#best scenario I can be Bossuet

[cumbercookiebatchs]

About Marianne helping R get a gift for Enjolras.

Going out didn't take much convincing on her Papa's behalf. For all he knew, Marianne was going out with Amel-Louise, Marianne's best friend since they started maternale all those years ago.

While it was simple, Marianne shoot a quick text to her friend, explaining the plan, in case anything unplanned went down. Marianne knew her Papa trusted her, but that didn't stop him from unexpectedly calling Amel-Louise's maman to either pick her up early or make sure everything was going smoothly.

At 10 AM sharp that Saturday, Marianne was buzzing with anticipation, waiting for the doorbell to ring. She had to calm down before she met Grantaire, she still had a reputation to protect, but imagining her Papa opening the gift and being delighted, had her pretty much excited.

"Wow, eager much?" Her Papa looked up from his book, reading glasses perched on his nose. He looked good, as he always had, but he now had a distinctive glow that appeared after Grantaire came into their lives. Marianne will always be grateful to him for that.

She smirked. "You can have home for yourself. Clean. Read. Call Grantaire..."

Enjolras bit his lip and Marianne dared to say he was even blushing. "He's busy today, had to do some grading."

Marianne barked a laugh, so that's the magnificent lie her teacher came with to avoid meeting with her Papa. The action earned her a raised eyebrow.

"What's so funny, my dear?"

It was not that lying to her Papa was something easy --it wasn't-- but she also wasn't lying completely. "It's just I never thought he would turn down coming home to have sex with you."

"Marianne!"

"It's true, you're home alone, what better chances are?"

Her Papa was blushing as red as the jumper he was wearing, and huffed in annoyance. "Out."

Marianne gasped in mocked offense, "Now you want me to go? You were just complaining I wanted to leave!"

"That was before you were mean!" He pouted, and Marianne wondered if her Papa was really the adult in this scenario.

Her phone beeped with a notification, from Amel-Louise,she would take Marianne to the mall where she'd meet Grantaire to avoid suspicion. "Amel is here." She said before hugging her Papa tightly. "Love you Papa."

"Love you more, little bug." He smiled and kissed her hair. Marianne smiled and waved her Papa goodbye before she got into Amel's Maman's car.

As soon as she closed the door, Amel and her Maman asked some questions and gave some suggestions. Marianne sighed happily she and her Papa had so many people who loved them.

...

After eating lunch and visiting something like ten stores, Grantaire and Marianne parted for the first time in the afternoon. He went around some interesting stores and while browsing, something caught his eye: Marianne was eyeing a white dress with little flowers embroided all along.

"You like it?"

Marianne almost hissed. "You scared me."

Grantaire tilted his head. "I'm sorry, but you didn't answer my question."

"We're here to buy something for Papa."

He did his best to not start laughing. "So avoiding questions runs in the family, huh?"

Marianne looked at him with the same desdain Enjolras would when Grantaire said something that made him angry. He couldn't help the little upward twich his lips made, he wondered if these mannerisms were Enjolras' and Marianne took them on, or if it was the other way around.

"Go try it on."

"But-"

"Go try the dress on Marianne. Or I'll tell your Papa we're here."

He wouldn't do that, and Marianne knew but still she took the dress and tried to look annoyed, even though her eyes smiled thankfully.

She went out the fitting room some minutes after. "You look beautiful." Grantaire smiled, and Marianne blushed slightly.

"Thanks, but I think I'll need this is a bigger size." She motioned at how tightly it fit her, and the skirt was way too short.

"Sure," Grantaire called at one of the girls who worked at the store. "Can we get that dress in a bigger size?

Marianne went back into the fitting room and emerged with her jeans and shirt, the dress im her hands. "You don't need to do this."

"I know," Grantaire hugged her. "but I want to."

The retail worker came back with the dress and smiled at the scene. "Can I say you guys are the cutest father and daughter I've seen."

Grantaire answered by hugging Marianne tighter until she laughed. "Thanks" he said, but if it was for the dress or the compliment, he never said.

...

It was close to six now, and Grantaire decided to treat Marianne for one last thing. They were putting in the car the bags and boxes --of which one had Grantaire's gift for Enjolras, one Marianne's dress, other Marianne's gift for her father, and a smaller box with a more private gift Grantaire would give to his lover; Marianne eyed him weird, but didn't say anything about it-- and as they made their way towards Amel's house, Grantaire made a detour.

"You're not expected home until late, right?"

"Right." Marianne looked up from her phone. "Why?"

"I want to take you to a place."

More silence.

"The lady at the store. She thought you were my dad. Why didn't you correct her?" Marianne said when they stopped at a red light.

"Didn't seem important." Grantaire answered. "Why didn't you correct her?"

Marianne smiled. "I didn't mind being called your daughter."

Grantaire cried a little after he got home, but at the moment, he smiled too.

Even it was raining, they got rather quickly to the Musain, and Grantaire smile grew wider and they approached and he spotted some familiar faces.

He parked the car, and rushed to help Marianne out of the car, then ran together until they reached the Café's door.

Inside, sitting in a table near a window, a man loudly greeted Grantaire.

"And who's the lady?" Asked the man, he was bald and had an big smile.

"I'm Marianne."

She heard someone gasp behind her. Whem she turned around, another man, but with a cane, and a woman with curly hair where there.

"You are Marianne?" He asked.

"Yes." Marianne said, confused.

The woman laughed. "Oh dear, by the way R talks about you I was expecting a baby! Not this lady!"

Marianne blushed, "thanks."

They all sat in the table near the window, and talked. Musichetta told her about how Grantaire doesn't shut up when talking about her or her Papa, and Joly and Bossuet asked her questions about school and what are her plans for the future.

Soon, a waiter came with some milkshakes Musichetta ordered before Grantaire and Marianne arrived.

"Oh my God," she gasped as she took another sip from her milkshake. "Oh my sweet God! You need to bring Papa here."

Grantaire chuckled. "Yeah?"

Marianne nodded as she drank. "He loves candy, sweets, everything. And vanilla milkshakes, with lots of sprinkles."

"Rookie mistake," Joly mentioned.

"What?"

"Now that you mentioned that, everytime someone's drinking a vanilla milkshake Grantaire will sigh with longing because 'that's Enjolras favorite milkshake'"

"Not true." Grantaire tried to salvage his pride, but everyone was already laughing.

"Do you need me to remind you the time that–"

"Oh when we went to the beach and you–"

"Or when you stalked his instagram a week ago–"

"I get it!" Grantaire snaps. "Jesus."

And then everyone started laughing again.

...

"Papa?" Marianne called, closing the front door.

"I'm here," he answered, Marianne walked down the hall and got into her Papa's room. He was sitting cross legged in the bed, reading glasses still on, but he was now in pj's. He looked up from his book and opened his arms. "Come here."

Marianne obliged, kicking out her shoes and climbing on the bed to hug her Papa. She nuzzled in his chest and closed her eyes. He too sighed happily, and kissed her hair. But then he kissed again, and tensed. He sat back and buried his nose on the crook of his daughter's neck, to smell her blouse.

"Papa! You're smelling me?"

"Where were you today, Marianne?" He looked his daughter in the eye.

"At the mall, with Amel."

Enjolras frowned. "You smell weird."

"We tried on different perfumes, some cologne too."

That seemed to call him down, and Marianne smiled tightly. "I'll go leave my things in my room, wanna watch a movie after?"

Her Papa nodded, and Marianne stepped in the shower. When she got out, ready to pick out some cheesy rom com her Papa seemed to love, she went into his room.

He was asleep.

Taking his book and glasses aside, Marianne took the blanket, and covered him.

"Goodnight Papa." She whispered and kissed his forehead.

Yet before turning off the lights, she took her phone and opened the messages app.

Hey

I bet he's dreaming about you :P

Marianne snapped a picture of her sleeping father and hit send, and went to bed.

Grantaire checked the messages, and bit his lip. Sure, he was in love in Enjolras, but he also loved Marianne more each passing day.

