#but in my heart I feel like I met Enjolras and he told me to support the revolution

[polyjoly]

A few years ago at a con I met an Enjolras cosplayer. When I went over to talk to him he was fully in character. He called me "citizen", shook my hand, thanked me for supporting the revolution and invited me to the next Amis meeting.

Considering the real Enjolras personally invited me to a meeting I think it is safe to say I am basically an official member.

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part Twenty Eight

Summary: Enjolras’s parents receive information…and Enjolras and his wife settling in.

Warning/Notes: Shows the pov of Enjolras’s mother. Shows an interaction between his parents. Wanted to show a new development that will be happen for Enjolras.

Warning: Dated views on the United States..dated views between a married man and woman. Dated views of how a man of “higher status” should be. Mentions unaliving and events that lead up to it…and additionally threats of it possibly happening again.

❤️ s, reblogs and feedback is always welcome.

Loop and tug then pull. Loop and tug the pull. Loop and tug then pull.

“Will you please slow down?”

You made a face pausing, to look over at your husband. “Since when do you care?”

A scuffing sound came from him. “You know I do.” He sighed.

“What do you suppose I do?”

“Stroll in our garden. Write a letter to Julien.” He shrugged. “We don’t need you getting bad humors in your blood.” He absently chewed on his bottom lip.

“I could catch my death in the garden, it is quite frigid. And as you know, I don’t know where Olivier settled him and his wife.”

“Oh? I would have thought the boat would have reached its destination by now.” He remarked dryly.

A sharp knock sliced through the air. You met your husband’s eyes. His eyebrows rose, his mustache twitched.

“Yes?”

One of the elder servants, Xavier walked in.

“What is the reason for the disruption?” Your husband was not pleased.

Xavier, gave a small bow. “There is a solider here that wishes to speak with you.” He looked towards you.

You brought a hand over your heart. “Me?”

“Yes.”

You placed your crocheting beside you. Your husband, came to stand behind you. He met your eyes. You nodded.

“Allow him in.”

He looked like quite the brute before he even spoke. A chill fell over you. He was as big as an armoire. You bit the inside of your cheek, as he drew closer.

“You are the parents of the man known as Enjolras. Leader of a band of rebels.”

His tone was brisk, it was a statement. There was no question in his tone.

You shared a look with your husband. He let out a chuckle. It was the most cynical sound to ever reach your ears. It gave you a chill.

“Our son, is a student at the university.”

You swallowed.

“Him and his friends have been drinking their way through my money.” He paused. “A leader of rebels? No that is not my son.”

The man gaze fell onto you. Your heart stilled. “Perhaps, you naive of the facts mousier but your wife knows the truth.”

Your husband rose his brows. You swallowed.

“I, I…” You trembled. “All I know is he said he had to go to the colonies, that university bored him and he needed adventure.”

As you watched the man’s hand tighten and loosen in a fist, you felt is almost difficult to breath.

“He killed a young man, a Lieutenant in cold bold in a skirmish and you know nothing.” He rose his voice.

Your husband came out from behind you. “Excuse my tone, but how dare you enter my home and accuse my son of murder.”

“Your son came down from his perch, withdrew his pistol and shot him in cold blood.”

Your husband, stepped forward. “I barely could get his nose away from books. I had to practically bribe him to take up fencing. What is your basis for this accusation?”

“I watched him from where we stood our ground. It was my son’s life he took.”

You felt your heart wrench. You knew what he had told you. It had been the solider who had shot first; if that girl had not stepped forward it would have been in the cold, unforgiving ground. The shroud of mourning would be with you in every breath you took. You could understand the man’s anguish. But you could not help this man. You placed a hand over your heart.

“Mousier, I am terribly sorry all I know is I gave him some money for passage to begin his adventures over the great oceans.” You swallowed.

The man’s eyes narrow. You could practically feel his gaze.

“I find it unlikely but I do not wish to call a woman a lier in her home. His friend spoke of how he was as lethal and as deadly as an avenging angel.” His gave with relief went to your husband before it returned once again to you. “But know this, I will find him and I will kill him.”

Sharply he turned then and stormed out. Xavier was close on his heels who managed to close the door on the way out.

You barely took a barely took a breath before crumbling back into sofa. Your husband turned to you just as the two of you heard the front doors slam shut.

“Tell me what you know.” His words cut deeper then the solider’s.

The door opened. Xavier bowed.

“I am terribly sorry. I promise no further interruptions.”

“Good now leave us.” Your husband made. A dismissive gesture with his hand.

Xavier nodded and once again closed the door.

“Talk.”

“Can I have a brandy?” You needed to calm your heart.

“After.”

You felt ill but you nodded.

“After the conflict after the funeral of General Lamarque Julien and his men set up barricades. They knew the royal army would strike back and hard. Mind you it was during that conflict, that solider like that brute almost took his hand with his sword.”

“Is that so?”

You nodded.

“Continue.”

“The army attacked and they held them off. That was night he wed.”

You husband nodded. “I knew someone would pull on his heart, country and revolution could not steal his romantic heart completely.”

Your heart thudded a little harder. It was the kindest he ever spoke of him.

“He’s alot like you in that respect.”

“Oh dear husband,” You began.

“It’s an observation.”

He made a face, you couldn’t read under his mustache.

“Apparently, it wasn’t enough to keep him from actually fighting.” He absently moved his hand. “Continue.”

“Late, close to the midnight hour there was yet another attack. They held that off too. However, that is when that lieutenant mist have snuck behind their barricade. He was addressing his comrades when from below he took a shot at him. A young girl, someone who helped from time to time stepped just at the right moment. She took the bullet.”

You swallowed, you trembled. You could still see how he looked as he had spoke to you.

“And yes, he stepped down then and shot the man.”

“So it wasn’t exactly and execution?”

“Far from it.”

With a clink of glasses, your husband poured you both a brandy.

“So he fled with his wife?”

You nodded, the warmth of the brandy filling you.

“And you like her?”

“Yes.”

“Our son is now a man.”

He drank the entirety of what he had poured himself.

You didn’t know what to say.

“Is he going to the colonies?”

“No, just London.”

“Not many are lost traveling there. Good. I wouldn’t want to lose him to that ocean or even country.”

You blinked. Any response, any possible word became ensnared with another. You had no idea how to grasp onto any of it.

“Once it is safe for letters, tell me. I wish to write him.”

“Yes.”

“I am going to take some air.”

All you could do was take finish the last of your brandy.

********

“But sir, where is your servant shouldn’t he be here?” Asked the shopkeeper.

“One is by the carriage storing way the carpets.” He shrugged. “These are gifts to my wife, our house. I wanted to handle these other items myself.”

“You’re a romantic sir. Don’t let that side carry you away.”

“Thank you for the advice.”

Easily he picked up the trunk that held the lovely treasures, he wished to breathe life into the home the two of you now shared. There some clanging and shifting. It made him smile, he knew all of this would please you.

******

The wheels had groaned as they rolled over uneven streets that led to his destination.

Happily, he climbed out of the carriage and nodded to Beatrice the house keeper as she opened the door for him.

“Keep the door open. I have brought home one of first of many carpets.” He smiled.”tell me, where is my wife ?”

“In the library, sir.”

He nodded. Pausing, he shifting the trunk of treasures to his hip.

“Want me to take it sir?”

He shook his head as he tugged then loosened his scarlet scarf. “I got it. Has any letters arrived?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head no. She glanced down.

“There will be.” He said brightly and shifting again he continued on his path to you. He hoped you were not poorly with your energy.

******

The chair creaked under you as you adjusted the curtains. Frederick had done good, but you knew that you could do better.

“Ange! Qu'est-ce que tu fais là haut?”

You clung a little harder to the curtains at the suddenness of Enjolras’s voice. You had been lost in your thoughts. You were grateful to no have fallen off the chair.

“Just fixing the curtains.”

Giving the curtains a final shake, you grabbed your skirt and jumped the short distance down. Easily you made your way over to him.

Seeing the trunk in his hands and your eyes grew.“More treasures?”

He nodded and the smile that filled his face filled you with warmth.

“Yes. I am certain you will love what is in here.”

*******

You giggled. “Angela, would be furious.”

He slid you a look. “Good thing she is at the market.” A half smile curled his lips.

You were grateful that the connections that Enjolras’s solicitor gave you servants actually were pretty decent people. Greta would have approved of each of them.

You honestly not used to having such activity around the household. For so long it had been only you and Greta. It all reminded you of your childhood. When father was alive, there had been a handful more then just Greta. Enolras was kind to them. He didn’t particularly like the idea of having them. Though, he was also very aware of why they were needed.

If you were honest with yourself, as of late you had grown to be quite breathless when on your feet for too long, so were grateful for their help. During this last month, he had urged you to rest more. Since the two of you had not found a doctor to look at. you reasoned that the long journey had mostly like taken its toll on you.

The treasures; books and a few vases and even a statue or two covered the large table. Happily you looped your arm with his. It steadied the unease you felt from shaking out and straightening the curtains. You hoped he didn’t notice.

“What shall we grab first?”

******

Later, with the moon high in the sky. He brushed some hair from your face to place a kiss on your temple. It had been a few days but he was eager for a tankard and a card game or two. Perhaps, been some pleasantries exchanged someone who know of a doctor.

*****

He pushed the heavy wooden door was was greeted by the smell of the ale, straw that littered the floor and a rip of laughter from a lady who sat with a few men in the corner. He was certain she owned the place. But didn’t ask too many questions.

“Arthur! Maurice!”

He smiled and gave a wave. Soon he sat with the two men he had taken a liking too. They would have fit in nicely with Courfeyrac and Grantaire. A slice went through his heart at their memory.

Cards fluttered across the worn table, some ale even sloshed a few tomes free of the tankard before reaching his lips.

“James!” Arthur stood and called out. Not much longer, he couldn’t tell though he dod notice that the a few candles were lower then when he had first arrived.

He turned to look at the man who approached. He looked him up and down. His clothes appeared clean, not too worn. His hair despite being lank was inky black and he appeared to look out from under his green eyes were sharp as he looked out from under his bushy eyebrows. Though as he neared a warm smile cracked his angled face.

Arthur returned the smile with a broader one. “James, welcome back from the country.” He clapped the man on the back.

“Good to be back. And happy to report no serious ailments, only the boredom of wives kept in the country and the gentlemen eager for conflict with news of clashes in France.”

He saw Arthur nod.

He stiffened at hearing his home country. A blur of the conflicts he went through raced in his mind like a stallion that longed to be free. It made a shadow of bittersweetness fall over him.

“James,” Arthur turned to him. “Allow me to introduce you to a few friend. Julien, new to the area with his sweet wife.”

James nodded at him, he lifted his tankard. Soon the man took a chair near him.

“You were in the country?” He asked him while glancing away from his cards.

“I am the local physician of sorts.”

His mood lifted hearing the man.

@henry-cavs-tudor @corrodedcoffn @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @kindablackenedsuperhero @amethyst-serenade @moondev1l @samunson83 @julieteagk @little-wormwood @wafflepixie @shadyhamiltonfanatic @gretavankleep37 @peacefroggg23 @capailluiscedove @poisonedeuphoria

[ultrafadedheart]

je suis prêt

Grantaire and Enjolras have been friends for a year since meeting in college, and now they're sitting face to face in a cafe. Things have been tense lately, what with the sheer amount of work Enjolras is doing to support himself. Grantaire isn't doing much better. He's been holding onto feelings for far too long. Are they finally ready to bring their feelings to light?

“I think I might like you. As in more than friends.”

Enjolras stared across the table, his face washed with a blank expression. His lips parted slightly, but no words would dare come out. How could they? Sure, he did feel the same in some sort of way, but now was not the time for romantic entanglements. He was busy and besides, between all of his classes and engagements there was no way he had time for romance.

Yet, something held him back. It was like a hiccup inside of his own mind. On one hand, he did have his mind made up. He had decided that he would push his feelings down, never to confront them; until they eventually, like all things do, would fade. The other side of his mind, the more heartfelt side, was screaming the exact opposite; against any rhyme or reason, he knew that he had feelings for Grantaire. 

“I hope I didn’t scare you,” Grantaire stated, growing nervous about the non-response from Enjolras. He leaned into his seat, unaware of the thoughts racing through Enjolras’ head, but he had a notion as to what it might be. 

“No,” Enjolras replied, shaking his head lightly. “I’m quite alright. Just…,” he paused for a moment, wondering what to say. 

“I’m just at a loss for words,” he said, finishing the sentence moments later than he had begun it. 

Enjolras met Grantaire’s eyes for just a moment, and if it weren’t for the logic of the brain, the heart would’ve taken over Enjolras in that moment. He looked away within a moment of having met Grantaire's eyes, worried that his heart would, in fact, take over the moment. 

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” Grantaire hurriedly told him. “I just…” he trailed off. “I just needed to get it off of my chest.”

The words hurt, to say the least. Enjolras, of course, did feel the same way, yet he couldn’t muster the courage to respond to it. There, in that moment, he could almost reach out and touch his perfect life that awaited him with Grantaire, but he couldn’t. 

Enjolras was intimidated by his feelings, much less had he worked through them yet. He had only known Grantaire for a year, which led him to wondering if his feelings were even real; or if they were just a bit of wandering lust. It was settled. He wouldn’t say anything about his feelings. 

“Thank you for telling me Grantaire,” Enjolras said cooly. “While I am flattered, I can’t say I share your feelings.”

Grantaire glanced away for a moment, silently inhaling a deep breath. His eyes lulled for a moment. “Okay, then. Now we’re past it.”

Enjolras gave a small smile, the most his heart could muster up for him. “Yes, we’re past it.” He looked down at his watch before realizing the time. “I really need to head home, Grantaire. It’s getting late, I have work I need to do.”

Grantaire nodded. “Go on, then. I’m going to stick around here for a bit. Call me if you need anything.”

Enjolras stood from the table in the cafe, his eyes glancing towards the door, and once more back at Grantaire. “I will. I’ll see you later.” 

His legs carried him away, while his own mind continued to race, thinking about the encounter. His heart ached at the lost opportunity of the thing he wanted very most. It was a dreadful feeling placed upon him, as if the world itself were weighing down on his chest. The logic inside his mind, however, thanked him, as he had enough to worry about surrounding work and classes. 

Interested? Click here to finish the rest on AO3.

[storiesforallfandoms]

for the revolution ~ enjolras;les mis

word count: 2101

request?: no

description: she wants to fight for her country, but he won’t let her, so she decides to disguise herself

pairing: enjolras x female!reader

warnings: swearing, violence, death, mentions of steamy stuff at the beginning

masterlist

i watched les mis for the first time last night, so if this has an inaccuracies please forgive me as i’m currently writing after one viewing (also i’m gonna be changing how it all ends just for a more fluffy ending instead of a sad one)

His body was pressed against hers, both of their bodies still stuck together with sweat. Enjolras’ lips gently grazed her neck, causing her to giggle every time he touched her sweet spot.

It took a lot of will power, but finally Enjolras separated himself from her. He began to stand, only for (Y/N) to take hold of his hand and pull him back into the bed.

“Must you go already?” she asked with a pout.

“I have to meet with the boys,” he told her, although he moved his arms around her to hold her close.

“You’re starting a revolution tomorrow, you can spend one night with your girlfriend. Especially since you are leaving me tomorrow.”

Enjolras sighed and kissed the top of (Y/N)’s head. “Not this again, my love. You know I am leaving you for your own safety.”

(Y/N) propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at her boyfriend. “I do not understand why you won’t let me join you lot. Gavroche is fighting with you, and he is a child!”

“You know it has nothing to do with your gender, as you keep insisting it is. It is because I cannot stand the thought of you being hurt. This is my fight, our fight, this isn’t a fight for you.”

(Y/N) cupped Enjolras’ face. “It is our fight, Enjolras.”

He sighed and pulled away from her. He turned his back to her as to make it easier to dress himself to leave. He knew that if he looked at (Y/N)’s face he would cave and stay with her. He promised his men he would meet them tonight, he had to meet them tonight. They started their revolt in the morning.

(Y/N) watched sadly as Enjolras reluctantly pulled his clothes on. She understood that he was just worried for her safety, but (Y/N) was also worried for his. She knew how dangerous this was going to be, she knew that the policemen would not stand down against the Friends of the ABC, and neither would Enjolras and his friends.

She just wanted to protect him, and to fight for her country at his side. She wanted to be a part of history.

Enjolras turned to look at (Y/N) one more time. She looked up at him with those beautiful eyes that he loved more than anything. He approached the bed and leaned over to gently kiss her forehead.

