile Grantaire gave him, he understood anyway.

And hopefully, he might find a way to believe that Enjolras meant it.

[kjack89]

Just going to try to write my way through it, I guess.

Pre-slash/friendship, modern AU. Cw: suicide ideation, depression.

“Hey,” Grantaire said, a little awkwardly, and Enjolras glanced up at him. “Can I, uh, talk to you?”

For a brief moment, Enjolras was tempted to either point out that they were already talking, or the grammatically correct way of asking was ‘May I’, or any other of their usual way of mostly mocking the other, but something about the way Grantaire was toying with the hem of his t-shirt made Enjolras think this was something serious.

“Yeah, of course,” he said instead, tucking his phone in his back pocket. “Do you, uh, want to go outside?”

The back room of the Musain had thinned after the meeting had wrapped up, but there were enough stragglers that someone would probably overhear if they stayed. Grantaire jerked a shrug and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. He rolled his eyes but did, heading out to the alley with Grantaire on his heels.

“So,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and resting his back against the brick wall. “What’s up?”

Grantaire mirrored his pose, his shoulder just brushing against Enjolras’s. “So you know I had surgery recently.”

Enjolras glanced sideways at him. “Yeah,” he said, a little cautiously. “Gallbladder, right?” Grantaire nodded. “How, uh, how’s the recovery been?”

“Fine,” Grantaire said. “As expected.”

Enjolras nodded. “Ok,” he said, still cautious about where this was headed. “I mean, I’m glad to hear it, but—”

Grantaire turned to face him, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I need you to do me a favor.”

That was not entirely what Enjolras had expected. “Sure?”

Grantaire took a deep breath before withdrawing one hand from his pocket, extending it to Enjolras. “I need you to hold onto these.”

Enjolras reached out automatically. “What—” he started, breaking off when he saw that Grantaire had just handed him a pill bottle. “You’re allowed to take painkillers.”

He didn’t mean to blurt it like that, didn’t even know that they were painkillers, though given Grantaire’s history, it probably made the most sense, and besides—

“I know that,” Grantaire said, breaking Enjolras’s thought spiral.

At least temporarily.

“I mean,” he said, scrambling for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot, “even with your– your problem.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “My addiction,” he said. “You can say it, it’s not a dirty word.”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “Right, of course. I just mean—”

“I can take prescription painkillers as prescribed by a doctor without violating my sobriety, I know,” Grantaire said. He gave Enjolras a sideways look. “Little curious why you know that.”

Enjolras shrugged, feeling a flush cross his face. “I did some research,” he muttered.

Grantaire blinked. “Did you?” he asked, sounding surprised.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “So then why—”

Grantaire looked away. “I just. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to hold onto them right now.” He shrugged. “But I am still in some pain so if I need one, I’ll come to you.”

Enjolras glanced down at the pill bottle. “Don’t you think Joly, or Combeferre—”

“You’re the only one whose schedule is as fucked as mine is.”

Enjolras half smiled. “Fair enough.” His smile faded as he turned the pill bottle over in his hand. “I still don’t understand,” he admitted. “If you think you might relapse…” Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression, and Enjolras felt his stomach plummet with realization. “You’re not worried about relapsing, are you.”

He didn’t pitch it as a question, and Grantaire shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “No I’m not.”

Enjolras’s mouth went dry. “R—”

Grantaire scrubbed a hand across his mouth before forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Look, it’s not– things just aren’t great right now, you know?” he said, something dismissive in his tone, as if this wasn’t a big deal, or as if he was trying to convince himself of that. “And I don’t need to have any, uh, means on hand to do something stupid.”

Enjolras’s grip on the pill bottle was so tight that his knuckles were white. “Are you—”

Grantaire’s eyes darted to his and away again. “I don’t have any plans, I promise.” He shrugged again, twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “But it’s also getting harder and harder to see a way through it, you know?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said quietly. “I know.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “Anyway. Like I said, I’ll, um, I’ll let you know if I need one.”

He turned as if to leave, as if he thought there was any world in which Enjolras would let him just walk away. There wasn’t, of course, and Enjolras reached out automatically to grab his arm. “Grantaire—”

“What?” Grantaire asked, something wary in his expression as he glanced back at him.

“You’re not allowed to do anything stupid.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression before he barked a dry, humorless laugh. “To listen to you, I do something stupid every day.”

But Enjolras refused to let him brush this off. “You know what I mean.”

Grantaire sighed. “I promise, I have no plans—”

“But you have thought about it,” Enjolras said sharply, daring Grantaire to contradict him. “And like I said, you’re not allowed to.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I never was very good at following orders, Apollo.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Like my order for you to never call me that again?”

A ghost of a smile twitched across Grantaire’s lips. “Exactly.”