(Bonus points if you guess what Enjolras gift is)

Oh this is so sweet! So sweet!!!!!!

But I don't know what Enjolras's present is 🙈🙈🙈🙈

PLEASE TELL ME 🥺🥺🥺

Marianne and Grantaire are SO CUTE together

[jabbers-of-jay]

Les Amis as Parents

Ummmmm I’m not sure where this came from. It’s overly long. But that seems to be the way of Jay. So.... here yous are. How I imagine the Les Amis as parents in certain scenarios 

Enjolras is wonderfully patient with the kids. He always gets on their level and explains things to them. He’s a strong advocate for talking to children and making them feel heard. Grantaire’s favorite thing was always watching Enjolras soothing their babies back to sleep while quietly talking to them about whatever. But he always talks to them like they are an equal

Grantaire encourages their interests and will often draw with his kids. It’ll be some mashup of something he’s created but also with a child’s stick figure or scribbles. But he always calls them his best masterpieces. Enjolras came home one rainy day to find that Grantaire had basically turned an entire room into canvas and let the kids go wild. There were footprints, handprints, lines, and shapes all over the canvas. Grantaire looked slightly sheepish when Enjolras discovered, but all he could say was the paint was nontoxic before Enjolras was kissing him because the sight was so beautiful

Combeferre is the quiet, steady, loving, alway there to talk parent. Even as a teen, the kids find themselves talking to him about their problems. Courfeyrac swears he has a magic touch with babies and can calm any crying baby with just a simple touch. Combeferre roles his eyes and says babies just recognize emotions so if you’re calm the baby will be calm. Courfeyrac can remember many a night of watching Combeferre calming their babies, or the one time where Combeferre slept on the floor in their son’s room for a week so the monsters couldn’t get under the bed

Courfeyrac always brings the kids out of their shells and seems to know how to encourage them to be themselves. He’s increbidly loyal and stands up for his kids in every instance. Combeferre has had to drag Courfeyrac out of the principal’s office on more than one occasion to keep him from shouting at the principal. Combeferre didn’t necessarily agree with the principal either, but he also knew shouting at the principal would get them no where. Courfeyrac doesn’t show it, but Combeferre knows Courfeyrac worries about their kids. Combeferre has lost track of the times he’s found Courfeyrac curled up in a chair, fast asleep, because one of their kids had a sore throat and Courfeyrac was worried, so he slept in a chair in their room. Combeferre’s favorite photo is Courfeyrac asleep in the rocker in the nursery, with the baby fast asleep on his chest

Joly is an intense worry wart, but he’s also really good at teaching. Whenever the kids enter the stage where they continually ask “Why?” Joly will keep answering. Musichetta timed it one time and Joly spent 2 hours answering a chain of Why? questions from their daughter. Bossuet and Musichetta always stand in the doorway whenever Joly is helping their kids with homework, because they’ve never seen someone who can teach the answers so well and really get the kids to listen to the explanations.

Bossuet is naturally really clumsy, and all the Amis were very worried that Bossuet would actually drop the baby on its head multiple times. But, he seems to have this knack for always cushioning the baby’s fall. When he was teaching the kids how to bike, Bossuet somehow always managed to be the one that would scrape his knees. He always seems to be around to help the kids pick back up and dust themselves off, both literally and figuratively. Unfortunately, at least one of the kids seems to have inherited some of his bad luck, but at least Bossuet understands. Musichetta can’t help but laugh remembering the times one of their kids has nearly knocked themselves unconcious from running into a wall or something else

Jehan encourages their kids to be very free spirited, often allowing them to express themselves in whatever way they want. Their kids and Courfeyrac’s often get into dress offs, where they have a competition of who could express themselves the most through their outfits. At first, the kindergarten teacher thought Courfeyrac’s and Jehan’s kids were siblings because they were always the kids showing up in their favorite princess dress or costume. There’s a photo from picture day one year where Courfeyrac’s and Jehan’s kids were some superhero, princess, ballerina, combo.The teacher was convinced the parents would be horrified, but it’s Courfeyrac’s favorite picture, and Jehan thought they looked beautiful.

Barhorel is the most support, soccer dad type, there is. He is always really involved when he can be, constantly on the sidelines, volunteering to be the team dad or coach. Whatever is needed, Barhorel is happy to be there and supporting. He always dives in 100%. Usually, though, one of the Amis will try and help. They have decided though, Barhorel and Courfeyrac cannot coach together. While Courfeyrac is great at getting the kids’ spirits up, he does not do well in keeping Barhorel from losing his temper at unfair calls. The Amis all love the photos of Barhorel coaching with the kids all surrounding him, looking at him in awe

Feuilly is the super supportive parent that always has a life lesson to impart. Feuilly volunteers to help with anything the class needs, he’s always at the fundraisers, running a booth and teaching the kids about how to have an effective fundraiser. He also ends up always donating more supplies than the teacher asks for. Barhorel’s favorite memory is watching Feuilly help their kids get better at maths by teaching them fractions through baking

Marius is the oblivious dad that makes all the dad jokes without even trying. Courfeyrac makes them on purpose, Marius will say something and wonder while all the kids are giggling or groaning, but he usually just shrugs and moves on. Marius is really good at giving the kids a hug and firmly believes that they some times just need a good cry to get everyting out. He’s also really good at getting the kids to talk about their emotions and realize that it’s okay to have their emotions and express them. While some of others are good at getting the kids to express their emotions through different mediums, Marius is the one that can actually get the kids to talk about their emotions and face them. 

[theladyragnell]

Are you still taking ficlet requests? I was just rereading (You Are) My Lucky Star for Valentine's day, and I'd love to hear more about "the timeline where Combeferre and Jehan are warring villainous masterminds and Enjolras wears leather catsuits and we're the resistance.”

(I decided not to set anything in that timeline, but this is the conversation in the Lucky Star ‘verse where that timeline is discussed!)

“Combeferreis kind of terrifying,” Joly muses, in some improbable position onthe couch. Musichetta is a little worried he's going to fall off andconcuss himself, but she knows better than to say so after severalmonths of dating, very familiar with his morbid imagination andBossuet's presence making any disaster eight times as likely tooccur.

“Fair,”says Musichetta, having been witness to Combeferre making Mariusquail so hard he was practically a pheasant at the night's meeting.“If he weren't such a goodperson, he would be a great evil mastermind.”

Bossuetsits bolt upright. Joly sits bolt sideways. Musichetta fears for hisskull. “He could take over the world. He probably already hasbenevolent plans, but if he were less ethical he would be all overit. The world would be his in days,” says Bossuet, eyes wide.“Especially if Enjolras and Courfeyrac were with them.”

“Imean, a world where Combeferre decidesto fix the world by ruling it is probably also a world where heconvinces Enjolras and Courfeyrac that it's the right thing to dobecause they think he has common sense,” Joly says.

Musichettashakes her head. “The fact that they think he's the one with commonsense is honestly terrifying to me. You're sure Enjolras wouldn't tryto rebel?”

Thetwo of them frown, considering that, and then shake their heads inunerring unison. “Enjolras,”Bossuet says solemnly, “would be his bloody right hand. Andprobably wear leather catsuits, because I think that's the rules ifyou're an evil dictator's bloody right hand.”

There'sa long silence while they all consider how very true that is, howgood Enjolras would look in a leather catsuit, and how they cannever, ever torture Grantaire with that mental image. At least sheassumes the other two are having that progression of thought, judgingby the way their faces contort.

“Youknow who else would be terrifying?” Musichetta says at length,considering the scenario. “Jehan. But I don't think he'd haveCombeferre'sI-know-what's-best-for-everyone-so-I-should-just-make-that-happenflavor of being a mastermind.”

“Definitelymore of an agent of chaos,” Joly agrees. “Ooh, do you thinkthey'd be mortal enemies bothtrying to shape the world to their malevolent will?”