“I will come back to you, my love,” he promised.

“I will be waiting,” she responded.

Enjolras smiled. He had to pull himself away from her before convincing himself to stay.

Once the door closed behind him, (Y/N) softly counted to 60, making sure he was gone and that he wasn’t coming back, before she quickly jumped up from the bed. She made quick work of collecting some of the clothes Enjolras had left at her place and pulling them on. They were very obviously big, but nothing too suspicious. And they covered any...identifying features on her body.

She picked up one of Enjolras’ hats and stuffed her hair underneath it. There was no way to change her face, the face that Enjolras knew so well. She just had to hope that he wouldn’t see her, or that none of his friends would recognize her face.

Her heart was racing as she made her way to the pub that she knew the Friends of the ABCs always met at. When she arrived, they were already setting up the barricades. She was quick to join, trying to blend in the best she could.

“Oi! Who are you?” asked one of the men. (Y/N) recognized him as Joly, one of Enjolras’ friends. He was looking at her long and hard, waiting for her response. She privately prayed that he wouldn’t recognize her.

“I-I - ” she stuttered, trying to come up with an answer.

“She’s with us Joly.”

Another familiar face came to (Y/N)’s aid, but this one, much like her, was dressed in a disguise.

“You don’t have to be so suspicious over everyone, Joly, she is just a young buck like us,” Eponine said, putting an arm around your shoulder. “Come, arm yourself.”

She led (Y/N) away from a still suspicious looking Joly.

“What are you doing?” (Y/N) whispered to her brave friend as she picked a gun and shoved it into the waistband of Enjolras’ pants.

“The same as you apparently,” Eponine responded. “I want to be part of the revolution, and I’m trying to look out for Marius.”

(Y/N) followed Eponine’s longing gaze towards the man she had been hopelessly in love with for years; Enjolras’ best friend Marius. Her heart ached for Eponine, especialyl with the latest news that Marius had fallen in love with a strange, blonde girl.

“I just want to be a part of the revolution,” (Y/N) told her friend. “Enjolras refuses to let me take part, but I want to fight for this country. You cannot tell him I’m here, please.”

“Of course, they don’t even know that I am here,” Eponine promised. “Just...stay safe, please.”

(Y/N)’s eyes trailed back to Marius, who was now talking to Enjolras. She looked at the man she loved, imagining the devastating heartbreak he would feel if he lost her on that day.

“I will,” she told Eponine. “I promise.”

~~~~~~

The watch was boring at first. Little excitement happened, besides the reveal of an undercover police officer trying to infiltrate the barricades.

(Y/N) was sat behind the barricade, huddled next to another of the men, when a shot rang out. She quickly looked over and felt her heart break when she saw little Gavroche holding a bullet wound with one blood soaked hand.

“No!” she exclaimed before she could stop herself. “He’s a child, leave him alone!”

Another shot rang out, hitting Gavroche again. He stumbled this time, his skin turning deathly pale. A final shot deafened (Y/N)’s ears, but she couldn’t tell from what side the shot had come as one of the police officers fell at the same time that Gavroche did.

She began to climb over the barricade, desperate to get to the lifeless little boy. Someone grabbed her arm and tried to pull her back. “Are you insane?!”

“We can’t leave him out there!” she cried, forgetting to disguise her very feminine voice. “We have to bring him back, we can’t leave him!”

Whoever grabbed her pulled on her arm hard, causing her to spin to face him. (Y/N) came face to face with the blue eyes and curly blonde hair she loved more than anything.

“(Y/N),” Enjolras breathed.

(Y/N) pulled her arm free from her boyfriend’s grasp before he could say anything else. She pulled her gun from her waistband and began to fire on the closing officers.

A sense of pride swelled in her as she watched officers fall from her gunfire. The other men followed suit, climbing from their hidden spots and opening fire. They were outnumbered, but they weren’t going down without a fight.

(Y/N) saw the officers coming closer to Gavroche’s body. She looked over her shoulder at Enjolras, who was busy trying to battle himself. She took a deep breath and leaped over the barricade, quickly sliding down to cradle Gavroche’s small body in her arms.

He felt weightless as she lifted him. His whole life ahead of him, taken by those damned officers. (Y/N) had started back up the barricade when she felt a stabbing pain run through her shoulder. She screamed in pain but refused to back down. She was near the top when another searing pain shot through her stomach, causing her to exclaim in pain again.

One of their men took Gavroche from her as another pulled (Y/N) the rest of the way. At some point, she had lost the hat concealing her hair, but she didn’t care anymore. She laid back against the barricade, one hand covering the wound on her stomach. She winced as she put some pressure on it in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

“Out of the way!”

Through her blurring vision (Y/N) could see Enjolras as he knelt in front of her. He looked over her injuries, trying to put pressure on the wound on her shoulder but stopping every time she winced.

“Why did you do this?” he asked her as he pulled her into his arms, cradling her the same way she had cradled Gavroche. “Why did you come like this? Why did you come at all? I told you - ”

“Foolish of you to think I’d listen,” she responded, her voice weak.

Enjolras smiled through the tears forming in his eyes. “You have me there.”

(Y/N) smiled as well before beginning to cough, the taste of something metallic coming up in her mouth. Enjolras held her tightly and kissed her forehead. “Stay awake for me, okay love? We’ll get you help, but you have to stay awake.”

The edges of her view were starting to fill with black spots. “It’s getting hard to see, Enjolras.”

“I know, love, but you have to fight it, okay?” Over the continued gunfire, he shouted, “I need help! Someone, get her some help, please!”

The sounds around her became more and more muffled as the black began to swallow her whole.

And suddenly, she felt nothing.

~~~~~~

(Y/N) woke up some time later. She wasn’t sure how long she had been out. She wasn’t even sure she was alive. She was sure those wounds had killed her, that she was waking up in heaven.

The hot pain coursing through her shoulder and stomach, however, alerted her that this was far from the truth.

She opened her eyes and immediately cringed as the sunlight beamed in through the windows. She closed her eyes as her head pounded from the sudden bright light. Through her closed lids, she could see the light disappear. When she opened them again, she could clearly see the face of Enjolras leaning over her.

“You’re awake,” he said, softly. “I was so scared that you...”

He trailed off as he took her hand in his and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“How long have I been out?” she asked him. Her throat felt raw, from lack of use she assumed.

“A few days,” Enjolras replied.

Her eyes widened. “What? Days? Enjolras, what have I missed? Where is everyone? Have we won?”

“Calm down,” he told her. (Y/N) realized then how painful her wounds felt when she got worked up. “We won.”

Relief washed over her and she couldn’t help but laugh to herself. Enjolras smiled at her response, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

A realization hit her in that moment. “Gavroche.”

Enjolras’ face darkened as he looked down at their intertwined hands. “We...we lost a few good people. Eponine was among them.”

(Y/N)’s heart broke. She felt tears welling in her eyes. “And Marius?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No, Marius made it out. Eponine took a bullet that was meant for him. She...she died in his arms.”

Although the fact that her friend was dead hurt her greatly, (Y/N) was glad to know that Eponine had died in the arms of someone she loved, someone who loved her even if it wasn’t in the same way that she wanted.

“I’m so sorry, Enjolras,” she said, her voice just barley a whisper. “I’m sorry for going against what you asked me to do, and for worrying you like I did. I just...I wanted to - ”

“I know,” he cut her off. “You wanted to fight like the rest of us. I understand. I cannot be mad at you for that. I’m just...I’m so glad you’re alive. I’m glad that I haven’t lost you.”

(Y/N) squeezed his hand. “You’ll never lose me, love. I promise.”

Enjolras smiled and climbed onto the bed next to (Y/N). He took her in his arms and held her close, the way he had that fateful day before the revolution started. He held her tightly to him, as if afraid that letting go would mean losing her again.

(Y/N) settled into Enjolras’ chest, taking in the familiar scent and warmth that came with him. “I’m glad you’re okay, too, love.”

Enjolras smiled to himself and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “Rest, love. When you’re feeling better, I’ll take you out into our new world.”

[astrowitch]

An Enjoltaire WIP

This is a scene from a big project I’m currently working on. As you may be able to tell, this scene is unfinished, but I’m pretty proud of it so far. I’ve tried to make the dialogue as authentic as I can to the 19th century, but it can be hard to do while still trying to be true to your own writing. It’s definitely ambitious, but I’ve tried my best, so please be patient with me. 

June 4th, 1832

“Grantaire, please just listen to me-“

“No! I’m not going to listen to you justify getting yourself killed!”

“You don’t know that I’ll be killed! What if we succeed? Then we still have time…then we have a bright future for France!” 

Grantaire sighed deeply, a sense of despair washing over him as he exhaled. 

“Enjolras, mon ange,” He began, gripping the blonde man’s soft, slender hand within his own big and rough one, “You are so idealistic. How I envy you and pity you at the same time. Your mind is beautiful, optimistic, everything I’ve ever wanted to be. But it is unrealistic. The National Guard will not listen to the people, much less students. I’m begging, if you just call this off, no one has to die. We can…we can be guaranteed time,” Grantaire’s voice caught in his throat as he finished what he was saying. Of course, right when he had earned a stroke of luck, the thing that he was living for was to be stripped away from in a matter of hours. Grantaire so desperately wanted to wake up tomorrow morning in his rooms with his lovely Enjolras in his arms and the sunlight beating down upon them. He knew that this wish was in vain, for Enjolras was the most selfless person he had ever met. He couldn’t be satisfied until everyone around him was. Grantaire would follow Enjolras to the ends of the Earth, so deep down, he knew that not only were these his last day or two with Enjolras and his friends, but also his last days alive. 

Enjolras had a look of frustration on his face, but still had a firm grip on Grantaire’s hand. His blue eyes bore straight into his lover’s soul, and Grantaire wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold his tears back. Hell, Grantaire didn’t even know if this Heaven he had been taught about was real. If God was real, how dare he burden this suffering upon Grantaire’s, Enjolras’s, and all of France’s backs. 

“Grantaire, nothing you say can stop me. I know what I must do. My duty lies with France, and I cannot let her down. I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my days with you, not a care in the world, but none of that is possible until France is reformed! When I feel the crunch of the monarchy beneath my feet, I will be at rest,” Enjolras rambled, his grip on Grantaire’s hand getting tighter. His eyes told a different story than his words, and it was easy to tell just how terrified Enjolras was behind his cover of fearless leader. It was in moments like these that Grantaire recognized Enjolras’ humanity, contrary to when he first met the man. 

Alexandre Enjolras was not a god. He was just a boy with a dream. 

Cynical Adrien Grantaire was irrevocably and utterly in love with him. Grantaire’s heart was breaking more every second he thought about losing his love. 

“Enjolras, please. I can’t lose you. I-,” Grantaire choked on a sob before he could mutter those three words to the boy in front of him. 

Arms immediately came to envelope Grantaire in a tight embrace. He felt the familiar soft curls brush up against his neck, and he tried to keep his sobs under control. 

“I know, Adrien. I know. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry-,” Enjolras was speaking through tears too, as Grantaire felt them soaking the collar of his shirt. It was even more unusual to hear Enjolras speaking his first name though, then it was to see him shedding a tear. 

Shakily, Grantaire brought one of his hands up from Enjolras’ waist to card it through his Apollonian curls. “I…I would call you Alexandre, but I think you might actually kick me,“ He tried joking, but it came out watery and desperate. Enjolras still let out a broken laugh, and Grantaire’s heart soared at the thought of himself bringing Enjolras joy. 

“Grantaire, I- there’s just so much I want to say to you and so little time. There are so many injustices in the world, and I feel that this is one of them,” mused Enjolras, his composure clearly cracking. 

“I think we’ve finally come to an agreement on something. How bittersweet those words taste on my tongue in a time like this,” Grantaire leaned his forehead against Enjolras’ own. The pair of them were an incredibly melancholy sight. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras broke Grantaire out of his cage of darkness. 

“Yes?” He replied, the smallest twinge of hope manifesting in his voice.

“I…I need you to stay as far away as you can from the barricade tomorrow. I may be risking my life, but…but you don’t have to. Do you understand me?” These words looked like they were physically painful for Enjolras to say, like thousands of little knives pierced his throat as they fell from his mouth. 

Grantaire let out a humorless laugh at that. “Enjolras, you really believe that I will stay away from you tomorrow?” He started.

“Grantaire, please-“ 

“Enjolras. My world is nothing without you. I have no one if you and the others are to expire at the barricade. Living alone for eternity is a far worse fate than dying together. I told you that I would never abandon you, and I intend to keep that promise. There…there is no longer an Adrien Grantaire without an Alexandre Enjolras I’m afraid. My soul intertwined with yours the moment I laid eyes on you. Tomorrow, I’ll be there with you. I’ll die with you…and I’d do it over and over again for a million years if it meant I’d get to experience whatever we have,” Grantaire exhaled after he spoke these honest words. 

Enjolras surged forward to capture Grantaire’s lips in a passionate kiss. Grantaire felt tears staining both his and Enjolras’ cheeks as they embraced. It was horribly poetic, their tears mixing. All their anguish was shared, much like their fates seemed to be. When Enjolras finally pulled away from their kiss, he buried his face in the crook of Grantaire’s neck, hiding himself from the world. He was holding on to Grantaire impossibly tight, like he’d somehow slip away from his grasp if he didn’t. 

It was then Grantaire heard the most heart-wrenching sound; Enjolras gasping for breath, sobbing helplessly into his neck. This was so unlike the Enjolras that he had first met that it was almost disconcerting. This Enjolras was vulnerable and loving instead of cold and militaristic. This was the Enjolras that a lot of people didn’t have the pleasure of seeing. Of course, it was clear that Enjolras cared deeply for others, but he had never broken down like this before. 

“Shhh…I’m here. We’re going to get through this…together,” Grantaire soothed, holding the golden boy in his arms close. 

“I…I’ve never-“ Enjolras began, “I’ve never felt like this before. Oh, how Marius underestimated me in his speech about the girl he met. I do know how it feels to…to…,” he stumbled. 

“To?” Grantaire questioned, hoping that this was going the way he believed it was.

“To be in love. Grantaire, you’ve changed me for the better. How could I have gone on to die without knowing how it felt to be cared for by you? You’ve made my task so much more difficult than it was before, not only because you have a fondness for playing Devil’s Advocate. You have the kindest heart I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. I’m honored that you let me in,” Enjolras didn’t have time to finish what surely would’ve been a long, rambling proclamation of love because Grantaire so quickly captured his lips in another kiss. 

“So many call me cynical, but more honest words have never been spoken than when I told you that I loved you from the moment I saw you. I have been your beloved Patroclus from the very beginning, and you my Achilles. How queer it is that we’re also condemned to a tragic end! Maybe it makes our ephemeral romance all the more fascinating,” Enjolras couldn’t help but grin as Grantaire began his waxing of the classics. It was one of many little quirks he adored about the artist. 

When Grantaire finished his spiel, the hopeless expression returned to his sullen face. Enjolras mirrored it, pressing his forehead against Grantaire’s own. 

“We will treasure this night, live in our own world. Tomorrow, we return to the situation at hand. We honor General Lamarque, and we will rise up and show the king that we are tired and desolate. If we are to perish, at least we have made a point. At least we have perished for the sake of the people,” Enjolras, ever the patriot, insisted passionately. If this wasn’t such a tender moment between the two of them, Grantaire normally would’ve started an argument, but he had the wise judgement to not say anything. 

[kjack89]

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 6/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage with all the shenanigans, and what comes after the wedding? Why, the honeymoon, of course. This got long, so I had to cut it, and, uh...sorry not sorry in advance for where it ends ;) (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3, chapter 4 tumblr | AO3, chapter 5 tumblr | AO3)

Weddings, though usually happy affairs for the couple and families involved, always bring with them a certain amount of disappointment. Disappointment for suitors who find themselves spurned; disappointment for distant relatives hoping to inherit; and disappointment, perhaps most of all, for you, dear readers, as they usually signal the end of a scandal. 

It is thus with a somewhat heavy heart that this Author reports that the wedding between the Marquess of Enjolras and Adélaïde Grantaire has occurred without complication and with seemingly little fanfare. They were wed in a small, private ceremony with two of Mr. Grantaire’s household attendants as witnesses. And, assumedly, Mr. Grantaire himself, though interestingly, this Author has it on good authority that his is not one of the signatures on the marriage certificate as an official witness. An unusual move, to be sure, but nothing about this particular wedding can be otherwise described as usual.