Enjolras didn’t dignify that with a response. “I don’t care,” he said stubbornly, finally letting go of Grantaire’s arm. “I’m giving you an order anyway. If the thought of disobeying an order or, I don’t know, disappointing me or whatever gives you even a second’s hesitation, then it’s worth it.”

Grantaire sighed, his expression tightening again. “The disappointment angle is a nice touch, but I disappoint you in everything I do, so.”

He jerked another shrug but Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “You don’t.” Grantaire didn’t look convinced and Enjolras frowned, searching his expression. “If the thought of disappointing me won’t help, what will?”

“Intensive in-patient therapy that my insurance won’t cover, an updated drug regimen that I can’t get approved because the next appointments to see a psychiatrist are 6 months out at the earliest, and a society that’s not on the precipice of fascism, mostly.”

Enjolras nodded. “Well. Good thing I’m already doing what I can on that last front.”

Grantaire managed a small, tired smile. “I know.”

Enjolras hesitated before asking, “Is there anything else?”

“It’s not the kind of problem that has a solution,” Grantaire told him.

“I know that.”

“I mean, I’m sure you’d love to organize a march against my mental illness or whatever—”

“I really would,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire’s lips twitched. “Change.org petition?”

Despite everything, Enjolras snorted a laugh. “Oh, absolutely. Sign here to tell Grantaire’s depression to fuck off.”

Grantaire’s smile widened. “If we get 10,000 signatures, the White House has to respond.”

“Exactly.” Enjolras hesitated before telling him, “If there was anything I could do, I would. In a heartbeat.”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “Yeah, well.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Kind of a moot point. But, uh, thanks. For, you know.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, matching his tone. “You’re welcome.”

Grantaire hesitated, glancing up at him. “Enjolras—”

“What?”

“Give me a reason not to.”

Enjolras sucked in a breath. His immediate, initial instinct was to tell Grantaire anything he wanted to hear, to tell him that he knew Grantaire had feelings for him and maybe, with time, Enjolras could develop feelings back. It wasn’t entirely a lie, after all.

But it also wasn’t what Grantaire needed to hear.

He needed to hear the truth.

So instead, he took a deep breath, and he told him, “Because I want to win.”

Grantaire stared at him. “What?”

“Four years from now, ten years from now, however long it takes. I want to be able to tell you, ‘I told you so’.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

“Any of it,” Enjolras told him. “All of it. That we were right, that we changed things, that things got fucking better because we fought tooth and nail for every scrap of better we could get. I want to be able to tell you that.”

Grantaire cocked his head. “So to be clear, you want me to stay alive so that you can gloat?”

He sounded almost amused, and Enjolras shrugged. “I figure if your spite’s not enough to keep you going, maybe mine will.”

“You’ve got enough spite to share?” Grantaire asked dryly, and at the look Enjolras gave him, barked a laugh. “Ok, stupid question.”

“Very,” Enjolras agreed.

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re supposed to say there’s no such thing as a stupid question.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “And yet you’re bound and determined to prove that statement wrong every single day.”

“Maybe that’ll be what keeps me going,” Grantaire said.

But Enjolras didn’t laugh at that. “Whatever it takes.”

Grantaire nodded. “Right. Thanks, I think.”

Again he turned to go, and again Enjolras couldn’t let him. “Grantaire—”

“What?” Grantaire said, and Enjolras reached out to pull him into a hug. “Oof. Um. Hi?”

Enjolras didn’t let go as he told him, as fiercely as he had promised anything in his life, “If you do anything to hurt yourself, I will kill you.”

Grantaire huffed a light laugh, patting Enjolras’s back. “I think that would kind of defeat the purpose—”

“I mean it.”

Grantaire shook his head and tried to pull away. “Enj… I’ve failed at everything you’ve ever asked of me.”

Enjolras nodded. “I know.”

“What makes you think this time will be different?”

“Because it has to be.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, after a long moment. “We’ll see, I guess.”

Enjolras nodded and gave Grantaire a tight smile. “I’m going to be unbearable for a while, just as a fair warning.”

Grantaire made a face. “I would expect nothing less.” He hesitated before adding, “And you can tell people, I guess. It’s not really a secret.”

“You realize I’ll be roping all of our friends into making sure you stay alive.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “It’s not the worst thing you’ve roped them into.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

But Grantaire didn’t smile at that, instead looking away as he told Enjolras, “I really never wanted to be one of your causes.”

Enjolras shook his head. “You’re not,” he said firmly, and when Grantaire gave him a look, he added, “But you are one of my friends.”

Grantaire jerked a nod. “I– thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Enjolras repeated. “And I’ll, uh, I’ll keep these safe.”

What he wanted to say was, I’ll keep you safe, but judging by the small, lopsided but nonetheless genuine smile Grantaire gave him, he understood anyway.

And hopefully, he might find a way to believe that Enjolras meant it.

[kjack89]

in all timelines, in all possibilities, only you