“Whatelse happens when you have warring evil masterminds?” Bossuetparries. “Combeferre has the terror of Enjolras and Courfeyrac onhis side, but Jehan would, like, control the weather. Jehan wouldn'ttry to take the world over unless he could control the weather. He'sgot standards.”

“Okay,if they have superpowers, I feel like Combeferre should have sometoo, to be fair. Weather control is a big one,” says Musichetta.

Jolymanages to contort himself into an even weirder position inhis excitement. She is pretty sure that sheer willpower is the onlything keeping him on the couch. Or maybe velcro. It's not outside therealm of possibility. “Okay,wait, but consider.”

Sheraises her eyebrows. “I am waiting and considering.”

“Whatif Combeferre already has superpowers?”

Allof them sit there for a moment considering Joly's absolute genius. Ofcourse Combeferre has superpowers. It would explain a lot about him,really. “We are really one ethics system away from a warring eviloverlord dystopia, aren't we?” Bossuet marvels at last.

“Weshould all be very grateful,” says Musichetta.

Jolywaves his arms around excitedly. How is he still on the couch? She'svery glad that she is on the floor. “We should make him a cardthanking him for not being evil!”

Bossuetfalls off the couch, his flailing just barely missing Musichetta, whohas learned to duck and roll in the past several months that she'sbeen dating Joly. “Genius,” he says when he has managed to righthimself again. “Let's get the glitter.”

Allof them are fans of a good craft project, and Musichetta is happy tosit at the kitchen table and carefully draw bubble letters for theworld's most confusing construction paper card. It's fine, Combeferrewill probably frame it anyway. Jehan definitely will, if they makeone for him too, which they probably should.

“Whatare we doing?” she asks while Bossuet carefully considers theamount of glitter to put on the card and Joly carefully considerspuns for the inside. “In this terrible timeline where half ourfriends are evil, I mean. Are we also evil?”

Jolyshakes his head right away. “We are never evil. Clearly we're theresistance, sacrificing our happiness to try to take the two evilmasterminds down. Though we may also wear catsuits. I think I'd lookpretty good in a catsuit.”

Musichettalaughs, and Bossuet elaborates, and an hour later they leave twocards drying on the table and go back to the couch to put on a movie.Any other boyfriend Musichetta has had, she might have been annoyedabout spending a whole evening with his best friend and roommate, butJoly and Bossuet are something special. She's loved boyfriends,before, and she's probably there with Joly, but she doesn't know ifshe's ever liked anyof them this much, much less their friends. It's something amazing.Of course they'll be together in all the timelines.

Halfwaythrough the movie, Grantaire comes in from whatever it is Grantairedoes with his evenings, and they all shout a lazy greeting. He'llcome in when he's ready.

“Whatthe hell?” he asks after a minute. “Who's getting a card thatsays Thank you for not being evil?”

[aflamethatneverdies]

for the ship asks: Poetry Smash, obviously; maybe less obviously, Courfeyrac/ Bossuet?:D

Poetry Smash

Do not want. Ptooey.I am neutral, indifferent and serene. Send me a rec and change my mind.I’ll enjoy anything as long as they’re in it. Seriously! Give me all the werewolf AUs, all the seance stories and graveyard hunts or opium induced adventures, any reincarnation fics, any strange pet/plant acquision, any crossovers, anything works with these two. Any story where these two appear and cause trouble and chaos is something I want with all my heartI’ll enjoy anything as long as they get a happy ending.Break them and make them bleed.Swaddle them in fluff. I’m mostly interested in gapfilling and exploring their canon interactions. Throw the canon out the window; bae deserves better.Gimme crackfic. Pilf your art about these two breaking the canon would probably qualify here. What I am saying is that I want fic about that specific scenario someday. Gimme all the tropes.   Subvert the tropes and set them on fire.I am a simple soul: I’m here because they’re hot and sometimes naked. I am a simple soul, I see poetry smash and I click read. Also Bahorel is hot, at least meta-textually and also in my heart.  

Here is my OTP. Come between them and I will…ship and let ship, because I am a civilized fanperson, but CAN’T YOU SEE THEY’RE PERFECT TOGETHER??! (Or perfectly, fascinatingly, shippably dysfunctional, in certain cases.) Probably the closest thing I have to an OTP. They are perfectly fascinating together though I don’t think they necessarily need to end up with each other, certainly not in the long term. They can be with other people and still have some sort of relationship with each other. I just want them to occasionally end up with each other through the years - the heart wants what the heart wants. :P 

I have favoured and disfavoured ships. Convince me. Seduce me.I had an OTP once, but then this amazing author, [insert author here], seduced me. Goddammit. Kind of, I will always rec kvikindi’s fics about them. Those fics were very formative in my understanding of how their relationship would work.   Fandom bicycle, baby! \o/I have no shippy feelings at this time.My feelings cannot be summed up by this meme. Have a seat while I put the kettle on. Their relationship will be so much full of drama and hilarity: talking about history, literature, theatre, philosophy late into the night and oops they forgot to sleep but look at the sunrise. Prouvaire needs to write several poems immediately while the muse strikes and Bahorel enjoys giving his feedback on them. 

Maybe there is some minor pants business, maybe they never got round to it because they were busy flaneuring all night or breaking into Notre Dame or smuggling skeletons across half of Paris to play a prank or having wild naked weed parties, or talking about death, or wanting to travel to far off places or Prouvaire had a crush on someone and someday he might even talk to her, but he needed Bahorel to know. 

But anywhere they are hanging out will be full of drama and sartorial shenanigans and whatever happens I know they will remain the best of friends and that is what I’m 100% here for. I just love them and Romantics an awful lot and this is an excuse for me to go wild and introduce actual Romantics as friends for them. 

Courfeyrac/Bossuet

Do not want. Ptooey.I am neutral, indifferent and serene. Send me a rec and change my mind.I’ll enjoy anything as long as they’re in it. I’ll enjoy anything as long as they get a happy ending.Break them and make them bleed.Swaddle them in fluff. I’m mostly interested in gapfilling and exploring their canon interactions. I enjoy Courfeyrac and Bossuet’s interactions in canon a lot and I imagine they do go on walks together and hang out in parties or balls and would like to see more of them. They are both good fun to hang out with and I imagine them bonding over how to fail law school so that it looks convincing enough, because in my headcanons they both know enough about law to convincingly pass and how to annoy their professors. I want all the shenanigans with them. Bossuet also probably stayed with Courfeyrac at more than one point before moving in with Joly.Throw the canon out the window; bae deserves better.Gimme crackfic. Gimme all the tropes.   Subvert the tropes and set them on fire.I am a simple soul: I’m here because they’re hot and sometimes naked. 

Here is my OTP. Come between them and I will…ship and let ship, because I am a civilized fanperson, but CAN’T YOU SEE THEY’RE PERFECT TOGETHER??! (Or perfectly, fascinatingly, shippably dysfunctional, in certain cases.) 

I have favoured and disfavoured ships. Convince me. Seduce me.I had an OTP once, but then this amazing author, [insert author here], seduced me. Goddammit.Fandom bicycle, baby! \o/ I do tend to ship Bossuet with Joly and/or in a threesome with Musichetta. 

Otherwise, my go to complicated relationship/friendship for Bossuet is Bossuet/Grantaire especially before Bossuet met Joly especially since I do find their canon interactions might hint at a deep friendship between Bossuet, Joly and Grantaire and I love seeing these three together a ridiculous amount. 

Courfeyrac canonically has relationships but I also like seeing him hanging out with Marius even though Marius is pretty oblivious and also very straight and will probably never notice. I don’t see them as end game but they are pretty fun to see together, especially when done well. I have no shippy feelings at this time. This is just one of those ships where I can’t really see them together because they probably have mistresses or have other relationships but I would love more friend fics with Courfeyrac and Bossuet since there is enough in their canon interactions to make me want more. My feelings cannot be summed up by this meme. Have a seat while I put the kettle on.