In any case, friends and family alike await the Marquess’ return to the city, though no one seems to have any idea when that event may occur. The Earl of Courfeyrac was overheard lamenting to Viscount Prouvaire that none of their friends were invited or even informed of the wedding before reading it in this very column. Even more unusual than not standing as witness to one’s sister’s wedding may indeed be not informing one’s closest friends of one’s pending nuptials, especially when said nuptials are surrounded by scandal.

Perhaps this illustrates why the Marquess has not yet returned – between his mother and his friends, he is certain to have quite a bit of explaining to do. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 7 MAY 1831 

Dinner following the wedding was an understated affair, nothing like the grand feast that Enjolras was certain his mother would have planned had this been a real wedding. And while he and Grantaire carried on their conversation as if nothing much had happened that day, he couldn’t help but feel that something between them had shifted, something he could not quite find the name to but which left him feeling unmoored.

As the evening drew to a close and both men finished their after-dinner drinks (a rather hefty glass of whiskey for Grantaire, a roughly thimbleful amount of cognac for Enjolras, and only grudgingly because they were ‘celebrating’), Enjolras felt like he needed to say something, though he wasn’t entirely sure how to broach the topic.

As usual, he picked the worst possible way.

“What you said earlier,” he started as they headed upstairs from the library, and Grantaire paused, tilting his head slightly as he glanced at Enjolras, clearly waiting for an explanation of what Enjolras could possibly be referring to, and Enjolras flushed slightly before elaborating, “about the wedding night.”

Grantaire straightened, his expression evening out. “A joke, of course,” he assured Enjolras, before adding, with just a hint of a smirk, “After all, I’m not a lord, so I’m not entitled to Primae Noctis.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That so-called right is apocryphal at best,” he huffed, irritation spiking at the thought of any member of the nobility claiming some kind of right to rape a subject. “Besides which, wouldn’t it only entitle you to sleep with your sister?”

Again, possibly the worst way to continue the conversation, but Grantaire just winked at him. “That’s what you think.”

Despite himself, Enjolras blushed and looked away before clearing his throat. “Rights to the wedding night notwithstanding, I don’t believe I said it earlier today, so thank you. For...everything.”

He hoped he wouldn’t need to elaborate, not because he was incapable of enumerating the great many ways Grantaire had been of service to him in recent days but because he suspected Grantaire was in a mood to turn anything he said into a joke.

To his surprise, Grantaire did not joke in response, instead frowning slightly as he paused at the top of the stairs where they were set to part to attend to their individual bedchambers. “There is no need to thank me,” he told Enjolras. “I would do the same for any of our friends.”

“Would you?” Enjolras asked, more rhetorically than anything, because he suspected they both knew that the answer was contrary to Grantaire’s words. “I asked you once, before, why you were doing this. You did not answer me then, but I thought, given everything that has happened today, you might answer me now.”

Grantaire sighed. “Enjolras—” he started, but Enjolras just shook his head.

“Why did you do all this?”

“Because…” Grantaire trailed off, something unreadable crossing his face, and before Enjolras could so much as blink, he had closed the space between them, reaching up to cup Enjolras’s cheek with one hand, the other closing around Enjolras’s cravat.

And then he kissed him.

This was not the simple pressing of lips together of before, the fumbling move Enjolras had made at the wedding. This was like a fire that seemed to sear through Enjolras from the moment their lips touched, an electricity that sparked an absolute awareness of how Grantaire’s body pressed against his, and above all else, an overwhelming and inexplicable desire to pull Grantaire even closer, to rid themselves of the fabric that were the final barriers between them, or to—

But before Enjolras could react or respond in kind, Grantaire pulled away, looking horrified. “I am sorry, my lord,” he gasped, and there was no trace of his usual joking in his use of the title. “I should not have – forgive me.”

And without another word, he disappeared into his bedchamber, leaving Enjolras standing alone in the hallway, more confused than ever.

----------

Enjolras did not generally consider himself a vain man, but there were a number of things about himself that he took pride in, one of which was his intellect. There was not usually a puzzle that he encountered which he could not decipher, or, at the very least, develop a treatise on the tools needed so that the masses could decipher the puzzle.

But Grantaire was an enigma. Had always been, from the moment they had met, Enjolras a serious boy barely on the verge of manhood, Grantaire a seldom-serious man who, as Enjolras had recently learned, had left boyhood behind long before their meeting. Where Enjolras could understand each of his friends’ motivations, the driving forces that had led them to their group, he had never understood why Grantaire joined them and a cause in which he harbored no belief, and even less why he had stayed over the years.

And yet despite their numerous arguments, the shouting matches that caused the walls to shake or even just the bickering that peppered most of their conversations, he had never once made Grantaire leave.

He understood his reasons for that least of all.

Of course, his kiss with Grantaire, and Grantaire’s reaction to it, might beat it out for things he didn’t understand. Either of his kisses with Grantaire, he realized, since he had also kissed him during the wedding ceremony, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever understand his reasoning for doing that either.

Enjolras stared up at his ceiling, having woken far too early after a fitful sleep the night before. He did not like having a puzzle he could not solve on his hands, especially when he was stuck in said puzzle’s house, far from anything that might put them on some semblance of equal footing.

The longer he stared at the ceiling, the more it became clear to him that if he was going to figure this out, it required a change of scenery for both him and Grantaire, a chance to start anew, so to speak, and see what new developments would emerge. 

And there was only one way he could think of to do so.

“I was thinking of leaving,” Enjolras announced at the breakfast table when he had finally deemed the hour late enough for him to arise. He had been strangely gladdened to see that Grantaire also looked tired, as if he too had not slept well the previous night.

Not that the thought of Grantaire not sleeping well should gladden him, but it was at least a small sign that he was not alone in being affected by the events of the previous day.

Grantaire went very still at Enjolras’s words. “Oh?” he asked, in what to Enjolras seemed a deliberately casual sort of way.

Enjolras nodded. “Yes. Madame Hucheloup reminded me that it's customary for newly married couple to take a honeymoon trip, even if just for a few days, and as I am not ready to return yet to the city, this seems an easy excuse to explain my absence in a way that does not draw suspicion like my staying here would.’

Grantaire nodded as well, avoiding Enjolras’s eyes. “Where will you go?” he asked.

“I own a cottage in the north,” Enjolras told him. “I thought I might stay there for a bit.”

Grantaire frowned slightly. “Would not your servants wonder why you are there without your wife?”

Enjolras shook his head. “It's not family property, it's a cottage I bought in my own right. As such, there are no servants, and it's remote enough that I'm not sure anyone with twenty miles has any idea who I am or would care enough to report it to someone who does.” He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the need to add, for Grantaire’s benefit, “I go up there when I need to work, mostly, or just need to get away from the bowing and scraping and whatever else.”

“Well. That sounds lovely, and I'm certain you will have a good time.”

Enjolras waited a beat before adding, his turn to be deliberately casual, “I thought you might accompany me.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened before he busied himself with a scone. “Would that not be as obvious as you staying here?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I think Madame Hucheloup can manage some convincing tales in the village of you staying here while I journey north with your sister,” he said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“But why?”

Grantaire sounded torn between confusion and curiosity, and Enjolras shrugged again. “You don’t like being here,” he said simply.

“How—”

Enjolras should have realized that Grantaire would be surprised by that observation. He had a reputation, deserved or otherwise, of not paying attention to personal details of his friends, and he flushed slightly. “The way you spoke of your sister, and your father. This place holds no good memories.”

Grantaire’s eyes met his. “It holds a few. And more as of recent.”

“A few, then. But a great many bad ones, I’d wager.” Grantaire did not deny it and Enjolras hesitated before adding, “And I would not leave you alone with that.”

Grantaire nodded slowly, and for one heart-pounding moment, Enjolras thought he might refuse. But then he managed a small, wan smile. “In that case, I shall be glad to join you.”

Enjolras smiled as well, certain that he was one step closer to finding the answers he sought.

----------

It was a long ride up north to Enjolras’s cottage, but where the ride from the city to Grantaire’s estate had been punctuated by their usual conversation, there was none of that today. Silence hung between them instead, as Enjolras thought of a thousand conversation topics and cast them all aside, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

But eventually, the silence grew too much for him to bear, and he blurted, with a forced cheerfulness, “Lovely weather we’ve been having.”

Grantaire stared at him. “The weather,” he said, incredulity lacing both words. “You’re talking to me about the weather.”

“Well, it was that or comment on the jostling of the carriage, I suppose,” Enjolras muttered, feeling himself flush.

“And here I would assume that the jostling of the carriage is nothing compared to the struggle of the people that you champion so regularly,” Grantaire said archly, and Enjolras frowned.

“Are you trying to start this sojourn with a fight?” he asked

Grantaire just raised an eyebrow. “Trying? I do not recall ever needing to exert much energy to get you in an argumentative mood.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened. “Perhaps not, but…”

“But what?”

“But nothing,” Enjolras muttered, not wanting to tell him that he thought things might be different between them now. Different how was the real question, and that was the answer he was endeavoring to find. Of course, maybe nothing was different – maybe Enjolras was reading far too much into one stupid moment and they would return to the city and everything would fall back into place as it always had been.

He hated that he felt almost disappointed at that prospect.

“Tell me about this cottage we’re going to,” Grantaire said abruptly, and Enjolras blinked at him. “It’s only fair, you interrogated me about my home when we were en route there.”

“I’d hardly call it an interrogation,” Enjolras scoffed.

Grantaire’s expression didn’t change. “Maybe not, but the point still stands.”

Enjolras supposed it did. “It belonged to a distant relative of my mother’s,” he said. “A great-aunt, I think, though I only ever knew her as Auntie. It’s a couple of hours by horseback from the northernmost Enjolras family holdings. I was sent there as a child one summer for some fresh air.”

“Fresh air being assumedly in short supply at the Enjolras manor,” Grantaire remarked dryly.

Enjolras barked a laugh. “Truth be told, my parents just wanted me out of the way.” He sighed and shook his head. “My mother had discovered she was carrying another child, and I suppose my father didn’t want me underfoot.”

Grantaire blinked. “I did not realize you had a sibling.”

“I didn’t. My mother miscarried.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression. “I am sorry.”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “It’s not the same as losing a sibling, of course, but it was still a loss. A loss of possibility, really, of what could have been…” He trailed off and shook his head, his tone turning wistful. “But for one glorious summer, it was just me, in a cottage with no servants, no lessons, no expectations about how I should behave or speak as a future marquess. It was the best summer of my life.”

He shook his head once more to clear it of the memories that rose to the forefront of his mind. “When my mother’s great-aunt died, there were no close relatives to inherit, so the estate was going to pass to some even more distant relation, but I offered to purchase it instead. I used a small inheritance I received when my maternal grandfather died so that it couldn’t be lumped in with the Enjolras holdings. And it’s been mine ever since.”

“It’s not much of course,” he added, and he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to assure Grantaire of that, or to warn him. “Four bedrooms, I think, though one I don’t think I’ve been into in ten years, and another is used for storage. There’s a woman in the village nearby whom I retain to clean it every few weeks.” He paused before adding, suddenly feeling almost tongue-tied, “You’re the first person I’ve ever brought to stay.”

Grantaire looked surprised by that. “Truly? Not even Combeferre or Courfeyrac?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No.”

“I am...touched, I suppose.” Grantaire made a dry noise that might have been an attempt at a chuckle. “Hopefully I’ll not taint your memories of the place.”

“I’m certain you won’t.”

“You say that now, and yet…” Grantaire trailed off, looking almost troubled. “Dare I ask why you’re allowing me to intrude on what until now has been something of a sanctuary for you?”

Enjolras frowned. “I told you, I did not wish to leave you alone—”

“Yes, and it’s a noble gesture, but you know as well as I that I could have returned to the city, or gone any number of places.”

Enjolras made a face. “I do know that you are far more popular than I, yes.” Grantaire laughed and Enjolras managed a small smile before continuing, “I suppose I was looking for us both to get a small dose of reality before we returned to the city.”

Grantaire’s smile disappeared. “Reality,” he murmured, something almost dull in his voice. “Of course.”

“As much as I would love to continue living in this little fiction we’ve spun—” Grantaire did not laugh and Enjolras frowned, wondering if he had somehow said the wrong thing. “Anyway,” he muttered, “that’s why.”

They continued the journey in relative silence after that, and when Enjolras finally spotted the familiar grey stonework out the carriage window, he had never been so relieved. “We’re here,” he announced, rather unnecessarily, as the carriage drew to a halt.

Grantaire stepped out of the carriage and turned automatically to offer Enjolras his hand to help him down. “I can see why you come up here to think,” he said, surveying the rambling moors that extended in any given direction. “No distractions.” He gave Enjolras a mischievous smile. “Are you certain you want me here to ruin all that?”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow and looked pointedly after the carriage, which had already left. “Bit late to change my mind, don’t you think?”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “I suppose so,” he murmured, bending to pick up what luggage they had brought and ignoring Enjolras’s protestations that he was perfectly capable of carrying the luggage himself.

Once inside, both men stood a little awkwardly just past the entryway. Enjolras cleared his throat, casting about for a neutral topic. “Shall I make us some tea?” he asked, falling back on manners when all else had failed him.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Don’t feel obligated.”

“I do believe it’s considered good manners when hosting one’s brother-in-law, no matter how fictional the bond,” Enjolras said, aiming for a joke. “Or one’s bride, I suppose, depending on how one wished to look at it.”

But Grantaire didn’t look amused. “None for me, thanks.”

“Right,” Enjolras said, his heart sinking. “How about a tour, then?”

Grantaire shrugged again, but this time seemed inclined to actually go along with it, which was good, as it gave Enjolras at least a little more to drone on about as they made their way through the cottage. Of course, the cottage was only so big, so the tour itself was a brief affair, though Enjolras was somewhat relieved that Grantaire seemed to regain at least some of his good humor as they went. 

“So what do you think?” Enjolras asked as they finished the tour in the library.

“It’s not what I was expecting,” Grantaire admitted.

Enjolras glanced sideways at him. “Dare I ask what you were expecting?” he asked, equal parts wary and curious.

“Oh, the usual,” Grantaire said loftily, waving a hand as he plopped down on a sofa. “Threadbare curtains, a straw mattress to sleep on, no decorations…”

“You expected me to live like a monk?”

“Well, the vow of poverty seemed apt,” Grantaire mused before smirking at Enjolras. “Though I suppose were that the case, you would have abdicated your title and its associated lands, properties and incomes long ago.”

Enjolras knew Grantaire well enough to know when he was picking a fight, and he knew this was one of those times, even if he had no inkling of why Grantaire was choosing now to quarrel. Either way, he really did not wish to spend their first night in the north fighting, so he forced himself not to rise to the occasion. “Yes, well, as I am neither monk nor saint, I suppose I can indulge in a few comforts now and then,” he said instead before changing the subject. “I’m going to go down to the village before it gets too late to stock up on some food for our stay. Do you wish to accompany me?”

“No, I think I’ll stay here, see about perhaps getting some painting set up,” Grantaire said, but without much enthusiasm, and Enjolras frowned, unsure why Grantaire’s mood seemed so all over the place.

“Right,” he said. “Well. I’ll be back soon.”

“Pick up some whiskey while you’re down there, would you?” Grantaire asked, in a way that Enjolras couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not.

“And raise suspicions that I’ve suddenly returned as a drunk?” he said, aiming for a joke of his own. “We must keep up appearances, after all.”

But Grantaire just seemed to further deflate at that. “Right,” he said dully. “Appearances, and fiction, and all that.”

Enjolras had no idea what to even say to that, so he took his leave instead, hoping that by the time he returned, Grantaire might find himself in a better mood.

His trip to the village was a brief one, and he brought back enough food supplies for their supper and to break their fast in the morning, with more to be delivered the following day. When he returned, he was pleased to see that Grantaire had lit the fireplace in the kitchen, the library and both bedrooms, though he appeared to have abandoned his quest to paint, as he was instead absorbed in some ancient tome he had found in the library. Their evening was spent in relative but comfortable quiet as Enjolras read through some parliamentary briefings and Grantaire continued perusing the book, as similar an evening as many they had spent together over the years when their meetings had finished and it was just the two of them left in the backroom of the Musain.

But all too soon, Grantaire put the book down and stood. “I am going to call it an early night,” he told Enjolras. “I will see you on the morrow.”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, a little surprised as he looked over at the mantel clock. “Well, I was thinking perhaps we might take a walk tomorrow? Explore nearby and such?”

Grantaire glanced at the window. “It looks like it’s going to rain,” he said flatly, and before Enjolras could respond, he added, “Have a good night.”

All in all, Enjolras reflected when he too went to bed a few hours later, it was not at all what he had expected, and he was beginning to think this was a bad idea.

Still, he rose the next morning determined to make the best of it, only to quickly discover that Grantaire had risen with the opposite attitude, picking at his food over breakfast and staring out at the rain lashing against the window.

His mood only seemed to worsen as the day went on, and as Enjolras busied himself with some accounting work for one of his estates that was well overdue, Grantaire took to pacing impatiently. This would not ordinarily bother Enjolras, who had a tendency to get absorbed in his work, but the cottage was only so big and Grantaire’s pacing could perhaps be better categorized as stomping about.

On his fifth lap past Enjolras’s desk, Enjolras gritted his teeth and tried very hard not to stab his paper with his pen. “I would offer you some entertainment, if I had any to offer,” he said as politely as one could through clenched teeth.

Grantaire snorted derisively. “I am not a child,” he snapped. “I do not need to be entertained.”

Ordinarily, Enjolras would have shot back that Grantaire could have fooled him, as he was certainly acting childish, but he held his tongue, not wanting to cause an argument on only their second day. “Very well,” he said instead, continuing his tone of politeness. “I’ll leave you to your own amusement, then.”

“God, how can there be no alcohol in this entire building?” Grantaire burst. “Not even a single bottle of cooking sherry.”

Enjolras frowned. “Well, seeing as how I very rarely partake…”

“Yes, but surely one as well-bred as you knows to keep refreshments on hand for guests,” Grantaire said sourly.

Comments on Enjolras’s breeding were the fastest way to get under Enjolras’s skin, and he took a moment to stop from snapping. “Certainly, and I’m sure you would enjoy the wine cellar at any of my family’s estates,” he said finally, almost murderously polite. “But since I never imagined entertaining guests here—”

“Torture seems more accurate,” Grantaire muttered, flopping down on the sofa. “And your imagination needs some work.”

“Yes, well, I never dreamed that I would find myself entangled in such an elaborate fiction that would have me bringing you of all people here,” Enjolras snapped, dropping the façade of civility. “Or perhaps the real fiction was imagining that you and I might have an enjoyable time without the aid of alcohol!”

Grantaire cursed and stood. “Well forgive me, my lord,” he snapped, crossing to the door and yanking it open, that neither the real nor the fictional version of myself is not up to your standards.”

“Where in the bloody hell are you going?” Enjolras asked incredulously, half-shouting to be heard over the roar of the storm from the open door.

“Anywhere but here!” Grantaire shouted back, slamming the door after him.

Enjolras cursed as well and rushed to the door, opening it to shout after him. “Grantaire!” he shouted, but the man ignored him, stomping away through the mud. “Grantaire!” Again, there was no answer, and Enjolras lost what remained of his temper. “Fine!” he shouted. “Then I hope you drown out there!:

He slammed the door closed and stormed back to his desk. But he was too incensed to continue working and he didn’t bother sitting down, just crushing the piece of paper he’d been writing on into a ball.

What had he honestly expected? When had Grantaire ever risen to Enjolras’s expectations, and why had he assumed he would start now?

Because the man had kissed him, once? And then immediately fled?

Enjolras had clearly been deluding himself into thinking there was anything more between them when Grantaire could not go an hour without trying to stir up animosity. 

Not that he cared. Not that he did not spend the next twenty minutes pretending he did not glance at the door every time the house creaked, expecting or hoping Grantaire had returned. Not that he began to worry, when the clock chimed the hour. Not that he regretted whatever it was he had said or done that had made Grantaire leave.

What had he expected?

Something, anything, to show him that he was not imagining it, that what there was between them was real. Something, anything, to show that Grantaire might feel even just a little bit of what he did.

Something, anything, to prove that Grantaire cared.

And when had Grantaire ever cared about anything?

His fuming might well have sustained him for the entire night, but as one hour crept toward two and Grantaire had still not returned, Enjolras’s anger was rapidly replaced with worry. He had not been joking when he had told Grantaire that there was no one within twenty miles besides the village, and Grantaire could easily have gotten lost, or hurt, or, as Enjolras had shouted at him, drowned in the deluge still downpouring outside.

Enjolras was not entirely sure how he could live with himself were any of the latter options the case.

Resolved, he grabbed a coat from the front closet and went outside, squinting against the rain as he surveyed the horizon for any sign of Grantaire. There was none, but there were footprints, at least, half-filled with puddles of water from where Grantaire had assumedly sloshed through the mud as he had stormed away.

His trail was easy enough to follow, but every step away from the cottage filled Enjolras with trepidation. If anything had happened to Grantaire— If any harm had come to him—

The trail came to an abrupt stop at a large puddle of water that was growing rapidly, and Enjolras heart sank. Any sign of Grantaire would be washed away, surely, or else—

“What in the devil are you doing out here?”

Grantaire had to shout to be heard, especially as a crack of thunder boomed across the moor, but Enjolras had never been so glad to hear his voice, hoarse and tired as it was. He turned to find Grantaire huddled in the lee of a large tree nearby, clearly trying to wait out the worst of the storm and, judging by the mud that stained his trousers and the fact that every inch of him was soaked through, failing miserably.

He looked awful, but to Enjolras, he had never looked more perfect.

“Oh thank God,” Enjolras breathed, crossing to him in three long strides and pulling him into an embrace. “I thought you had gotten hurt, or lost, or—”

Grantaire pushed him away. “Yes, well, now you can see that I’m alright, so you can go—”

“Alright?” Enjolras interrupted, incredulous. “You’re soaked through to the bone! If you stay out here much longer, you’re liable to catch your death.”

“It honestly might be preferable at this rate,” Grantaire muttered.

Enjolras scowled. “If this is how you’re going to be, I’ve half a mind to leave you here and let you drown.”

“Good,” Grantaire shot back. “At least you’d be showing some hint of your old self!”

Enjolras stared at him. “What in the hell are you talking about?” he demanded. “I’ve been nothing but courteous to you this entire trip, while you’ve tried to start a fight at every turn!”

“Of course I have,” Grantaire snapped. “Because fighting is what we do! It’s who we are! And I’ve been trying to prove to myself that nothing has changed, that you’re still you and I’m still me.” Enjolras just stared blankly at him, squinting against the rain, and Grantaire sighed, running a hand across his face which Enjolras was certain accomplished absolutely nothing to clear it of the rain. “But things have changed, and it’s what I never wanted to happen but what I always feared would, if I were ever to be stupid enough to…” He trailed off. “And I can’t stand you being polite to me, it’s driving me absolutely mad, and if it continues for much longer, it may very well kill me before this rain gets a chance to.”

If anything, Enjolras was even more lost than before. “What are you talking about?” he repeated, more a plea than anything, begging for some kind of rational explanation.

Grantaire just shook his head and returned his question with one of his own. “How?” he demanded. “How do you not know?”

If this was a puzzle, Enjolras had grown incredibly tired of trying to figure it out. “Because I’m extraordinarily stupid, apparently?”

Grantaire glared at him, though when he spoke again, the bitterness in her voice seemed directed more at himself than anything. “You really must be, because I’ve been the most obvious idiot of all time.”

Enjolras didn’t know why he bothered asking for a third time, but he couldn’t stop himself. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” Grantaire threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “I mean, I’m in love with you, you fool!”

Enjolras gaped at him. “You – what?”

[barricadebops]

Combeferre's mom once came home to find her son and his two best friends, tangled, sleeping in the couch, she has that picture framed next to Ferre's high school diploma.

Hi anon! I’m so sorry this took so long! Forgive me? I really loved this prompt and I wanted to do it justice.

---------------------------------------------------

Despite everything, Christmas and the holiday break surrounding the winter season had never really been stressful for Enjolras. Every year held the same routine: first Combeferre’s mother would sprint to the elementary school which soon gave way to the middle school which soon gave way to the high school he, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac would attend, and, gasping for breath, ask Enjolras if he would like to spend holiday break with their family. Right as Enjolras would open his mouth to answer the question, Courfeyrac’s mom would materialize out of the air and tug him to their side and ask him if he would like to spend holiday break at their house. Then each of the mother’s would demand to know how dare the other have the audacity to ask Enjolras to spend holiday break at her house when she knows that it’s her turn, and the fathers would passive aggressively try to nab the same parking spot to pick their son up from, and in the end, Enjolras would head home after having promised each family that he would think on it. Then, the next day, the cycle would start over again when both Combeferre and Courfeyrac latched onto either of his arms and tug, demanding he spend holiday break with him, and while he would scowl and pretend it’s an annoyance, he was never really able to tamp down the beam that would eventually make its way onto his face during the whole argument, and he knew that Combeferre and Courfeyrac too knew how much he loved it—loved feeling wanted, loved feeling like he’s part of a family even if he didn’t necessarily hold the blood relations within it, because God knew that what little he had of his family--his father--never welcomed him.

Usually, Enjolras alternated houses each holiday break, but it never stopped the arguments from occurring. 

This year would have been the same. He was gearing up for the arguments even though he knew that this year he would be spending his time at Combeferre’s house. 

But there were none. No one had to argue. There were no laughs or smiles or pretenses at being mad at each family as if they were the Montagues and the Capulets. 

This year, Enjolras spent the first day of his junior year holiday break curled up in Combeferre’s bed while his two best friends and each of their parents all stood downstairs in the living room, speaking in hushed tones about the only person who wasn’t present in the room. 

Beside the bed on the nightstand stood the few barebone possessions Enjolras had stored in his pocket when his father had finally thrown him out of the house. There laid his wallet, filled only with a few measly dollars and his ID and license, among a few other things, his phone, a pack of gum, and a granola bar wrapper. 

He doesn’t think sleep will come to him tonight. Not while the sight of the little he has left to his name stares at him, a reminder of the fact that his father believes he’s only valuable to be allowed a pack of gum as edibles when he locked the door in his face. 

Enjolras knows his father is no fool; he knows that as soon as he uttered the words “get out,” that his son would appear on the doorstep of either the Combeferres or the de Courferyacs, that they would plunge their household into an emergency situation and get him in the shower, into new clothes, into a new bed, after having some warm food—but he also knows that if they hadn’t been there for him, he wouldn’t care either way where his son ended up. 

And then Courfeyrac and his family had been called over, and here he was, shaking in bed, a nuisance, rather than be out there, discussing the logistics of the situation with everyone. 

He doesn’t think motion will come easy to him either for a while. 

The door creaks open, spilling streams of light from the bright hallway into the dark room, and he finds he has to squint to make out the distinct figure of Courfeyrac gently padding into the room and gingerly seating himself at his bedside, right beside his face. His best friend cards a gentle hand through his hair. 

“Combeferre?” he mumbles unintelligibly, wondering where he was. His mouth feels dry—like no amount of water will get rid of that sharp feeling when he swallows and his throat cries out for nourishment. 

Courfeyrac gives him a small smile. “He’s gone over to your house with his father. He’s getting your stuff.” 

Enjolras coughs. When had he been coming down with a cold? “He’s probably thrown it all away by now,” he responds, shutting his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the little he has on the nightstand. Courfeyrac cards his hand through his hair once more, and Enjolras leans in a little closer. This touch, at least, is gentle. He hasn’t felt such a thing in a while. 

“That fast?” Courfeyrac asks quietly. He nods with another cough. His friend gives him a pained look, and Enjolras knows how it must pain him not to portray his comfort through some form of touch—it’s how Courfeyrac expresses love and care, and Enjolras doesn’t want to see that look on his face, and truth be told he too wants it, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it, not like this, not in this situation—

But then, Courfeyrac comes through, like he always does, because he’s always there, he’s always been there just as Combeferre has, since they each met each other in kindergarten and decided through means of their friendship bracelets that they would always be there for each other, like the first time Courfeyrac’s heart had been broken, or the first time Combeferre failed a biology exam and started to doubt his potential to pursue his dreams of becoming a doctor, or the first time Enjolras had the courage to tell his friends about the verbal abuses his father would throw him, and Courfeyrac is there, real and solid, he’s not just an apparition, or a friend his father says simply “tolerates him,” and he’s asking him, “Can I hug you?” 

And Enjolras is nodding, nodding because he needs this, he lets Courfeyrac wrap his arms around him tight, he caves in and fists his friend’s shirt, and reality is crashing down on him, but as real as his father’s words to never come back, as real as the uncertainty of his future is, so too is the reality of his friends’ love for him. 

And if they both fall asleep like that, and Combeferre gently opens the door to the sight of his two friends curled around each other, as if the past few hours never occurred, if he joins them on the bed, then that just serves as further proof that even if the world comes crumbling down around them, at least they’ll be together, salvaging what little they can and rebuilding their own, better world.

_________________________________________

They managed to retrieve most of his possessions, actually. 

Well. His father would argue that they’re really his possessions because they were bought with his money, but Combeferre and his father wouldn’t hear of it. The important thing is they retrieved the legal documents necessary, and quite a few of Enjolras’ clothes and books, amongst various other things. 

When they finish raiding the house, Enjolras’ father asks with a sneer to leave him alone from then on. 

How ridiculous, thinks Combeferre. If Enjolras was going to start living with his family now, he does realize there’s going to have to be some legal discussion on the transference of possession of a minor, doesn’t he?

---------------------------------------------------

They’re sitting on the couch, bundled underneath a blanket while Combeferre’s parents are out dealing with the legalities of the situation, and they are watching, of all shows, Maury, and Enjolras can’t stop complaining, but Courfeyrac won’t change it, even if he loathes the show (honestly just loathes daytime television—who actually enjoys this stuff?) because there—there—there’s that relaxed, unstressed attitude he’s been trying for so hard to coax from Enjolras in the past few weeks that Courfeyrac has been staying with Combeferre’s family, trying to ease Enjolras into this new transition with as much support as he can give. 

“You… are… the… FATHER!!!” Maury screams on tv, pointing to the man everyone already knew would have been. From his position—head in Enjolras’ lap, he can see the way Enjolras’ expressions contort to one of exasperation and irritation at having to watch something so unbelievably garbage. 

“Okay, you know who the father is, now can we please watch something else?” he asks for the hundredth time. 

Reaching up, he pokes a finger in Enjolras’ cheek. “But, Enjolras! There’s a new episode starting up right after this! Don’t you want to know about…” he casts his arm around for the remote, reading the description for the next episode, “...Garth cheating on Cheryl with her friend… Helen?” 

Enjolras looks down at him, incredulous. “Courfeyrac, please.” 

“Yes, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre says as he drops down on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his hands, “change the channel. There’s only so much of Kathy accusing Abigail of carrying her husband’s child that I can take.” Setting it aside on the coffee table in front of them all, he drapes an arm around Enjolras, a silent invitation. 

And when Enjolras leans in, settling his head on Combeferre’s chest without flinching or tensing up for the first time in so many days, Courfeyrac smiles.

Pouting, he pretends to be upset at the way Enjolras and Combeferre gang up on him. “Fine, then what do you say we watch—and no, Ferre, we’re not watching a Nat Geo documentary. This isn’t the time for Nat Geo documentaries.”

Combeferre looks affronted. “Fine. But that means we’re not watching Bridget Jones’ Diary again.” 

He gasps, outraged. “Excuse you! Bridget Jones’ Diary is a cult classic.” He glances back up at Enjolras. “Back me up here, Enj.” 

Enjolras snorts. “Why would I waste my time watching Bridget Jones get together with knock off Mr. Darcy when I can instead watch Elizabeth Bennet get together with real-deal Mr. Darcy? After some due insults, that is,” he ends, smiling a little. 

Sighing dramatically, he reached up to twist one of Enjolras’ curls around his finger. “All this talk of Lizzy Bennet and Mr. Darcy from you Enjolras, and yet I still don’t see you looking for your own Mr. Darcy. You’ve roasted the shit out of plenty of people. When are we going to find someone who tells you that you’ve bewitched them body and soul?”

Enjolras scrunches his nose as Combeferre shakes his head. “Enjolras ‘roasts the shit’ out of bigots in school. I doubt he’d want to go out with racist Randy from history class.”

“I thought we were deciding what movie we were going to watch, not my love life,” complains Enjolras. 

“And I’m just trying to find you a love life!” he shoots back. 

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “If I’m Elizabeth Bennet, and you’re unjustly interfering in my love life, wouldn’t that make you Mrs. Bennet, then?” 

He gasps. “You take that back!” 

Enjolras smiles smugly, resuming carding his fingers through Courfeyrac’s hair. “I can think very well of another bookworm who Mr. Bennet would be,” he says with an air of superiority. Courfeyrac blushes and glares up at him, just as Combeferre breaks from looking through Netflix and goes hm? 

“Let’s get back to looking for a movie,” he mutters. 