[decayingliberty]

Okay but what if Courfeyrac teaches Marius how to dance for his wedding with Cosette? And like it's really cute and they do the cliche "almost kiss while dancing" thing. At the wedding Cosette is wondering how Marius learned how to dance (she loves him, but last time they danced together it didn't end well) so Marius is all like "Courf taught me of course" and Courf spends most of his time drinking at the wedding ( a happier note, Courf is Marius's best man and make a really embarrassing speech)

ANON, this is my absolute most self-indulgent favourite scenario, I have started several fics leading up to a wedding like this and ugh, I love this so so much. Pining!Courfeyrac and happy!Marisette is my guilty pleasure ship. THANK.

Also, I’m having “Satisfied” from Hamilton feelings.

Everyone cries at weddings, except Courfeyrac.

The location is beautifully decorated, with flowers of white and blue and yellow and it looks and smells like the first days of summer, still refreshingly cool from soft spring breezes and warm enough to walk around with short sleeves. Musichetta has truly outdone herself this time, and surely who would not want to give their best for the wedding of this pair that seems like a match made in heaven. Happy, joyful and incredibly adorable.

Courfeyrac has done his part, too, by teaching the groom, his bumbling, gangly, awkward and freckled friend called Marius Pontmercy how to dance.

“May I?”

“Of course.”

The dance lessons have paid off, Courfeyrac thinks, as he watches how they twirl across the room, carefree and happy, and when Marius looks over to him, mouthing a silent thank you, Courfeyrac raises his glass and grins. He downs his drink when Marius is not looking.

“Follow my steps.”

“I’m trying.”

There is another duty waiting for him, a best man certainly has to give a speech and Courfeyrac is not one to disappoint. He has prepared this speech carefully, asking Combeferre and Enjolras and Joly and Jehan to look over it, and they have sat with, patiently adjusting his speech until it has seemed safe to give.

“Be gentle.”

“How?”

The speech is not off, at least that is what Combeferre assured him and Courfeyrac stumbles through it, lacking his usual eloquence and charm but they forgive him, it is a once in a lifetime occasion after all and no one can fault him for being nervous. He recounts the first time he and Marius met on the entrance to the law building when Bossuet has shoved him and send him flying into Courfeyrac’s arms and how Marius has asked for shelter one night, declaring that he has come to sleep with Courfeyrac.

There are other things in the speech, talks of friendship and love and longevity. Courfeyrac raises a glass to them, to Cosette and Marius, that their marriage may last and be open and fulfilling.

Courfeyrac feels dirty.

“Let’s stop. It’s no use.”

“I won’t give up on you, Pontmercy.”

There is not a lot that Courfeyrac regrets and he likes to pretend that this is not one of his regrets, likes to pretend that Marius’ happiness does not come with a price that he is barely able to pay, but this is not a fairy tale even though most people might think so, this is life, and in this life he has chosen to let go. Courfeyrac has to convince himself that this wedding is not penance but merely consequence and he hates himself for it.

“This feels like a goodbye.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Weddings are not really his thing but he will attend for his loved ones. If the expensive champagne is his only comfort, if being buzzed makes a formal gathering like this a bit more bearable, he is not one to refuse.

“Courfeyrac…”

“Let’s not keep dear Cosette waiting any longer. It’s quite rude, don’t you think?”

They all clap for him, for this wonderful speech and this wonderful friend, with smiles and tears of laughter in their eyes, and Courfeyrac thinks that they are wrong. He is not the good friend that they all think he is. He does not deserve their cheers.

Courfeyrac keeps his smile but the glass in his hand is trembling.

“Thank you for everything, Courfeyrac. You’re a good friend.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Everyone cries at weddings, including Courfeyrac.

[just-french-me-up]

Triptych

Enjoltaire Week | Day 1 | Painting

Summary:  Three portraits are discovered in a hidden cellar in Paris, all three dating back from the nineteenth century. What's weird is that the man in the portraits looks an awful lot like Enjolras. What's weirder is that the paintings are all signed "R."

Tags: Modern AU; Reincarnation AU; Rated G

Word count: 3.5k

READ ON AO3

"Remind me why anyone would choose to watch what is considered to be the worst movie in history?"

Enjolras sat on the couch and balanced a huge bowl of popcorn on his lap. Courfeyrac's picks for movie night were usually more mainstream and understandable. Well. As understandable as romantic comedies could be, but at least they didn't require much brain activity. At least it allowed Enjolras to switch off his brain and shove handfuls of popcorn into his mouth while wondering how heteronormativity and dumb misunderstandings had become such crowd-pullers.

"That's because it's an experience!" Courfeyrac argued, slumping on the couch next to Enjolras and seriously compromising the balance of the popcorn bowl. "As your best friend, I just can't let you die a Room virgin!"

"What's so great about it, anyway?"

"Everything! The acting is so bad! It's like... You know how people say that if you let monkeys in a room full of typewriters the monkey would eventually end up rewriting Shakespeare? Well switch the monkeys with aliens who only have a vague idea of how human interactions work and you've got The Room! It's flipping fantastic!"

Enjolras shrugged. The enjoyment of intrinsically bad media was beyond him.

"There are some really interesting studies about trash movies and their ironical audience, actually," Combeferre chimed in as he joined them in the living room. He brought heavy-looking pizza plates that he settled on the coffee table before settling next to Courfeyrac. "Something about collectively liking something so bad that it gets good."

"Exactly!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, triumphant. "So sit back and brace yourself for this absolute masterpiece."

He switched on the TV and started rummaging through the pile of DVDs to find the right one. Automatically, the first channel popped up on screen. The news were still on and a generic news anchor looked at the three of them in the eyes.

"Wait," Enjolras said before Courfeyrac could switch on the DVD player.

"And tonight we come back on an incredible discovering in Paris earlier today," the news anchor announced, "when three paintings were discovered in a cellar in the Latin Quarter. The three works of art allegedly date back from the nineteenth century and predate the Haussmanian renovations of the capital. For more on this story, we go to Olivier Barron in the Latin Quarter, Olivier?"

The three paintings appeared on screen. Silence fell on the living room, leaving nothing but the artificial chatter of the television. In his seat, Enjolras turned to stone.

"-Twitter already rushed to title the works names such as 'Apollo in Red'-"

"Enjolras..."

That jaw line. That nose. The same eye colour. Enjolras' throat tightened. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

"Holy shit," Courfeyrac whispered. "Enj, it's you!"

Enjolras shuffled some papers around, trying to get his hands on notes he had written down the night before, somewhere around his third cup of coffee o'clock. There were some points about the upcoming the labour reform he really wanted to discuss during the meeting, if only he could find the damn thing. A pat on his shoulder took him by surprise.

"I think you're looking for this," Combeferre said, handing him the very notes he was looking for. "I forgot to tell you I took it. I just added a few remarks."

'A few remarks' in Combeferre's vocabulary entailed enthusiastic and colourful highlighting and additional notes scribbled in the margins that were illegible, including to Combeferre himself. Still, two minds were better than one, and Combeferre's mind was an undeniable asset. Enjolras took the revised notes with a smile.

"Thanks, I'll read though them."

Combeferre nodded and took his seat between Courfeyrac and Feuilly. Enjolras was the only one standing at this point, towering over his notes and the various things he had brought with him. The chatter began to fade. They all turned their attention towards him. The meeting officially begun.

"Okay, guys, so I thought we could start things off with some details about the labour reform and how―"

"Er-Sorry," Courfeyrac cut off, "but aren't we going to talk about the fact that they found paintings that look exactly like Enjolras?"

His remark was met with a few raised eyebrows and confused looks. Enjolras nervously raked a hand through his hair. Courfeyrac had not let this go since the night before.

"Oh come on! It was all over the news! Didn't you see it?"

"Courf, I don't think it's―"

It was already too late. All the others had already taken their phones out. Enjolras stood there awkwardly while they checked the news, and even more awkwardly when their eyes went from the screens to him in shock. Joly's jaw dropped.