And then—

Then—

Courfeyrac would risk his crush being exposed hundreds of times if it meant he could hear Enjolras laugh again like that, laugh after so long, after so many weeks of being so tense, so much more tense than boys their age should be. He beams as he watches Enjolras try and recover himself from his fit of laughter, and under the blanket, he squeezes Combeferre’s hand, and he smiles even brighter when as he watches Combeferre watch their best friend softly, some of the past few days’ tension dissipate, though they all know it’s not gone completely. 

But here in this moment, as Enjolras laughs, which makes Courfeyrac laugh, and in turn makes Combeferre furrow his eyebrows trying to figure out what he missed, it exists as something outside their reality. 

“You know what we should watch?” Enjolras finally manages to say when he’s caught his breath. Combeferre sees the look in Enjolras’ eyes and sighs. 

“But it’ll be the second time this month.”

Courfeyrac catches on quickly. “As if you haven’t watched the same Nat Geo documentary four times in the same month.” He casts his eyes back up to Enjolras and gives him a small salute. “I second the motion, dear leader!” 

As Enjolras bursts out into laughter once more, Combeferre heaves another sigh and begins to look through Netflix, resigned to his fate. Though, he admits it’s a rather good fate. Honestly, who doesn’t love this movie? 

Enjolras snuggles closer into Combeferre’s chest. Combeferre tightens his arm around Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras continues to card his fingers through Courfeyrac’s curls. Courfeyrac has his feet thrown up on Combeferre’s lap. All three of them burrow under the blankets as, on screen, Grandpa begins to recite the tale of Westley and Buttercup’s love story. 

_________________________________________

Unsurprisingly, it is Enjolras who falls asleep first, head heavy on Combeferre’s chest. Courfeyrac would have smiled at the sight, if he wasn’t also on the verge of falling asleep. Combeferre considers making two trips and carrying his two friends up the stairs and two his room, but his own eyes are drooping closed, and the blankets were warm, and so were his friends. 

He figures they’ll all wake up later anyways. 

---------------------------------------------------

They don’t wake up for a while. 

The movie is over and something absurd Netflix has suggested is playing, but dimly, as her son, Enjolras, and Courfeyrac all sleep on, bundled together.

Can anyone blame her, really, when Mme. Combeferre cannot resist and snap a picture?

Right now, the entire world seemed to be crashing down on those three, and on her family and the de Courfeyracs. 

But here is a moment in which they reside in this little space of bliss they have—carefree, the weight of the world off their shoulders, the weight of problems they shouldn’t have to deal with—and it is a moment worth capturing, a reminder that maybe, hopefully, soon enough, things will be okay. 

Two years later, as her son and his two best friends—one of which she had considered another one of her sons the moment she had seen him when the three were all in kindergarten—leave for university, she breathes out, looks back, and nods. 

Yes, things had turned out okay. 

Next to her son’s and Enjolras’ high school diplomas hangs that same picture—the three all snuggled on the couch. At the de Courfeyrac’s the same hangs in the living room, and as the three boys—the triumvirate, she thinks with a fond roll of her eyes—head off to their new residence at university where they’ll stay together, as they had always meant to, she knows that the framed copy she sent with her son will hang there too. 

Things turned out okay. 

[demonsonthemoon]

Sunkissed, Sunburnt, Soothed

Fandom: Les Misérables Pairings: platonic Jehan & Grantaire, romantic Grantaire/Enjolras Word Count: 2607 Summary: "The first time Grantaire met Enjolras, he felt for a second like he was going blind. Meeting Jehan had been far less dramatic." Or: the story of not-so-healthy relationships, what they give and what they take, the ways they have of being too much and of being not enough. (Featuring Aromantic!Jehan) Note: Dedicated to my friend Caro (@anastasiapullingteeth), forever the Grantaire to my Jehan and a star in my constellation. This fic was a bit rushed to I could put it out in time for #AggressivelyArospecWeek. I definitely feel like the concept deserves a far longer exploration than I gave it here. Also I have no idea whether the POV and style shifts actually work. Do the paragraph breaks work??? I don't know. I just didn't want to think of how to fix them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and don't hesitate to let me know what you thought!

Read it on AO3.

The first time Grantaire met Enjolras, he felt for a second like he was going blind. Like he had just stared at the sun and was about to pay for it. Like the other was a new version of Medusa, turning people to ashes instead of stone.

To be fair, the whole experience may have had something to do with the fact that Grantaire had been well on his way to drunk at the time. Although that didn't explain the continued feeling of being on fire everytime Enjolras looked at him.

Meeting Jehan had been far less dramatic. If Enjolras was the threatening light of the sun faced head on, Jehan was a soft beam peeking above a cloud. He didn't command attention, instead drew it gently with patterned tights, pastel-colored skinny jeans and chunky cable-knit sweaters. Grantaire had taken one look at him and decided he wanted to befriend him. It had something to do with the way Jehan had kept half of his hands hidden in his sleeves, the way his smile had seemed just that little bit uncertain before he let himself be drawn into conversation by Courfeyrac and Bahorel.

Enjolras was so beautiful to look at it often seemed painful. Jehan was a mess of clashing color and haphazard hairstyle, and he was so real it made Grantaire's bones sing.

He had been drunk the first time he had met Enjolras, the first time he had witnessed one of their little meetings from a hidden corner of the Musain. He had been drunk the second time too. Part of his brain had convinced him that the angel, the burning god, would not be there if he came back sober. Part of him had been too scared to face that kind of passion without the flimsy protection of alcohol. Part of him had just been looking for any excuse he could get.

He'd been sober when he'd met Jehan. The young man had joined the group of revolutionaries after Grantaire, although he had been accepted as a friend much more easily. Grantaire hadn't been jealous of that. He could admit he had never made it particularly easy for the other to find him likeable.

Smart people do not bare their skin to the sun at its zenith. They put on a hat instead.

But Jehan had looked past the wide brim of his, had spotted the freckles hiding on Grantaire's nose and had offered to kiss them.

The young man was free with his affection, in that he thought that love should be free. Free to roam and explore, free from the shackles of expectation and propriety. He was free with his love, because he had been told once he could not love right. He had then decided that if he couldn't do it right, at least he would love a lot. Even if it wasn't enough, it would make the world just a little kinder.

Grantaire hadn't ever thought he was able to love in a way that didn't destroy. He had loved laughter once, until laughter had turned into the price he paid for attention. He had loved learning, until learning became the thing he did to prove his parents he was still worth something. He had loved people, and the people had turned into bottles, so fragile between his fingers.

He had loved art. It was the one thing he had managed to renounce before it turned into a blade.

He loved Enjolras.

The truth of that was a block of ice constantly floating around his stomach. It was the kind of cold that burned, and numbed all other feelings at the same time.

Jehan loved him. Not like ice, and not like fire. Not like one romantic lead loved another in all the novels he read.

He loved him all the same.

And Grantaire loved him back, in a way that – for once – didn't feel dangerous. Jehan was the wick of a candle instead of a forest. Sometimes Grantaire resented him for it. Most of the time he was relieved.

They moved in together one day. It made sense for a lot of reasons. Mostly because it was cheaper. But also because they could be there for each other more easily this way. They could keep each other accountable. Keep each other standing. They could promise each other the warmth of another body when they came home.

When one of them offered to share a bed and turn the second bedroom into an art room, it made sense too. So much so that neither of them remembered who came up with the idea in the first place.

It was good. It was nice. In the way that drinking hot chocolate under a blanket while watching the rain outside was nice. It wasn't the same as lazing in the sun, but it was comforting in its own way.

Grantaire hadn't felt like he needed anything else. The grey weather was what he knew, and he would make the best of it. There was a voice in his mind, like the rumbling of far-off thunder, that told him he didn't deserve anything else anyway. That told him he had no choice, that he could learn to swim or drown.

When that voice spoke, when the pain of it flashed like lightning through his veins, Grantaire made Jehan some tea in a quaint little cup, with a hint of honey, and he baked lemon and basil cake.

Then one day the sky caught fire in the most magnificent sunset that Grantaire could have imagined.

Enjolras asked him out for coffee. Not to talk about politics. Not to berate him about his latest interruption during a meeting. Ey asked him out.

Grantaire thought it was a joke at first. He genuinely thought it was a joke, got mad about it and started ranting about how it wasn't funny and he'd expected better from Enjolras.

But it had been real. And Enjolras had been as impassioned as ever when ey had convinced Grantaire that ey was taking this really seriously, that ey was genuinely interested in Grantaire and wanted to give the both of them a shot.

How could Grantaire have said no ?

So they had gone for coffee. And it had been weird at first, but then it had gotten better. If he was honest with himself, Grantaire would admit that he would have gone much further than weird to get a shot at being so close to Enjolras. He called the other Apollo, and laughed when Jehan started calling him Icarus, not noticing the genuine note of concern in his friend's tone.

The one coffee turned into dinner two weeks later, then drinks a week after that, then Grantaire staying at Enjolras' place for the night, then them starting to officially date.

When Grantaire moved out of Jehan's bed and back into their little art studio, he told the other man that it wasn't something Enjolras had asked for. It was something Grantaire had chosen to do himself.

Jehan didn't have the heart to tell him how much it hurt that Grantaire would pick Enjolras over him even when ey hadn't asked him to choose.

That didn't mean that Jehan wasn't happy for his friend. He was. This was what Grantaire had always wanted, and his joy at finally tasting the honey he had coveted for so long was infectious.

At least for a while.

For weeks, for a few months even, Grantaire was glowing. Jehan felt his closest friend drift further away from him, but he happily swallowed his bitterness in the face of Grantaire's smile. It was painful to admit that Enjolras might really have something more to give that Jehan would ever be able to provide, but that didn't mean he would be as selfish as to take it away from Grantaire.

Then Enjolras and Grantaire had a fight.

Jehan hadn't been worried, at first. The couple had always had fights with each other, sometimes in quite spectacular ways. They clashed on many different subjects, partly because they were both opposite and alike to each other. Their ideas often had the same roots, but life had made them grow in contrary directions.

So one more fight hadn't been a cause for worry. Even the fact that Grantaire had grabbed a beer in the fridge right after coming back to their shared flat hadn't really been enough to spook Jehan. It was far from unusual, for Grantaire.

The fact that Grantaire was quiet as he drank, more sad than angry, was a hint that something might be amiss, but not enough to panic. Grantaire was prone to melancholy, a mood which Jehan knew well enough to respect in others.

All this to say that, no, Jehan hadn't been worried. Not at first.

Not after that one fight, and not even after the next one.

Grantaire and Enjolras always made up. They always went back to one another. After all, Enjolras was Grantaire's singular belief. You did not just one day decide to stop following the Northern star when it was what had always guided you home.

The moment when Jehan started getting concerned was after he noticed that the times between arguments were just... less. On the one hand, Grantaire started spending more time with Jehan again. They would huddle up on the couch with one of Jehan's handmade infusions and watch weird documentaries well into the night, and it was nice to have that again. On the other hand, Grantaire wasn't coming home with a dopey smile on his face and apologies for how time had gotten away from him while at Enjolras' the evening before.

Grantaire didn't talk about it. Jehan didn't press, although he did... hover. Just a little.

Then Grantaire announced that he was going to spend a little while at Enjolras' place, longer than usual, because they needed some uninterrupted time as a couple, just the two of them.

Jehan tried to be happy for them, happy that they were trying to make it work, happy that they still believed in one another. He tried not to dwell on how their own appartment had started feeling more and more empty, even when Grantaire was here. He stopped himself before he could make a bitter comment about using Grantaire's room as an art studio again.

Instead, he lead his friend to the door, kissed him on both cheeks, and wished him well. He watched him go like one sits by the sea and waits for the light to sink.

The thing was, Jehan wasn't a saint. He was a human being with needs and desires of his own, and maybe he couldn't love Grantaire romantically, but he did love him. And for a year he had had everything he thought he would never be allowed to get, a best friend, a roommate, someone he could share his bed with at night and who would share Shakespeare-based puns with him over breakfast in the morning. And then a sungod had come in and ripped all of that from him, and he'd been forced to smile through it because Enjolras was his friend and Grantaire was happy.

But there had been something tense in Grantaire's shoulders as he'd packed his bags, and it had made Jehan want to scream. He didn't know how to tell the other man that he wanted him to come home without making it about his own pain and the feeling burned in his stomach like acid.

Jehan cried in his bed that night. He would have done it in Grantaire's, but he couldn't bear to step into the room that was now only a shadow of what it had once meant.

When Grantaire called him, three days later, in tears, there was a part of Jehan that felt vindicated. It wasn't enough to stop his stomach from twisting into knots as he whispered comforting platitudes until he could grasp anything coherent in Grantaire's distressed babbling.

“I don't understand what's happening, I don't understand why we just... why we can't... It's like ey can't hear what I'm saying, and I don't understand what ey wants me to tell em, I just...”

“It's okay. It's okay, Grantaire, you don't have to understand everything, just calm down a little. Right now you're panicking. You can't see things clearly if you're panicking.”

“I haven't seen anything clearly in weeks, Jehan. Everything's all blurry now.”

“That's just the alcohol talking.”

“No. It's really not. I wish it was.”

When Jehan saw Enjolras the next day, as they met up with all their friends, he couldn't even be angry. Ey look frazzled. Not in a dramatic way, but anything less than perfection was already dramatic when it came to Enjolras.

Grantaire had made Jehan promise not to say anything to em about their phone call, and Jehan respected that promise even if he didn't like it. That didn't stop him from watching Enjolras intently. There was a weariness to eir gaze that perfectly echoed Grantaire's for the past few days. Eir eyes kept drifting across the room, and Jehan didn't doubt that ey was asking emself the same question that was on his own lips: where was Grantaire?

At one point in the evening, Enjolras' eyes settled on Jehan. He met the gaze face on. He had nothing to hide. He wasn't ashamed of the pain and the fear he felt. It wasn't anything he didn't know he had a right to.

Enjolras didn't recoil. Ey bore the brunt of Jehan's attention and the accusation that sat hiding there. Ey looked on, weary, lost. There was a taste at the back of Jehan's throat that felt like pity, but he swallowed it.

When Grantaire finally came back to their shared flat, he was completely drenched from the storm outside.

“I had an umbrella with me, but I thought this would be more fitting.”

“That sounds like you, yeah.”

Grantaire stayed in the hallway. The sound of water droplets dripping from his hair and hitting the floor echoed ominously.

“I missed you.”

Jehan didn't reply. He didn't know what to say.

“I'm not feeling very good. I think I haven't felt very good in quite a while. I think I didn't realise that you made me feel that way. Good. Like I was good.”

Jehan breathed in. He breathed out. He stopped the screams that were trying to fight their way out of his mouth.

“I got everything I ever wanted. It was supposed to be perfect. It was, I guess. Or it felt like it. For a while. Now it's just... Hell is too warm a word. It's just something rotten. It's taken so much away from me. It's taken you away from me. I thought I couldn't have you both, and I picked em and it... you know that thing about boiling frogs by raising the water's temperature so slowly they don't even try to escape? It was like that.”

Jehan was fighting back tears. Between the two of them, they were about to flood the entire building.

This wasn't what he'd wanted. This was never what he'd wanted. He only wished for Grantaire to be happy. With or without him. Jehan had accepted his fate, he was okay with being left behind if it was for the greater good.

This didn't feel like the greater good. He suddenly wondered if refusing to raise his weapons hadn't been giving up the fight too soon.

“How is it fair to you that I only come back in pieces?”

“It's not.”

“Will you take me back anyway?”

“Of course I will.”

[mikarenea]

Happy barricade day!!!

Well, the thing is that i’ve written some exr angst and fluff for y’all. Hope you like it. Thats all.

———

Spring was coming to an end.

Dawn’s light passed through the almost translucent courtains of that humble bedroom in Paris, splashing across the complexion of a sleeping blond adonis who lied naked on the bed. His blue eyes opened slowly, slighly blinded by the early morning’s sun rays.

Enjolras felt the sun warming his exposed skin as the numbness of sleep fadded away and his own mind returned to the reality from the ephemeral world he had built in his dream. Soon he became aware of the soft sheets under him, of the warm blanket that barely covered one of his legs and, above it all, of the touch of a tender hand on his hip. Said hand, Grantaire’s actually, was not quite holding him, as had he done so passionately last night, but making certain that he hadn’t yet left, ensuring himself that it all hadn’t been a cruel dream. The blond looked over his shoulder to find that his lover was still fast asleep, as naked as himself. As if it were a vision, his mind was flooded with last night’s memories.