"Oh my god, Enjolras, it is you!" he exclaimed.

"There's even the mole on your shoulder!" Bahorel added.

"See? It's him, I'm telling you!"

Emboldened by the number of allies on his side, Courfeyrac started listing the similarities between the painting and Enjolras, much to the latter's dismay. Why did it matter? Maybe he had a nineteenth-century look alike who had the same mole at the same place. So what? Enjolras let out a long sigh that was immediately drowned in the voices rising from the table. He shared a look with Combeferre, who picked up on his mood.

"Okay, but can we try to focus on the meeting?" Combeferre tried, rushing to Enjolras' rescue.

Almost like reprimanded students, the rest of les Amis sat back properly on their chairs and quietened down. Enjolras nodded in Combeferre's direction as a 'thank you'.

"So, as I was saying―"

"It's signed R," Feuilly said, deadpan.

"What?"

"It's signed 'R.'," he repeated. "It written right here, 'all three works are signed by the same hand, an unknown painter only identified by the letter R.' R. Like Grantaire."

There was electricity in the air. All eyes turned towards Grantaire, who looked as stunned as the rest of them. The room grew suddenly silent.

"What?" Grantaire asked, shuffling uncomfortably on his chair.

"I mean, you have to admit it's weird," Bossuet said.

Grantaire pointedly avoided looking at Enjolras in the eyes, running his hand through his curls. That was a lot of coincidences, even for Enjolras. For a second, his mind when for outlandish scenarios about how Grantaire could have planted those paintings there for whatever reason, before his logic took over. No. That cellar had been buried underground for more than a century. There was no way for Grantaire to know it was there! And experts had already dated the paintings!

Enjolras cleared his voice.

"Grantaire, did you somehow go back in time to paint me before abandoning those paintings in a random cellar?"

Grantaire snorted.

"No."

"That's what I thought," Enjolras said, giving Courfeyrac a meaningful look. "Now, if that's settled, can we go back to the labour reform and how it's going to affect us all?"

The rest of the meeting went without a hitch, with the usual amount of wits, snark, and dedication Enjolras cherished in his friends. Joly had been in charge of writing down all the ideas and suggestions for them to use as a starting point the following week. All in all, an evening well spent.

They all lingered in the backroom of the Musain for a while, talking about more casual topics while they stacked the chairs against the wall. The room emptied slowly. Enjolras was putting his things away in his satchel when Jehan came up to him.

"Hey. Can we talk?"

They looked a little hesitant. Enjolras smiled at them in an attempt to put them at ease.

"Sure. What's up?"

"It's about that thing with the paintings."

Oh. Clearly something in his expression had changed, because Jehan rushed to add:

"Just hear me out. It's just―Listen, okay? Is it okay if we sit?"

Enjolras nodded and sat on one of the few remaining chair. Jehan took another and sat across from him. They looked very serious, all of a sudden.

"Okay, so when I was in highschool, I participated in that poetry contest my school organised every year. So I wrote my poem and submitted it, but it was denied. Plagiarism. Even though I'd written it all myself. I didn't get it, so I asked what the original poem was from, just to see it for myself. It was from an old poetry collection from the nineteenth century, a book that had been sleeping in the Parisian archives for decades. And my poem was in there. Word for word. And the rest of the book was just... me. My style. It was like an out of body experience."

Enjolras listened intentely. He didn't know what to think about it. It was too weird. Stuff like that... It was only weird coincidences, right? What was it that Courfeyrac said about monkeys and typewriters? Still, he could not deny the sick feeling weighing on his stomach.

"Do you know who wrote the poetry collection?"

Jehan shook their head.

"I asked, but the people at the archives just told me it was seized propriety from someone who had committed treason. Then maybe someone deemed the poetry good enough to archive it. There was no name on it. The last poem was written in 1832, and the pages are all blank, so I guess the poet was arrested around that time."

"Sounds like a free thinker," Enjolras smiled. "Maybe you have more in common than poetry. So you think it's a similar thing? That it's a coincidence?"

"I don't know," Jehan sighed. "But it's weird, right? I mean surely it means something. Stuff like that wouldn't randomly pop up unless there was an explanation behind it, even if it's not a scientific one."

That where Jehan differed from Enjolras. While Jehan accepted the metaphysical and the paranormal as a natural aspect of life, Enjolras' mind favoured more rational interpretations. It was weird, for sure. But people simply did not exist in two timelines. That didn't happen. They would know about it by now if it existed.

Enjolras rubbed his neck. It was stiff from staying up too late doing research on that fucking labour reform.

"I don't know what to tell you, Jehan. It's just beyond my understanding, you know? Maybe someone really looked like me, two hundred years ago. It happens. People have look alike, even today. As for the poem... I just don't know."

Jehan smiled at him softly and rubbed his shoulder.

"It's getting late, Enj'. Courf and Ferre are waiting for you. Get some rest, okay?"

"Thanks, Jehan. I'll try."

When Enjolras went to bed that night, he dreamt of a book of blank pages, and when he looked down, he had a rose in his breast pocket. The colour had bled onto his shirt, and the stain kept growing, and growing, and growing.

When he woke up, he could still smell a hint of gunpowder.

The following days were spend avoiding the news, which was highly inconvenient because a) Enjolras liked to keep himself informed and b) you never know how much news exposure there is until you try to avoid it. Enjolras just couldn't bear to see his face on the screen, or whoever's face it was. It freaked him out. It would have freaked anyone out. He didn't even know how Jehan coped with the fact that there was a book out there that mirrors their lyricism.

Eventually, he resorted to studying in his room, in the hope of avoiding the clutter of thoughts that raged in his mind. It's nothing, his reason kept telling him. In two centuries, at least two people were bound to look alike.

Still, he couldn't focus. He kept rereading the same sentence from his textbook over and over, none of it making much sense to a very noisy mind. Frustrated, Enjolras snapped the book closed and leant back against his chair. On his desk, his laptop was open on the google search page. He hesitated. Reason held back his hand, but another voice whispered to his ear. What if there was really something going on? Curiosity killed the cat, reason retorted. Enjolras took a deep breath.

Fuck it.

A quick search informed him that the paintings were being studied by experts in Paris, so that they could properly date it. A website had uploaded close up photographs of details, ranging from the golden laurel wreath crowning the model's head to his beauty marks. An uncomfortable feeling weighed on Enjolras' stomach. Even the details were uncanny.

The signature was studied under every angle, with matching hypothesis about who the painter could have been according to the loop of the R. People had really spent time on this. Enjolras was a stranger to art history and discoveries, so perhaps those paintings were a gold mine for people who worked in that field. Perhaps it was their Howard Carter discovering Tutankhamun's tomb moment.

He went back to the google homepage and typed "1832 France." The first results mentioned something about a cholera epidemic. Enjolras kept scrolling until something caught his eye. Republican Insurrection in Paris, 1832. Jean Maximilien Lamarque. He clicked the wikipedia link and started reading. Barricades, students, National Guard, Faubourg Saint-Martin... His eyes were glued to the screen.

That's something I could see myself participate in, Enjolras thought, before the uneasy feeling overwhelmed him again. That event felt too close for comfort. Yet, Enjolras kept on reading.

A knock on the door made him jump. He almost knocked his chair over, and himself with it. The sky had gone dark outside, and Enjolras's eyes had the greatest difficulty to adjust to the darkness. Someone switched the lights on.

"Are you okay?" Combeferre's voice asked.

"Yeah. I've just been staring at the screen for too long," Enjolras said, rubbing his eyes.

Though blurry, his vision got slightly better. For one thing, he could see Combeferre standing by the door. He was holding steaming mug in each of his hands.

"Is that coffee?"

"Infusion, actually," Combeferre smiled. "I came to see if you wanted one. You've been in here for hours, we were starting to get a little worried."

"I'm fine. I was just reading stuff."

Enjolras scratched his scalp and lifted his arm to accept Combeferrre's plant water. It wasn't coffee, but he had to admit he was parched. Combeferre sat on the bed next to him.