The same dark haired young man who breathed stadly behind him had been, not so long ago, gasping and panting and moaning as he rocked between his thighs. Grantaire had caressed every single inch of his body, loved as if it was their last night together, with only the dim light of a candle to admire the masterpiece Enjolras' features were. He remembered how helpless he had felt, how loved and happy, when straddling the older man's hips, he had laid a shy hand on his strong chest and had found his heart pounding under his palm.

Enjolras blushed at the vivid memory of all the sweet words this man had told him, the way he had worshiped him both through actions and words; and at the things he himself had said between soft gasps and moans, encouraging Grantaire and confessing how much he loved him.

He stroked softly the hand on his hip and turned around to give a kiss on the forehead to that man who loved him with the devotion of a believer and towards whom, even against his own values, he had grown to feel such a tender and warm kind of love.

He really wanted to stay, sleep a while more, perhaps remain in bed to write the epilogue of their last night’s activities. He wanted to kiss and cuddle Grantaire until the sun was high up in the sky and then they would go outside and have some breakfast together at a nearby cafe. But Enjolras had to leave.

That day was the day they had been waiting for so long. The moment when the country, —the people!— needed to claim what it was theirs. It would be dangerous, their survival would depend on the people of Paris. If the tortured, hungry and miserably poor citizens of the French capital joined their cause, if the oppression hadn’t yet stolen every hope of freedom of the people and they fought with them, they would succeed. If not, they would all be a pray to the National Guard’s fire and atillery.

He considered this again, as so many times had done since that date was fixed. With a great anguish tightening his chest, he slipped away from the other man’s soft touch and got up to reach his clothes thrown across the floor. Had Enjolras just stood on his feet when he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen and hips and his legs seemed to fall under him. Again, his cheeks flushed brightly, but he managed it to remain standing and took his shirt from the wooden floor.

Enjolras sat down on the side of the bed and was putting his shirt on when he felt a shift in the bed behind him and a pair of hands that insisted in taking off said piece of clothing. Along with the hands, tender lips caressed, not quite kissing, the soft skin of his neck.

“Please, stay a little longer” whispered his lover in his ear and the blond felt his heart sinking.

Enjolras reached out to caress the dark and curled hair that brushed his shoulder as Grantaire rubbed his face sleepily against the skin of his back.

“I thought you were satisfied from last night” joked Enjolras, in voice that sounded cheerful in comparison to the heartache he felt in his chest. He tried to get up, but the man behind him threw his arms around his waist, holding him tightly but not really against his will. The artist’s fingers traced silently the line of Enjolras jaw and stroked his cheek as the blond leaned into the conforting touch, admiring the closest thing to a deity he had ever met, and finding himself willing to give fire to a hecatomb for him.

“Enjolras,” he said softly “only a glimpse to your naked body would be enough to satisfy any man or woman’s desires for life.” Enjolras turned around, facing the grief in Grantaire’s eyes. “But the only thing I really desire, even more than everything you gave me last night, is the certainity that tomorrow, after the sunrise, you’ll still be breathing, and that sparkle of passion won’t have faded from your beautiful eyes.”

“Grantaire...” his hand sat on the other man’s cheek and they stared into each others eyes for a couple of seconds. Enjolras couldn’t quite find his voice.

“Of course, even if you tell me that assuring me that is impossible, I won’t try to stop you because I know I can’t. Nobody can.” He looked down, feeling tears forming in his own eyes with the only idea of the risk this boy was about to take. “And of course I want to believe that you will succeed —that you all will— that the entire city of Paris will revolt against the tyrant but...” he went silent for a second, only to let out a broken voice “why it has to be you the one facing the cannons?!”

“Grantaire, look at me” Enjolras said and he complied shyly and his reddened eyes met the blue gaze of his lover, sorrowful and distressed. “Someone has to lead those me, someone has to step up and-

“But why it has to be you?!” he yelled, causing the tears to roll down Enjolras’ cheeks. “Forgive me, please, forgive me. But I don’t have your ideas nor your faith, and I feel that only fate will decide if you and all our friends will survive. I can’t believe in justice or freedom, and I don’t see anything that may save you from bleeding to death in some miserable and narrow street of this city. Tell me, what should I believe in? what should I cling to, so I can truely believe that everything will be okay?”

“You told me once that you believed in me” he whispered with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his blue eyes. “You can’t have faith in the people or the ideas. Well, believe in me, then. Is the only thing I can offer you.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. He felt an unbeareble mix of anguish and despair, but also the purest and sweetest kind of love, all piled up in his chest, as his poor heart couldn’t help but to beat heavily, almost making him dizzy.

“It is much more than anyone has even offered me, Enjolras. You are the only thing I have ever believed in.” he leaned in to his lover and placed a little kiss on his jaw. “And the only one I have ever loved, truely loved.”

Enjolras pulled away a second to look him in the eyes, into those beautiful green eyes, and came close again to kiss him softly. “I love you too, Grantaire. I love you like I never thought I could love anyone.” he whispered on his lips. To those words, Grantaire felt himself unable to stop smiling and kissing the other man as lovingly as he cound conceive. They parted away for a second, only to look into each others eyes, they weren’t crying anymore, and that was enough.

‘God knows what I have done to deserve this’ thought the artist bitterly as he kissed Enjolras’ sweet lips ‘all this beauty and kindness... they can only belong to some heavenly creature, to an angel or a god. Perhaps this is it, live has granted me a piece of heaven and allowed me to love it, only to take him away cruely. Right, so if I lose this divine-like being, I’ll leave with him.’

“Are you going to stay a little longer?” Grantaire asked, deepening into the kiss and slipping his hands under Enjolras’ shirt again. The blond young man stared at his lover’s naked body for a second, bitting his lip and smirking. He seemed persuaded.

“Okay, the funeral is at midday, so I think that we have some time to enjoy each other’s company” had he just said this, Grantaire took his shirt off completely and joked “You can’t be late to your revolution!” Enjolras chuckled. “Shut up, is not my revolution.” And they kissed each other again.

“I saw you stumbling when you got up...I didn’t hurt you yesterday, did I?” the artist said, when they parted to catch their breath.

“No, not at all, I enjoyed myself as if it were my last-” he stoped, afraid that it would bring the melancholy back to the beautifully calm and sweet atmosphere they had created.

“Day on earth?” he said, apparently amused.

“Yes, my last day on earth” Enjolras admitted timidly.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” And he kissed all the way down his neck. “I really enjoyed it too. You made the sweetest souds.” he said with a smile, making the othey boy blush.

A red petal fell from a rose in that bedrooms window. It was beggining to rot. After all, the spring was coming to an end.

[goodbyecringe]

(Un)Natural Selection Chapter 12

Éponine

I was sitting on my balcony reading over the letter that Justine had sent to me when I heard the knock on the door. After all of the stares I got during dining I just wanted to stay here, away from everyone else. But the knocking persisted and it took all of my willpower to wrap myself in my robe to answer the door. Enjolras was standing outside of my room still in his four piece suit.

“Well I feel terribly overdressed,” he greeted.

“I would have stayed in my dress if I would have known you were coming. Now you have to see me with my hair wrapped like a crazy person,” I laughed motioning at the rags Laila had arranged.

“If you don’t mind I don’t mind. May I come in?” He asked while we awkwardly stood in my doorway.

“Oh, sorry. Come right in,” I said, holding out my arm.

“I see you didn’t change any of the decor,” he noted looking around while I retrieved my letter from the balcony.

“I don’t mean to sound plain but this room is perfect just the way it is. This room is bigger than my family’s apartment so I’d be fine if there was just a bed in here.”

“So you’ve never had a room to yourself?” He asked, sitting on the couch at the foot of my bed.

I decided to swallow my pride for the next ten minutes in order to push some bonding.

“A bed. I’ve never had a bed to myself,” I said looking at him.

I could tell that this struck a nerve with Enjolras and could see the wheels turning in his brain.

“Serious note aside,” I said sitting on my bed, “why are you gracing me with your presence tonight?”

I could actually see his mind switch tracks.

“I came to apologize for throwing you under the bus during the Report. I should have asked you permission before telling the entire country about our secret encounter. I was just trying to keep the mood light so Kyran wouldn’t bring up that horrible fight,” he said, turning around to face me.

“Oh, don’t apologize. I was actually going to say the same thing for when I threw Kyran’s question back at you,” I laughed.

“No need to apologize. I also came to congratulate you on your first Report of many. I met with Combeferre after and he said that you were very composed and charismatic.”

My first Report of many? Did that mean he kept on keeping me around? Was he going to every girl’s room to congratulate her?

“It’s probably thanks to the meetings. Thanks to you I feel much more comfortable talking in a group setting.”

“The pleasure is mine. Have you ever considered furthering your education Éponine?” He asked, sitting up straight.

“Never seriously, since I technically don’t have an education to advance. I know I said I didn’t go to high school, but I’ve even never been inside a school. I mean the only reason I can read is because my mother wanted to prepare me for the Selection,” I laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“That sounds very considerate of her. What are your parents like? I’ve really only heard you talk about your sister.”

I felt my heart rate increase. My mouth became dry and I struggled to swallow. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t lie about my parents. Why couldn’t I tell Enjolras that his possible future in-laws were the perfect couple with no sort of criminal history? I had never had any trouble lying. It was a survival tactic engrained for personal protection.

“Éponine? Are you alright Éponine?” Enjolras asked, moving to sit next to me on the bed.

“Sorry. I just need some fresh air, it’s a bit hot in here,” I lied, moving towards the balcony.

It was a horrible lie. The room was the perfect temperature, just like the entire palace. Everything and everyone here was perfect.

“I’m terribly sorry for offending you, Éponine,” he apologized, approaching me.

“No I’m not offended. I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed,” I breathed, feeling the cool breeze on my skin.

“Yes of course. I shouldn’t have come to your room unannounced after your first interview on the Report. I’ll let you get some sleep,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

I could feel an excessive amount of heat on my shoulder. I turned my head to look at Enjolras and I was immediately disgusted at the amount of sympathy on his face. It was the face that my neighbors gave me after listening to my parents argue all night. It was the face my stylist gave to me when he first looked at me. It was the face that every Five and above gave to me when they saw me walk to work in the morning. That sympathetic face evoked a different kind of anger that coursed through my body. I stood in place to watch Enjolras walk towards the door.

“Should I send for one of your maids?” He asked as he opened the door.

“No thank you. They should be allowed to sleep at night,” I said.

“I’ll post a guard outside of your door tonight, just in case,” he persisted.

“Thank you, Enjolras.”

“It’s my pleasure, Éponine. I’ll see you for the meeting tomorrow,” he said, closing the door.

I stood outside until I felt calm enough to get into bed without crying. Everything part of me hated that Enjolras and I had yet to learn anything deeper about each other than our political opinions. I remembered how Cosette asked him about her life at home and how Enjolras said that her father sounded admirable. But she probably didn’t tell him about her father rescuing her from my family.

As I walked towards my bed, I picked up the picture of ‘Zelma that Justine sent me in her letter. My parents didn’t believe in spending money on pictures so I didn’t have any with me when I came to the palace. In this picture, Azelma was holding a cup of tea in the Brouder’s kitchen. Her curly blonde hair was pulled in a messy ponytail while she worked, and she was wearing one of my old T-shirts. I wondered if she regretted asking me not to write to her and if she was taking the blunt of my parent’s aggression again. I wondered if Enjolras could let me call her so I could make sure she was okay.

The next morning I took breakfast in my room while Mariam chastised me about needing to sleep more. Our relationship had greatly increased since Laila and Elise had told me about her daughter. When I decided to let her fuss over my appearance she became much more agreeable, and I became used to her presence. I was curious how the other girls interacted with their maids and remembered the constant commotion I could hear from Tereasa’s room, which was across from mine. Before her first date with Enjolras we could hear her throw a vase at one of her maids, who narrowly missed it, and flew at the wall.

“After you finish your breakfast you’ll need to go see the Doctor in the infirmary,” Miriam reminded me.

“If it makes you feel better, Miriam had to let out some of your dresses,” Elise chimed from my vanity.

It was my second time making a trip to the Palace’s Infirmary during my stay. During the last visit the Doctor said that I needed to gain at least two more pounds to stay on track, but I wasn’t feeling optimistic about my odds. As I walked towards the Infirmary I smiled at Grantaire, who guarded the Men’s Room. Grantaire and I had become acquainted since he walked me to the kitchen before every meeting. I learned that he had a real passion for painting and that he dreamed to one day save enough money to become a Five. At one point we spoke about our worst experiences as Sixes, which for Grantaire was only a few months ago. He said that he had lost his job and become a roaring alcoholic before he applied for a position at the palace. But the bright smile on his face as he waved back to me said that he was doing much better now than a few months ago.

When I entered the Infirmary I was surprised to be greeted by Joly and Combeferre instead of my usual Doctor.

“What brings you in today Éponine?” Combeferre asked, pulling out a chair for me to sit in.

“I had an appointment to have my weight recorded today. If this isn’t a good time I could come back later.”

“Dr. Tapp was called away for a few hours, but Joly and I would be happy to weigh you. Only if it’s okay with you, of course,” Combeferre said, pushing up his glasses.

“I don’t mind at all,” I said sitting down.

“Excellent, I’ll go look for your file,” he said leaving the room.

“Would you mind changing into this gown for me?” Joly asked, holding out the thin slip that I wore in my last appointment.

“Not at all,” I said, walking towards the divider in the corner of the room.

“How have you been Joly?” I asked, deciding to make small talk.

“I’ve been closely monitoring the pollen count for this week, which looks dreadful by the way. Needless to say I’ve been a bit agitated this week,” he said, the frustration in his voice evident.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I sympathized. “Have you been doing that breathing treatment you mentioned in the last meeting?”

“Twice a day and whenever Combeferre says I’m getting out of hand. I’ve found it to be quite effective, but lacks a long term effect.”

“Maybe you could try yoga, the woman I work for goes three times a week to help lower her stress,” I said, walking out from behind the divider.

“Thank you for the suggestion. I’ll be sure to add it to my ever growing list,” he said, sanitizing his hands for the second time since I walked in.

“Now, sit tall and take some deep breaths while I listen to you,” he said as I sat down.

Combeferre came back with my file while Joly was putting something around my pointer finger to measure my oxygen levels.

“How have you been sleeping Éponine?” Combeferre asked.

“Well, to be honest every day I feel like it’s time to wake up as soon as I fall asleep,” I laughed while Joly removed the sensor.

“So the sleeping pills you were prescribed a few weeks ago haven’t been working?”

“No they haven’t,” I said, looking at the ground.

I would dare to tell him that I’d never taken a sleeping pill before in my life, or that my mother probably sold them for booze money.

“I’ll talk to Doctor Tapp about getting you a stronger prescription. I also see that your blood pressure is a bit elevated, have you been feeling a bit stressed?”

“I mean, I’m only here competing against a bunch of girls for a guy that’s out of my league, so yes I would say I’m feeling a bit stressed,” I sighed, partially relieved to finally tell someone.

“Why do you think Julien is out of your league?” Joly asked in shock.

“Because he’s a Prince. A highly educated, well-versed, charismatic, and all too perfect Prince. And I’m a housekeeper,” I stumbled.

“Éponine, I’ve known Enjolras for sixteen years, and trust me when I say, he is the least perfect person in the entire palace,” Combeferre comforted.

“Yeah well the only flaw I’ve found is that he lacks self-preservation skills. God, I can’t even talk to him about anything personal. He came to my room last night to apologize for throwing me under the bus during the Report and I freaked out. He asked me about my parents and I felt like I couldn’t breathe, so he left.”

I felt a tear hit my wrist. Was I actually crying over some guy? Joly and Combeferre exchanged a look.

“I know that this experience might be difficult for you, especially since you’re a Six,” Combeferre began.

My head snapped up when he said Six. The entire time I had been here no one had addressed my caste specifically to my face.

“When Énjolras says he doesn’t want to know your caste it’s because he’s trying to show Illeá that society can be so much more than a caste system. You’ve been to the meetings, you know how Enjy gets when he gives his speeches.”

“It’s like nothing else in the world matters,” I said aimlessly.

“Because to Enjolras, nothing except for Illeá matters. That’s why he skips meals, why he doesn’t go on a date every single day, why he insists on going by his surname. Nothing in the world trumps the future of Illeá,” Combeferre finished.

“Was that supposed to be a pep talk? Because if it was, it sucked,” I laughed as Joly handed me a tissue.

“It was meant to be informative. All of these girls here think that they’re competing to be first, but they’re really just competing for second place to the country.”

“What about me? Aren’t I one of these girls?”