"Anything interesting?"

"Just history stuff. Very educational."

Enjolras closed the various tabs he had opened on the June Rebellion, accidentally missing the one about the three paintings. "Apollo in Red." The name seemed to have stuck.

"I thought you weren't interested in those," Combeferre pointed out, taking a sip out of his mug.

"I don't. I mean, I do but it's not... It's weird, right? I keep telling myself that it's not weird and that those kind of coincidences happen all the time, but it's still weird."

"Well it doesn't happen every day, that's for sure."

There was a moment of silence during which Enjolras sighed and dragged his hand across his face. His mind was buzzing.

"You look like you could use a break," Combeferre said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. "Come. Courf is making dinner."

Enjolras nodded slowly. Maybe he did need a break. He followed Combeferre to the kitchen, holding his warm mug against his chest. In his room, Apollo in Red shone in the dark.

A few weeks passed. Enjolras still heard about Apollo in Red here and there, but it was quickly replaced by other, fresher stories. His heart still made a double back-flip when he heard that the experts had situated the completion of the pieces around the 1820s early 1830s. After that, he did his best to direct his mind towards the future to avoid dwelling on the distant past. Whatever happened to that sitter or the poet of Jehan's book, they were long gone. There was no time like the present.

Yet, in spite of his best efforts, Enjolras couldn't seem to escape the past. One morning, Courfeyrac presented him with a museum ticket, sliding the piece of paper across the breakfast bar.

"Thank you?" he said, a little confused. And sleepy.

"They're putting the paintings on display today," Courfeyrac explained. "Now you can see them from up close."

Enjolras' gaze went from Courfeyrac to the ticket. It was too early for this. He didn't even know if he wanted to be awake right now.

"Or you can just go to the museum after class," Courfeyrac shrugged, since Enjolras hadn't said anything. "For fun. Or whatever you go to museums for. Elevate your understanding of humanity, or some shit."

Enjolras let out a hoarse chuckle in his mug.

"I guess I'll consider that as a cultural outing. Thanks, Courf."

He carried the ticket around in his wallet for the rest of the day. By the end of it, Enjolras had forgotten up to its existence. It's only when he looked for his métro pass that he noticed the piece of paper stuck between his ID and his insurance card. The museum was only three stations away. For a minute, Enjolras stood there, debating whether or not he wanted to dive head first into the uncanny and the unexplainable. He looked at his watch. The museum was closing in an hour. The past can't hurt you, he thought as he got into the coach, waiting through the three stations.

There weren't as many people at the museum as he had expected. Perhaps because closing hour was slowly but surely ticking by. Enjolras didn't need to look for the painting for long. They had made sure to guide people right to the jewel of the exhibition. As Enjolras entered the oval room where the paintings were kept, his attention wasn't directed to the paintings, but to a familiar face, standing a few yards away.

Grantaire.

Enjolras' heart did a somersault. There was something about seeing Grantaire here, right next to Apollo in Red, but Enjolras couldn't quite pin point it. One of his hands  held nervously on to the strap of his satchel as he came closer.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual, though the atmosphere didn't quite work in his favour. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Well, apparently I painted these, so I thought I might as well go and see them. My first exhibition. It's a very emotional moment."

Enjolras could tell he was joking, or endeavouring to. Maybe that's how he dealt with the uncanny and the unexplainable. On the wall, one of the paintings stared back at him. It was like looking in a mirror, but with a 180 year reflection delay. Enjolras lowered his eyes, stared down by his own image.

"Did Jehan tell you about their poem? The one that got denied for their poetry contest?"

Grantaire nodded, still looking at the paintings.

"Do you really thing it's remotely possible that this is me?"

"Maybe," Grantaire shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because it doesn't exist! It just doesn't happen like that. There's no way that could be me. I'm me, I am one person."

Voicing all the thoughts and doubts that had been reeling in his mind for so long felt liberating, though he had to keep his tone in check. Grantaire smirked at him.

"Now who's the skeptic, Apollo?"

"You can't be serious. It doesn't make sense."

"We're on a blue ball adrift in the universe, rotating around a giant ball of fire that will swallow us all one day. Nothing makes sense. Me painting you almost two centuries ago makes more sense than that."

Enjolras opened his mouth, but realised he had nothing to say to that. Yes. Maybe things didn't make sense. Maybe trying to make sense of it didn't make sense. He took a couple steps back and sat on a plastic bench. Grantaire followed him.

"So what if this is actually me? What does that mean?"

Grantaire shrugged.

"We may never know. But I have to say, my shading game was on point on that one."

"It's very beautifully done indeed," Enjolras agreed, giving him an amused look.

"Thank you."

"So that means we were close, right? If I sat for one of your pieces. Well. Three of your pieces."

He didn't really know if he was joking in all good fun or actually talking seriously anymore. For some reason, it felt right.

"Close enough for you to accept being drapped naked in a red sheet. It'd say that's pretty fucking close."

"How close?"

"Very close."

As close as they were now. Enjolras realised his hand was almost touching Grantaire's. To his own surprise, he found that he didn't mind it. On the contrary. That too, felt right.

"How much do you know about the June Rebellion?" Enjolras asked.

"What I've read online, why?"

"Well, I thought maybe you'd like to hear about it. It's all fascinating stuff. Maybe around a coffee, or something?"

He barely recognised the chirp in his own voice. Grantaire looked at him, as though he couldn't believe the words Enjolras had uttered. His face softened a second later.

"Yeah. Coffee sounds nice."

[mysunfreckle]

I'm taking advantage of my sisterly powers and asking for a short Musichetta pov piece about that bus meetcute with Joly :)

Now,Musichetta considers herself a patient woman. (In her more honest moments sheagrees that this technically does not mean she is a patient woman, but she is at least a great deal more patiencethan she could be.) The woman she currently has on the phone, however, istesting her patience severely. Musichetta is this close to having had enough…

Scratchthat, she has had enough.

“Yes, thankyou,” she cuts in icily, making the woman indignantly swallow her nextsentence. “I am well aware that you don’t answer to me and I would be more thanhappy to ask Ms. Bois to call you back herself-” That is a bluff. There is noway Musichetta is going to her boss over stupid linens on her first almost-soloevent. “-but let me tell you something,” she continues. “This is not about whatMs. Bois wants. Right now, I don’t work for her. Right now I work forBrianSettler. Who so far has been a delightfully laid-back groom and a joy to workwith, but who was very clear hewanted cherry red linens. Not orange.The samples you sent were red, what you just delivered is orange. So how do youpropose to fix it? Not for me. For the future Mr. Pattel-Settler.”

There is ashort silence on the other end of the line and then: “There was a mix-up at thewarehouse, I am sure we can find a way to fix it.”

“That wouldbe very much appreciated,” Musichetta says in her most pleasant voice. “I amavailable at any time if there is anything you need to discuss.”

Aftersecuring a promise that she would be kept up to date, she ends the call andlowers her phone with a sigh that is equal parts triumph and frustration. Sheglances around with an impatient movement of her head. How late is that busgoing to be? There is no bus, but there is a young man now also standing at thebus stop. He is looking right at her and unlike most people that get caughtstaring, he doesn’t look away.

“Can I helpyou?” Musichetta says, a little coolly.

“Sorry,” hesays apologetically and he looks away for a moment. “I’ve just never seenanyone so much.”

He smilesat her and Musichetta feels the annoyance roll inexplicably off her shoulders. Shefeels a smile pull at the corners of her own mouth. “So much what?” she asks, ina considerably warmer tone.

“Just…much,”he says admiringly. Oh…he’s cute.

She smilesa little wider. His smile is infectious.

“So you’rea wedding planner?” he ask and then he adds with nervous recollection: “I’m Joly,by the way, if that’s- I’m Joly.”

He’s notcute, he’s adorable. “Musichetta,”she replies cheerfully. “And technically I’m an event planner, but yes, mostlyweddings.”