“You might be. But it might help you to know that you’re the only Selected girl that Enjolras ever talks about,” Combeferre said, helping me over to the scale.

The stupid light that lit in my chest my bright enough to help me through the rest of my time in the infirmary. Even though I had actually lost two pounds instead of gaining them, I was still happy. I had a new found hope that was going to get me through the other girl’s stares and day spent practicing my high heel skills. I couldn’t help but smile like an idiot while I walked back to my room. Azelma would have a chance to go to school and we would be able to move out of Allens. Just as I was thinking about what to Justine in my next letter I smelt a nauseating amount of pine. It smelt like an expensive bottle of cologne that only one person that I knew would wear.

“Well if it ain’t the little Lady ‘Ponine,” a dark voice snarled from behind me.

[williamvapespeare]

enjolras & grantaire, 44 👉

44. “Is that my shirt?”

👈 i’m sorry i realise that this is NOT a drabble but it just kind of…kept going.

(also, i have one other prompt mostly done and am working on the others. yall are amazing

–

Grantaire arrived at the Musain early, which wasn’t unusual.He often got there before meetings started to have a drink, catch up with Jolyand Bossuet, to claim the second table at the back of the room and positionhimself so it looked like he cared, but not toomuch. And if it was a spot that gave him a prime view of Enjolras’s curls andhigh cheekbones in the soft light of an evening turning into night, then that wasjust a bonus.

But no, he told himself. He wasn’t going to think aboutEnjolras right now. He didn’t even deserve the privilege of imagining those cheekbones anymore.

Besides, tonight was different form a normal night at theMusain for a number of reasons. An event they had been working on for weeks hadculminated yesterday in what Grantaire might leniently call a fuck up and moreaccurately be labeled a disaster.

Thankfully, no one had been hurt beyond superficial scrapesand bruises, but they were all tired, all on edge. He could see it in the slumpof Bossuet’s shoulders and the white-knuckled grip Joly had on the handle ofhis cane as he made his way towards them across the room. None of them were onpeak form today, least of all him.

He reached their table and set his drink down on it,throwing himself into the chair across from Joly and began with no preamble.

“I have made the worst mistake of my life.”  

Bossuet turned to him with a hint of his usual amused smile.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re doing ok.”

“Yeah,” Joly chimed in, “I was worried when you didn’t textus last night.”

Grantaire took a sip of his drink, waiting. He supposed itwas funny, in a gut-wrenchingly horrible, ironic kind of way.

“I stayed at Enjolras’s last night.

Bossuet choked on his beer.

“We didn’t sleep together!” Grantaire rushed to clarify, “Well,we slept together in, like, close proximity. It was all very,” He buried hisface in his arms, “Soft? Oh god, I hate myself.”

“Ok, slow down. Whether or not you had your theoretical AmokTime - “ Grantaire laughed into the crook of his elbow, despite himself. Jolywas a fucking nerd. “Thank you. It sounds like that’s a good thing for youguys. Taking it slow isn’t bad.”

“Oh, that’s not the problem.” Grantaire squeezed his eyesshut, glad he’d already hidden himself away from their judgment. “I fuckingpanicked and snuck out this morning when he was in the shower. I think I leftmy shirt,” he paused for some sort of dramatic effect, “and my dignity.”

Bossuet reached out to put a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.

“Hey, I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think - “

“Don’t comfort him!” Joly cut him off, leaning over thetable to slap Bossuet’s hand away. “He doesn’t deserve it!”

Joly paused for a moment, studying him.

“This is just a normal code: you had an awkward romanticinteraction with Enjolras, right? Did something else happen?”

Without waiting for an answer, Bossuet squeezed his shoulderagain and Grantaire felt a rush of affection for them both. He lifted his headand slumped back in his chair, reaching for his drink and taking a gulp beforefacing his friends.

“No, you’re right.” He rubbed a hand over his face with agroan. “I’m being an idiot.” I don’t deservehim.

Joly and Bossuet shared a look.

“You guys saw how fucked up things got yesterday. He – Enjolraswas upset. He almost got hurt, like bad hurt. I saw the bruises.” Across thetable, Joly’s expression softened. “It just hurts to see him like that because I’mso scared for him, of losing him. So,um, I just ran.”

He jumped at the sound of a soft cough behind them.

“Grantaire, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Oh, shit.”

He hadn’t even noticed Enjolras enter the room, much lesscome up behind him to hear who knows how much of this mortifying conversation. Fora moment, he glanced back at Joly and Bossuet, who were both staring at himintently, waiting for him to move.

He picked up his drink, finished it, and then stood up tofollow Enjolras out of the main room and into the hallway. It was quiet out here,the two of them standing in almost palpable tension for a moment beforeGrantaire couldn’t take it anymore.

“Enjolras,” he started, unsure how he could possibly continuewith any sort of coherent sentence and paused, something catching his eye. Enjolraswas wearing a red plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up a few times to expose thegentle curve of his forearms; that wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the familiart-shirt he had on underneath. “Sorry, is that my shirt?”

“Oh,” Enjolras looked down at the shirt for a moment,sheepish. “Courf said I should wear it. He said it would be a power move.” He lifted two fingers invague air quotes at the last two words. “Not that I feel like I need to havepower over you now! This morning I was just kind of…hurt.”

It was, in fact, an excellent power move. The shirt wasslightly too big on him, hanging loosely off his thinner frame, the necklinedipped to expose the very edge of his collarbone. But that was something Grantairecould think about later.

“I’m so sorry.” Grantaire fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve.“I don’t even know why you’re talking to me right now. I just – how much ofthat conversation did you overhear?”

“I heard the end of it,” Enjolras admitted, his expressionsoftening as he stepped closer. “All you had to do was talk to me. Why are youscared?”

Grantaire swallowed. There were more answers to thatquestion than Enjolras knew, answers that made his heart pound and tended todrive him down a path darker than he ever wanted Enjolras to see. So, when hetold the truth a moment later, he shot for the most lighthearted of hisemotional baggage.

“My last serious partner cheated on me.” Ok, maybe it wasstill a little sad. “She cheated on me with an econ major. He wore slacks!And now he works at the bank I go to and I’m always afraid he’s going to laughat me for my overdraft whenever I go in –“

Enjolras cupped his face with two hands, effectivelyshutting him up as he forced Grantaire to meet his eyes.

“Grantaire,” he said seriously, “I think that capitalism is immoral,and I promise I will not leave you for a man with a high paying bank job. You’reworth so much more than that.”

Grantaire blinked.

He knew, objectively, that this was exactly what he’d beendreaming of hearing almost since the day they’d met. A part of him knew thatEnjolras had never looked more beautiful, or sounded more hilarious, than hedid right now: his face inches away from Grantaire’s, slipping into an ‘evilsof capitalism’ diatribe in the middle of their romantic drama. He was adorable.And gorgeous. And so hot that Grantaire wasn’t quite sure how his brain wasfunctioning as well as it was right then.

And he was still looking at Grantaire with his head tiltedslightly, giving him the full force of his intense focus, pale eyebrows drawninto a small concerned frown.

Grantaire felt the weight of everything he wasn’t saying,heavy and bitter between them: what aboutyou? The evils of capitalism were all well and good, but what would happenwhen the next yesterday arrived and one person was slower, and the cops wereless lenient, and they already had a record? What would happen when the priceof the fight became more than black eyes and bruised egos? When, and he knew deepdown it was a when not an if, Enjolras gave himself up willingly to be tornapart by the very systems he opposed?

When Enjolras left him with only the overwhelming nothingnessof loss. Grantaire couldn’t quite put voice to the fear growing inside of him,the same fear that had sent him running that morning and that was what scaredhim more than anything.  

“Grantaire.” Enjolras’s voice was suddenly so close thatGrantaire felt his words more than he heard them, ghosting against his cheek. “It’salright.” Enjolras’s fingers curled gently into his hair. “Stop thinking soloudly.”

And really, there was nothing Grantaire could say to thatexcept to kiss him. Enjolras’s lips were warm and slightly chapped and he wassmiling when they broke apart, a small flush across his cheeks.

Grantaire looped his arms around his waist, not quite readyto let go, and Enjolras settled against him, one hand against Grantaire’schest, the other still carding through his hair.

“Can I come over again tonight?” Grantaire asked. He couldfeel himself starting to smile, like an idiot, at the sheer unlikelihood of itall. “I promise I won’t run awayagain in the morning because I’m afraid of how amazing you are.”

“I suppose you do have to get your shirt back.”

“You’ll have to take it off first for me to do that.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and leaned to kiss him again.

“I think I’ll survive.”

[pleasefindmyart]

Two weeks

This was inspired by the ‘Music is the key’ challenge of @thecoffeeshopforwriters

Artist: Bebe Rhexha

Album: Expectations

Song: Self Control

Fandom: Les Miserables

Pairing: Enjolras x Grantaire

Warnings: Mention of drug use

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LItq59z6bqU

Got no self control And I don't mean cigarettes and alcohol 'Cause when it comes to you I can't say no I don't wanna taste, I want it all

When I get your call I'm out the door, not a minute more Like an animal I lose control, it's illogical Oh, oh

One little kiss can turn into a thousand One little touch and I'm gone

It was late at night and the streets of Paris glistened with the rain. There were people walking around, laughing, talking, generally having a good time. But he didn't hear any of that. He barely even saw the people around him, each having their own story to live full of love, heartbreak, promises and failure. All he could hear was that voice, echoing through his head again and again. Part of him never wanted this to stop, to always have this modulated, silvery voice ringing in his ears. But the other part felt haunted by the very same, not able to flee from it, metaphorically and literary. It didn't matter where he went, subsequently the universe would lead him always back, whether it was at meetings in the little, crammed back room of the cafe or at riots, in the local news or through the stories random people told each other on the streets.

He couldn't even enjoy a nice bottle of wine or a joint without hearing Him. Yes, Him. Him with a capital 'H'. Not because He was some old dude sitting on a cloud and deciding everyone's fate. No, He only decided his fate and He did it without even knowing it; without even caring. So night after night Grantaire wandered the streets of Paris, trying to get His voice out of his head and at the same time enjoying every second of hearing the very same. For Grantaire He was everything: the single source of light the only hope to live to see another day, the very breath that would fill his lungs and allow him to keep living. But being everything also meant that He was the dark figure in his nightmares, the mirror, showing him what a disgrace he actually was, the pain, the only thing he would be able to feel at times.

Even though being consumed by his thoughts, Grantaire could see the irony of all this. Take a drunk, a hopeless, an addict like himself and make him feel love for once, make him able to hope, just for him to get addicted, obsessed again. That's what it was: another addiction. Only this time it was so much stronger. Of course he could have never imagined to stop drinking at the time or to stop smoking for that matter. However, something inside him knew that there was difference to his current addiction. This felt different. Of course he needed the alcohol and other drugs at the time but compared to them this felt unbelievably strong. Yes, unbelievable. Funny that that's the word coming to mind. The irony struck Grantaire again. Unbelievable that He was his new addiction, when it was Him who made him believe again.

‘Well, don’t meddle in our affairs. Go and sleep off the effects of your absinthe.’

And that was it. It would be a lie to say that He had ever been friendly to him, but those two sentences did the job and Grantaire could still feel the splinters of his broken heart.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks of wandering through Paris each night. Two weeks of trying to fix his heart and realizing that that will never be possible again. Two weeks of trying to avoid Him at any cost and failing miserably. Two weeks of being stone cold sober.

‘Well, don’t meddle in our affairs. Go and sleep off the effects of your absinthe.’

Yes, he went. And every night he kept on going. Yes, he slept. Never good but he slept and the absinthe hasn't been a problem since that day either, since those two sentences.

Not bothering where he was going and seemingly wandering around aimlessly, Grantaire only noticed the familiar surrounding when it was too late. As he stood in front of the Musain and even though every last one of his braincells screamed at him to run, run in the opposite direction, he took a step and then another until he was back, sitting in the same corner, he was trying to run away from.

'Don’t meddle in our affairs.'

He didn't want to. He didn't want to be there. He wanted to run, to sleep off the effects his absinthe. The absinthe that was long gone from his system. Before he could stand up and walk away he saw a flash of bright red. That was all it took and as if controlled by a force greater that anything he knew, all he could do was sit in his corner and listen to that modulated, silvery voice that so passionately spoke of justice, of change and of hope. It wasn't until the meeting was over that their eyes met.

It wasn't until then that he was able to once again look into the eyes of Enjolras.

Got no self control And I don't mean cigarettes and alcohol When it comes to you I can't say no I don't wanna taste, I want it all

I'm so predictable Fall every time, ain't it pitiful And it's not enough I tried to quit But I'm giving up

One little kiss can turn into a thousand One little touch and I'm gone

It was late at nigh and knew that the rain was falling onto the streets of Paris. There were people out there walking around, laughing, talking, generally having a good time. But he didn't hear any of that. He barely even noticed the people on the street outside his flat, each having their own story to live full of love, heartbreak, promises and failure. All he could hear was that voice, echoing through his head again and again. Part of him never wanted this to stop, to always have this low, gruff voice ringing in his ears. But the other part felt haunted by the very same, not able to flee from it. He couldn't even enjoy the usually rewarding feeling of winning an argument or discussing plans without hearing Him. Yes, Him. Him with a capital 'H'. Not because He was some old dude sitting on a cloud and deciding everyone's fate. No, He only decided his fate and He did it without even knowing it; without even caring. So night after night Enjolras lay in his bed, unable to sleep, trying to get His voice out of his head and at the same time enjoying every second of hearing the very same. For Enjolras He was everything, everything he never had before, everything he never knew he missed. From the slight tingle on his skin, where He had accidentally touched him to the subconscious way he always looked for Him during meetings. From the feeling of  reassurance when he saw Him in his corner to the the confusion he felt whenever he noticed any of his oh so irrational behaviour.

Even though being consumed by his thoughts, Enjolras could see the irony of all this. He had never felt that way. He had always been so sure of himself, or at least of the cause he was fighting for. How or rather why would the person that believes the least be able to cause these emotions. These irrational emotions. These confusing emotions. He was the least interested in a better future. He was the last person who would contribute a useful idea. And still Enjolras would feel utterly incomplete if He wasn't there.

'You're heartless, Enjolras'

And that was it. It would be a lie to say that they had ever been overly friendly towards each other, but that sentence did the job and Enjolras could still feel the splinters of his broken heart.

He has felt like that for two weeks. Fourteen days. 336 Days of

feeling lost. Of not being able to sleep. Of having a broken heart.

'You're heartless, Enjolras'

That sentence echoed in his head. It echoed in his head when he tried to sleep, and it followed him through his dreams. It echoed in his head when he woke up. It echoed in his head during every second of the day right until he started the meeting.

Glancing at the corner had become a habit. Of course He wouldn't be there. He hadn't been for two weeks. Enjolras didn't even know why he still glanced there. So coming into the room and being about to start the meeting, he glanced at the corner and nearly forgot himself when he saw the familiar sight of it being occupied.

It wasn't until the meeting was over that their eyes met.

It wasn't until then that he was able to once again look into the eyes of Grantaire.

Got no self control And I don't mean cigarettes and alcohol When it comes to you I can't say no I don't want a taste, I want it all

The meeting was over; the room had cleared. Only Grantaire and Enjolras were left, staring at each other, neither saying a word. It felt like a life time; maybe even more, maybe it felt like two weeks.

As if  a wall between them broke they simultaneously started to speak, Grantaire saying 'I want to meddle in your affairs, I don't want to go' and Enjolras saying 'I do have a heart'. Another silence followed until Enjolras was standing right in front of Grantaire's corner and quietly admitted:

'I don't want you to go, please stay with me'.

Slowly standing up and taking a step towards Enjolras, eliminating the remaining space between them, Grantaire took his hands and just as quietly answered:

'I know you have a heart, you couldn't have had such an impact on mine if you didn't'.

And as if another wall broke, the last one standing, Enjolras and Grantaire kissed, finally easing the pain of their broken hearts, both of them knowing that this could never stop just there. Both of them knowing that they were completely and utterly lost within each other. Both of them knowing that self control was not the word to describe their feelings for each other as well as their obvious inability to live without another, even for only two weeks.

And the hunger grows I'm craving you and my body knows 'Cause it wakes me up Heart through my chest, it's gotta be love

[enjolrasrising]

Chiaroscuro

The dream was dark, cold and empty. Grantaire couldn’t open his eyes, but through his eyelids he could tell that all that existed in the space was shadow. He couldn’t move either, though his chest heaved like he’d been running, and his legs shook, threatening to buckle under his own weight. He tried to call out for help, but his throat was dry and he couldn’t take in enough air to breathe out a single word. He thought maybe he would die like this, alone and cold. But something told him, maybe not just yet.