“It soundedlike a stressful job just now,” Joly says pleasantly and Musichetta is tryingto remember the last time someone focussed so much earnest cheerful attentionon her without her getting even the slightest feeling of ulterior motives beingat play.

“Oh thatwas nothing,” she grimaces. “Last week I had to convince a couple they couldn’trelease chickens instead of doves at the ceremony.”

Joly laughsand dammit if he doesn’t snort adorably too. “Chickens are cool though!” hesays. “They’re related to dinosaurs you know.”

“Is thatwhat makes them cool?” Musichetta smiles.

“Well, itcertainly makes them cooler,” Joly replies.

Now it isno longer being watched for, the bus arrives. Joly makes a movement like hewants to let Musichetta get on first, but halfway through he changes his mind andquickly steps in himself.

“Afternoon,”Musichetta greets the bus driver. When she turns into the bus Joly has sat downby the window. There’s an empty spot beside him. Did he hurry in so she couldchoose whether to sit with him or not? She smiles and gestures at the emptyseat. “Can I?” she asks.

“Of course!”Joly beams.

She sitsdown and wonders what it would take to make him pull that face again. Becauseshe really needs to see that again. “You know anything cool about chickens anddinosaurs?” she asks merrily.

There’sthat face again. “I do!” he grins. “Like, when they were making the firstJurassic Park movie, they wanted the dinosaurs’ movements to be as realistic aspossible. So they threw Hollywood amounts of money at a team of palaeontologistsso they could figure it out. And they made these awesome models based on thebone structure of fossils and when they were done some of them took a step backand went: wait a minute guys…and hurried off to find a chicken.”

“They didnot,” Musichetta laughs.

“Well theyshould have,” Joly laughs back. “Anyway, they found out dinosaurs probably ranlike chickens do. Isn’t that just the best.”

Musichettacan only agree.

No bus ridehas ever gone by this fast. Joly is a joy to listen to. Musichetta hadn’t evenrealised she had so much stress bottled up from this morning’s meetings untilshe starts laughing it away. By the time her stop is almost coming up she isstarting to feel seriously conflicted. This guy is…awesome company. It’s likechatting with human sunshine. And he’s so cute it’s almost unfair. Should shegive him her number? Judging from the way he looks at her, he might beinterested. Then again, it’s not entirely clear if the Bossuet he has mentionedseveral times now is a roommate or more than a roommate. Still, having this guyas a friend is hardly a worst case scenario.

“I have toget off at the next stop,” she says regretfully.

“Oh!” Jolysays and she’s pretty sure there’s a flash of regret on his face too. “Well, it’sbeen lovely talking to you.”

“Likewise,”Musichetta smiles at him. “And if you’d want to talk to me again…” She quicklyopens her purse and takes out one of her cards.

Joly takesit with a startled, but very pleased expression.  “Thank you,” he says and yes, he’s actuallyblushing.

Musichettagets to her feet and smiles down at him. “Text me any time,” she winks. “Doesn’teven have to be about dinosaurs.”

His blushheightens a little and she reallyregrets having to leave now. But she’ll probably regret missing her stop more,or at least she will when Ms. Bois finds out she was late to the flowerappointment. So when the bus stops she dutifully gets up. “Bye, Joly!” shesays.

“Bye,Musichetta,” he replies happily. “Talk to you soon?”

“Youbetter,” she calls back. The bus driver smirks at her and she shoots him anutterly unapologetic grin.

[joly-and-the-satellites]

So uhm College AU? Grantaire running against Enjolras as President of the student government just to piss him off but Grantaire actually wins and he panics because "this wasn't part of the plan Bossuet stop laughing!" And he ends up asking sour Enj for help.

((Hopefully this is alright, anon!!))

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It was just a joke, for the love of god - just a harmless, playful little jest to get Enjolras’ attention, and maybe rile him up a bit. It was Grantaire’s favorite pastime, after all; and something he was rather skilled at, if he said so himself. The point stood, regardless of his talent: running against Enjolras for the position of Student Government President was nothing more than a joke. Hell, he’d even treated it as one - he wasn’t serious in the slightest, never dressed the part, was never on time, didn’t put up any posters asking for the votes of the other students… whereas, predictably, Enjolras was taking it all in stride with a certain solemnity; the exact opposite of Grantaire’s approach. He was clearly doing all he could to secure the position for himself - which was more than any of the other runners were doing by a mile. There was never a doubt in R’s mind that he would win by a landslide come election time; which was the deciding factor in whether or not he’d run against him. Enjolras already had it, as far as he was concerned. Which was why, when it had been announced that Grantaire had been named President, he’d choked on his drink to the point of scaring Joly into thinking he’d somehow managed to drown himself. Now, Grantaire was sitting on the edge of his bed, wine bottle in hand, wide-eyed, and struggling to fully grasp the situation. It was absolutely ridiculous.  Sure, he was sociable with others, got into less altercations, and was generally more laid-back and involved in things outside of politics than Enjolras; but that hardly meant he was President material! He was a far cry from it! He was no problem-solver, nor was he well-informed on the concerns and questions of the student body, as a whole or as segments; and he didn’t even understand what it all entailed! Did he have powers? Could he actually do anything with his title? Was he suddenly going to flooded with questions from other students? Would it give him any leeway if he turned an essay in a few hours past due? Grantaire ran a hand through his already unkempt hair, and took a swig from his bottle. “I cannot believe,” he started, only to be cut off by a snort from Bossuet, who sat next to him. He shot him a disbelieving glance - the other had a hand over his mouth to hide a mirthful grin, but his eyes were shining with laughter he was barely holding back. “I cannot believe - they elected me! What the fuck!?” Grantaire groaned in sorrow. He was nowhere near drunk enough for this. Bossuet broke into honest laughter then, shaking his head and wiping at his eye as if he’d teared up. R gaped at him, lowering the bottle to the floor before he turned to face him. How could he laugh!? This was an absolute disaster! “This wasn’t part of the plan, Bossuet!” He protested; this time, Bossuet snorted. Joly, who was at the desk typing up a paper on his laptop, snickered under his breath this time. Grantaire whipped around to face his other friend with a look of shock. Joly cast an innocent glance over his shoulder before he went back to typing, but his shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. Grantaire couldn’t believe this betrayal from his own best friends! It was treason! Dissent in the ranks! “Stop laughing!” R said, exasperation clear in his voice. “Alright, alright - I’m sorry!” Bossuet grinned, holding up his hands in surrender. It was exceedingly obvious, Grantaire decided, that he was not at all sorry. “It’s just… you were kind of asking for this, ‘Taire.” R was sure he was gawking at him; but he could safely say that his confusion was perfectly reasonable. There was no logical explanation for why R had won the election - but that hardly mattered now. Now, he was stuck with the aftermath; and more importantly, how he was to deal with it. He had responsibilities now that he wasn’t even aware of, he was sure, and he’d feel a bit stupid if he were to ask a staff member what his own job was supposed to entail. But he couldn’t travel through time, and he couldn’t call it off, or pass the job along to someone else– Grantaire grabbed his bottle from the floor again. “This is insane,” he groused. Joly leaned back in his chair with his arm slung over the armrest, the wood creaking faintly. He raised an eyebrow at Grantaire, seemingly doing all he could to withhold a smile. “He isn’t wrong, R. You knew the risk you were taking,” he informed him, a little giggle slipping out between his words. “Maybe you should just call Enjolras, admit that you don’t know what you’re doing, and ask for his help.” Grantaire choked on the wine he was gulping down at that suggestion - Bossuet, ever helpful, whacked him squarely between the shoulders. Grantaire ended up coughing. “For a doctor, you’re causing your patients a lot of problems,” Bossuet teased as R finally caught his breath, grabbing a half-emptied water bottle sitting on the bedside table instead. Joly shrugged a shoulder playfully, turning back to his laptop with a shake of his head. “I’m only saying - you need someone’s advice, R, and Enjolras would definitely be willing to help. Besides, he’s still a little bitter about the loss. Maybe this could gloss things over with him…?” Grantaire sighed heavily at that, dropping his head onto Bossuet’s shoulder for support; the other patted his shoulder sympathetically. Yet another downside to winning this horrendous election. Enjolras had suspected that Grantaire was only antagonizing him by running; and no doubt, he was probably more than just a bit upset about losing it to him in spite of his best effort. He had sent a short, too-formal ’Congratulations on the win.’ that morning, and he had not seen a single text or call since - apparently, neither had anyone else, with the exception of Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Grantaire liked to get him riled up, yes; but he didn’t like to make him angry, let alone upset. For all Enjolras was undoubtedly annoyed then, R knew he was at least a little morose about losing, and the knowledge was tearing him up a bit. He hadn’t intended to win; and never would he intend to cause him any dismay. But if he called now - admitted that it was all a joke gone wrong, that he had no idea what he was doing and couldn’t handle the duties of President on his own - Enjolras would be furious, and rightly so. Grantaire finally insisted, “I can’t call him.” Bossuet took a deep breath, leaning back on his hands - R followed the motion seamlessly, too distressed over the situation to bother with sitting back up. For all that their advice seemed impossible to follow through with, he was incredibly thankful for their presence here. He couldn’t ask for better friends than these two. “I agree with Joly-” “Thank you.” “-you really should call him. Whatever you think will happen, it won’t; I promise,” Bossuet assured him. “He might be a little annoyed, but he’s not going to hate you for asking for some advice. Just trust us on this one, alright…?” Grantaire glanced at his phone, which was sitting by his pillow; he had a handful of texts that he hadn’t yet responded to, almost all of which were concerning his position as President of Student Government… aside from some link to an undoubtedly ridiculous video Joly had sent him ten minutes ago. His head was suddenly filled with the thousand routes this scenario could follow. Enjolras might be furious. He might be annoyed. Maybe he’ll hang up. Maybe he’s blocked R. Maybe he won’t answer at all. Maybe… Bossuet nudged his shoulder lightly, as if hearing his doubts. Grantaire gave a heavy sigh, grabbing his phone as if sentencing himself to death as he shot Joly a rueful look. “I don’t understand why you’re always right.” Joly gave him a too-sweet smile, batting his eyelashes at R as he unlocked his phone. He pulled up his contact list - Apollo was the first name. He tapped the name, opening it up; but he just couldn’t bring himself to press the call button. His eyes wandered to the contact picture - one he’d snapped at a protest a year or so back, where Enjolras was holding a pride flag high over his head and above the crowd, his hair illuminated by the midday sun. God, he was stupid. Bossuet reached over, fast as lightning, and pressed the call button. R felt his heart stop as he scrambled to end the call, fumbling with the phone and almost dropping it. “Bossuet!” He screeched in horror, much to the amusement of the other two. Luckily, he hung up before anyone could answer - and he immediately shot the other a look of mock-annoyance before tackling him, almost throwing them both onto the floor. Bossuet pulled R’s hood up over his head and yanked the drawstrings shut with a laugh, pushing him back by the face. Temporarily blinded, Grantaire flailed to smack his hand away with a laugh, struggling to pull the hood loose and back from his face…… and his phone was playing Enjolras’ custom ringtone. Suddenly, the room was in dead silence, save from the phone’s tune. All of them swiveled to stare at it at once. Enjolras’ picture was on the screen - he was calling back. “… Joly, my love, text Bahorel, please.”“Why…?”“I need to know if R can legally kill me for this.”“Yes, probably.”“I’ll leave my lucky socks to you.”“Those socks are not lucky.”Grantaire was running on auto-pilot when he took the call; maybe he was a bit more drunk than he’d first believed. He held the phone up to his ear almost cautiously, glancing between the two as if they could offer him any help. Joly have a guilty smile, and Bossuet shrugged helplessly. “Hello? Grantaire, can you hear me?” Enjolras asked from the other end of the call. He didn’t sound upset, nor did he sound annoyed - but he was definitely on the fence of both. Grantaire cleared his throat nervously. “Uh… yes. Yes, I am hear you.” “You called me and hung up before I could answer,” Enjolras stated. “Butt dial,” Grantaire said quickly. “I sat on the button.” “Grantaire.”“Anyway, how were classes today? Anything interesting happen? Any essays? Projects?”“Grantaire.”“Yes?” He croaked. “Why did you call?”Silence overtook the call for a moment. Oh, no. How was he to explain this? He hadn’t had any time to think over what he would say, how he would ask, what he’d do if Enjolras didn’t take the request favorably–“Is something wrong?” The other asked, much more softly. Grantaire was so taken aback by the question that he couldn’t quite respond; he wasn’t even sure if he was breathing properly for a moment. “Are you alright? I can be over in five minutes, R, give or take-” “No! - no, it’s alright,  really, you don’t need to come over. I, uh… I’m perfectly fine. Nothing’s wrong. But I… might need help with something.” There was another break of awkwardly heavy silence, and Grantaire was suddenly very aware of Bossuet watching him in nervous anticipation. Enjolras sounded guarded when he next spoke, a certain edge to his words. “With what?”Grantaire took a deep breath to steel himself, feeling as if his face was burning. God, this was embarrassing - maybe he’d stop picking at him after this. (He knew he wouldn’t, but it seemed a sound solution.)“I… don’t think I can actually be President of Student Government, because I’ve got no idea what my responsibilities are and I didn’t intend to actually win or be taken seriously…?”Silence dragged out unbearably. It felt like seconds were crawling by at the pace of an elderly snail. R, for a moment, wished he would have just lied about it, or made something up on the fly. That would have been much easier than whatever hell he was about to unleash. “Unbelievable,” Enjolras said shortly. He didn’t sound furious; he wasn’t raising his voice. But then again, he didn’t need to. His tone said enough. He cringed. There was the fire and ice Grantaire was expecting. “You do know that any sort of election within the student body isn’t to be treated like a joke, correct? This was serious. I was serious.” Enjolras continued on. R ran a hand through his hair, shoulders slouching like a scolded puppy. “Yeah, I know. But… for what it’s worth, I didn’t think I had a chance in hell at winning. I was so sure you’d already won it,” he replied, hoping he wasn’t just feeding gasoline to the flames. Enjolras sighed sharply; Grantaire could almost imagine him rubbing at his temple to push back a headache. Wrong move on his part, apparently. “So what do you need to know?” Enjolras asked, his tone clipped and words short. Oh, you’ve put your foot in your mouth this time, Grantaire thought to himself bitterly.

“Well… I was really thinking that maybe you could just… help me do the right thing?” R started, trying not to sound too hopeful. Maybe if he took the right approach, Enjolras wouldn’t be so sour with him; maybe he’d convince him to help and patch things up between them a bit in the process. “You know better than I do what the other students need, I mean. You’re more in touch with what’s wrong, what’s unfair, what needs fixing; I just thought that… well, that you could help guide me along…?” The air was filled with the anticipation from his friends, and worry from himself; he could hear his heart drumming away as if caught between his ears, and could almost see Enjolras, sitting in his own room, phone in hand while he considered the request. Finally, he gave an annoyed huff. “Fine. But you had better not run against me next year, R.”Grantaire grimaced. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”“… I’ll be over soon. I’d rather talk in person than over the phone,” Enjolras announced. He sounded a bit aggravated, but nowhere near as incensed as he’d been before - really, he just sounded exhausted with the whole situation. R was hoping that was an improvement, if nothing else. “Have I ever told you that you’re the best person in the world, Apollo?” Enjolras immediately went back to his long-suffering, exasperated tone.“Please, don’t.”“No, really.”“R, I’m hanging up.”“Oh, come on! What will it take? Do I have to serenade you? Take you to a romantic dinner? I hear that the restaurant down on–hello? Enjolras?”“Did he hang up on you?” Joly cackled, already closing his laptop to leave. “No,” Grantaire argued childishly. “He lost service, that’s all.”