The dream changed. He was standing in an apartment, eyes open, the darkness gone. He’d never been here before, and something deep within him hoped he’d never come back. Grantaire felt someone tugging at his shirt. He looked down and saw a little girl, with dark brown hair and emerald green eyes.

“Tristan,” she said, in a voice that echoed around him, “the floor.”

Below his feet, the carpet felt damp. In the space of a moment, Grantaire became distinctly aware that he was standing in blood. He opened his mouth to cry out, but again, he didn’t have the breath to spare.

He woke to his heart pounding and his side aching. For a moment he was confused as to why he couldn’t hear his own heart beat steadily setting the pace for the EKG, or the slow inhale and exhale of the oxygen tank. But as he took in his surroundings, he recalled that a few days ago Joly and Bahorel had checked him out of the hospital and brought him to his dorm room. He blinked up at his dim forest painting on the wall, and Enjolras’ red banner right next to it. The room was such an odd mix of art and politics, messy paintbrushes and overfilled calendars, and it usually comforted him. But today it filled him with the looming anxiety of real life coming at him fast after a long, weird break. Grantaire slowly started to put his arms over his eyes to block out the world, but the movement pulled at the stitches in his side, so he lowered them again.

Enjolras’ voice came from his own side of the room, which was messy but somehow a more organized mess than Grantaire’s side. “Shit, sorry, did I wake you up?”

Grantaire flinched in surprise and put his hand over his heart. He looked over at Enjolras, who was unpacking a suitcase. “Fu…you scared me.”

“Sorry.” He was frozen, mid-folding a t-shirt, his expression full of poorly disguised worry.

Grantaire sighed and started to slowly sit up. He pushed aside an empty cereal bowl he’d been working up the courage to get up and wash before he fell asleep. “Was I making noises?”

“Yeah. Bad dream?”

“Kinda. These painkillers are dope, but also they make me dream super vividly and I’m sick of it.” He turned his body to face Enjolras, his back up against the wall and his feet hanging off the edge of the bed. “Did you just get back?”

Enjolras nodded, resuming his folding. “Yeah, and I’m glad. Winter break sucked.” He brushed hair out of his eyes and Grantaire caught a glimpse of a bruise under the lamplight.

“What happened to your face?”

Enjolras’ movements halted for a split second, but then he kept folding as if nothing was out of place. “I may have gotten drunk at a family Christmas party and crashed into something.”

The mental image alone was enough to make Grantaire laugh. “Oh my god—ow.” He put his hand over his side, keeping his body rigid to stop the pain. He tried to breathe as gingerly as possible. “What the fuck…I can’t even laugh anymore?”

Enjolras stood up, his eyes wide. “Do you want me to call someone? You should still probably be in the hospital.”

“I’m fine, man, I’m not going back there. They’ve already taken too much of my money.” He meant for his tone to come across as light, but the sourness of the statement dominated any attempt at a joke.

“I can pay,” Enjolras said, still looking worried. “If it’s too expensive, I can help out.”

Grantaire felt his chest warm at the offer, at Enjolras exhibiting so much concern on his behalf. But he shook his head. “I don’t want your guilt money, dude.” He quickly added, “But thanks.”

“It’s not guilt money,” Enjolras’ voice was defensive, “it’s friend money. I want to help, I’m…I’ve been worried about you.”

Grantaire met his eyes, and suddenly the room felt a little colder. “Well, you’ve already committed yourself to dying to take down the government that did this, so I think you’re helping enough.”

Enjolras held his gaze, his stare turning icy. “If you hate the cause I fight for so much—”

“I didn’t say I hated it, come on.”

“—why the fuck do you stick around us?”

“Don’t act like you don’t—"

“Or why the hell did you even insist on coming with us to the meeting with Mouton?”

Grantaire made a big show of rolling his eyes. “Stop it, Enjolras. Stop acting like you’re so clueless, it’s really fucking annoying!”

Enjolras scoffed. “Is it really? Well if you aren’t going to ever come out and say how you really feel about people, then why the hell should I?”

“Because…” Grantaire faltered. He had his reasons, a lot of reasons, but none of them were willing to come out of his mouth.

“Acting clueless is a lot easier than facing the fact that…” Enjolras broke off their eye contact and looked angrily down at his suitcase, “…that you only came to the public relations building with us because you had feelings for me. If you hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have gotten shot. You wouldn’t have lost a ton of money to the hospital, you wouldn’t have missed all of your finals, you wouldn’t have missed seeing your family for the holidays, you…” He looked back up. “…you’d be able to laugh at me without it hurting.”  

Grantaire stared at him, his heart beating fast. His voice was soft, his throat getting tight. “You don’t want anything to happen between us, do you?”

There was already an apology in Enjolras’ eyes. He slowly pulled out his desk chair and sat down heavily. “We are both really different, Grantaire. I don’t think we would be good for each other.”

It felt just like the dream—he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to say everything he wanted to say. He heard himself take in a couple of wheezing breaths before speaking in a small voice. “How do you know?”

“I just said, we’re really different—”

“But you saved my life, you…” Grantaire pushed himself off the bed, standing. “…you have no idea what you’ve done for me.” His legs shook from the effort and the stitches in his side protested, but he stayed standing.

Enjolras stood too. “Grantaire, look at the fucking situation you’re in! I didn’t save your life! If anything, Combeferre was the one holding back the bleeding.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Grantaire gripped the wooden bedframe, white knuckled. “I wasn’t gonna come to school this semester, I’d already planned not to. I’d already planned everything.”

Enjolras stared at him. “…what?”

The words kept tumbling out. “The day you texted me about meeting each other for the first time, you fucking…you interrupted everything. And then I met you and just…fuck man, everything about you just radiates light.” He met Enjolras’ eyes, even though he felt himself blushing. “You invited me to those meetings, you think my art is good, you just, like, care so much about everything and…and you saved my life. You’re good for me.”

Enjolras’ face was sheet pale, his eyes tinged red. He turned away from Grantaire and started to head for the door, but the thought of leaving was clearly half-hearted because he stopped three-fourths of the way there. He put the heels of his hands over his eyes and took a deep breath. “Grantaire, you can’t put that shit on me.” He dropped his hands to his side and turned around. “I am not your savior. Cause in the end, you still chose not to finish you plan. So, do you actually love me, or are you just grateful that someone stopped you long enough for you to reconsider your choices?”

“That’s fucking…” He shook his head, “No, of course I…” But as he thought about it, his protests began to lose strength.  Grantaire felt his legs buckle and he slowly lowered himself onto the cold floor. “Fuck…” he pressed his hand to his side and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck.” The darkness behind his eyelids felt just like the dream; vast, petrifying, lonely.

Had he really just confused grateful admiration for romantic love? He wasn’t even sure he knew the difference between them. Everyone he’d ever fallen for seemed so much better than him, so much better than he’d ever be.

He felt Enjolras kneeling down across from him and he slowly, miserably opened his eyes. He looked up at his roommate, pushing through the embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

Enjolras’ expression was firm but gentle. “Don’t apologize for having feelings. Maybe I’m actually wrong about all of this, I just…like, I don’t want you to think you are incapable of doing good for yourself.” He rubbed his palms on his pants, breaking off their eye contact. “And I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have told you all of this before you followed me to the meeting with Mouton. I could have saved you a lot of hurt.”

“I would have gone anyway,” Grantaire said without a second thought.

That seemed to take Enjolras by surprise. “Why?”

The question made him pause, and Grantaire realized that he didn’t know how to put his response into words. Because the real answer was just a feeling, and the feeling felt impossible to describe. He went with a simpler way of putting it. “You’re my friend. And instead of playing a sport or doing some normal thing for me to support, you’re…a fucking revolutionary.”

A small smile played on Enjolras’ lips. “But you’re still going to disagree with me during meetings and over text, right?”

“Oh for sure. I don’t have to agree with you, but I’m still going to support your dumb choices.”

For some reason, that was cause for tears to form in Enjolras’ eyes. And Grantaire felt a question in the air between them that didn’t need to be voiced in order to be answered. He leaned forward as much as his wound would allow to meet Enjolras in a gentle embrace.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Enjolras said, softly.

Grantaire didn’t answer, but he felt the darkness that was lingering around him push away. He was okay, and for now, that felt good.

“Oh my god, wait…” Enjolras pulled away and stood up. “I have a Christmas gift for you.”

Grantaire sniffed and made himself a little more comfortable on the floor. “That’s not fair, I didn’t get you anything.”

“You’re alive. That’s the best Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten.” Enjolras reached into his closet and pulled out a large, covered rectangle that was nearly as tall as him.

“What the fuck is that? It’s in a canvas b—” Grantaire’s eyes widened and he looked from Enjolras to the covered canvas in disbelief. “You son of a bastard.”

Enjolras grinned and Grantaire thought he might as well die on the floor. “I told you I’d steal it. My father has no idea.” He leaned the canvas against the wall, unzipped the case, and pulled it to the side.

“Holy…fuck. Holy fucking fuck.” Grantaire got on his knees and gazed at the Caravaggio painting. “Enjolras…holy fuck. It’s a Judith. It’s a fucking Judith beheading Holofernes—holy shit.”

He could hear the gleefulness in Enjolras’ voice. “Oh my god, are you crying?”

“Uh yeah, man, yeah I am. There is Caravaggio two inches from my face.” He rubbed his shirt sleeve across his eyes. “Look at the chiaroscuro, look at Judith’s face…” He looked up at Enjolras. “You are…unbelievable.”

“You deserve a Judith, R.” Enjolras sat down next to Grantaire, facing the painting. “Tell me what chiaroscuro is, you say it all the time and I never know what you’re talking about.”

Grantaire smiled and thought, he could die like this, with Enjolras, with bruises, with tears in his eyes. But maybe not just yet.  

[marblelover-ofliberty]

a stoic mind and a bleeding heart iii

Grantaire had been leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping a glass of water and trying to keep himself together. The moment he saw Enjolras, he set his glass down and went to him, holding out a hand to him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

Enjolras shook his head, taking Grantaire’s hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m okay,” he said, giving him a small smile. “I was just getting a few more minutes of sun.”

“You’ve been crying.”

Enjolras’ smile fell. “Non, I… it’s nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Really, I’m okay.”

Grantaire hesitated, but didn’t push him further. “Want a drink or anything?” he asked.

“I’m just a little overwhelmed, I think,” Enjolras said, determined to keep his promises. “That’s all.”

Grantaire nodded, squeezing his hand. “It’s alright,” he said softly. “I am too.”

Enjolras wanted to tell Grantaire he loved him, but didn’t know if that fell outside the boundaries so he tugged him close instead, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his face into the crook of his neck.

Grantaire all but melted into him, slipping his arms around Enjolras’ waist and holding him close.

“It’s all going to be alright,” he murmured, smoothing a hand over his back. “It’s us. It’s just us.”

Enjolras held Grantaire tighter, closing his eyes and breathing him in, letting his doubt and fear and shame fall away. Being wrapped up in his arms like this, however temporary it may be, was worth everything.

“I want to do this,” he said quietly. “I do.”

“It’s not even a thing that we’re doing,” Grantaire said reassuringly. “It’s just relaxing all those boundaries we’ve been putting up. It’s just letting us be us.”

Enjolras drew a deep breath and exhaled softly, leaving a soft kiss on Grantaire’s shoulder before lifting his head again. “Okay,” he said with a little nod.

Grantaire looked up at him, then leaned up to kiss his chin. “You still look so worried,” he said softly.

“I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t worried, non?” Enjolras said lightly, cupping Grantaire’s face in his hand and tracing his thumb under his bottom lip.

Grantaire smiled up at him; now this was pure relief. “I guess not,” he said.

Enjolras smiled too, a genuine smile, the kind brought on by a flutter in his chest. “I really want to kiss you.”

Grantaire grinned. “Right now?” he teased. “Like this?”

Enjolras breathed a laugh, his face flushing. “Shut up,” he said, drawing Grantaire close with a hand on his neck and pressing his lips to his.

Grantaire was still smiling as their mouths met. He rested his hands lightly on Enjolras’ hips, leaning up and parting his mouth against his.

“Why should I?” he murmured, scarcely breaking the kiss. “When you do such a good job of shutting me up anyway?”

Enjolras breathed a laugh, his stomach doing a somersault. “Is that why you never stop talking?” he asked, tugging at the hair at the base of Grantaire’s neck and pressing deeper into the kiss.

“Mhmm.” The sound fast dissolved into a moan.

Enjolras shuddered at the sound, goosebumps erupting across his skin. He pressed himself as close as he could against Grantaire, one hand still in his hair and the other pressed into the small of his back.

Grantaire broke away with a soft gasp, his heart beating too fast. He touched his forehead to Enjolras’.

“Dieu…” he said breathlessly.

Enjolras breathed a laugh. “Dieu is right,” he said, stealing one more kiss. And another. “I’ve missed this.”

“I have too,” Grantaire said, leaning into, savouring each one. “So much.”

“It feels good to not have to miss it anymore,” Enjolras said, smiling as he kissed the corner of his mouth and trailed kisses along his jaw.

Grantaire’s smile split into the grin; this had been the right thing to do, he told himself, kept telling himself.

“Good,” he said. “I’m glad we agree.”

Enjolras breathed a laugh, working his way back to his mouth to steal another kiss. “I think on this, we’ve always agreed.”

“You were going to shower,” Grantaire reminded him gently, lightly teasing.

“Oui, so my hair doesn’t turn green,” Enjolras said with a laugh. “But maybe I would look fine with green hair.”

“I think you’d look fine with green hair, purple hair, no hair at all.”

Enjolras laughed again, rolling his eyes. “I think you’ve gotten too much sun,” he said, reluctantly taking a step back. “I won’t be long.”

Grantaire pulled him back for another quick kiss first.

Enjolras smiled, cradling Grantaire’s face in his hands and kissing him again. “I’ve lost all motivation to shower.”

Grantaire laughed and nudged him away. “Go, go,” he said. “I want to too.”

“You could always come with me,” Enjolras teased lightly, stealing another kiss before turning to head upstairs.

Grantaire smiled, his cheeks decidedly pink. “Just save some hot water for me, ah?”

“I have hair like Rapunzel, it’s no guarantee,” Enjolras called back as he climbed up the stairs.

With Enjolras upstairs, Grantaire leaned back against the kitchen counters, exhaling shakily. He pushed his hands through his hair, then headed back outside, looking to lose himself a little in work while Enjolras showered. He just couldn’t see any ending for them in any universe that was a happy one anymore.

Enjolras made quick work of his shower, eager to get back to Grantaire and equally afraid of being alone with his thoughts for too long. He wanted to focus on being happy with what he had, not sad about what he didn’t, because he didn’t know how long he had before Grantaire felt that even this arrangement was too much pressure.

In fresh clothes and with still-wet hair, Enjolras went back downstairs to find Grantaire. “Hey,” he said as he stepped outside. “The shower is all yours.”

“Ah, merci,” Grantaire said, glancing up from a sketch he was working on with a small smile. “Guard my work from encroaching breezes for me?”

“Oui, of course,” Enjolras said, pressing a kiss to his cheek before taking a seat. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Ah…” Grantaire breathed an uneasy laugh. “Non, sure. Go ahead. I won’t be long.”

Enjolras smiled at him, reaching to gently squeeze his arm. “Go on, then. I’ll be right here.”

Grantaire dropped a kiss to his head as he got to his feet to head inside.

Enjolras watched Grantaire as he went, turning back to the sketchbook after he disappeared inside.

Grantaire was more than a little nervous when he returned, dropping back into his seat beside Enjolras.

“Had a good nose through?” he asked lightly.

“Oui, merci,” Enjolras said with a little laugh, pushing his sketchbook back over. “Am I allowed to sing your praises?”

“Briefly and without hyperbole,” Grantaire said wryly.

“I can see a real growth in your work, and I’m glad I get to be around for it,” Enjolras said, leaning over to steal a kiss. “I’m done.”

Grantaire couldn’t help smiling. “Oh,” he said, quite happily.

Enjolras smiled back, kissing him again just because he could. “Want to head inside and find something to eat?”

“Oui, that sounds good. Anything in particular you fancy?” Grantaire asked, gathering up his materials to take inside with them.

Enjolras hummed. “I have no idea,” he said, holding the door open for him and following him inside.

“Ah, my favourite,” Grantaire teased. “Have a rummage in the kitchen - I’m just going to pack all this away.”

Enjolras did as told, searching through cupboards and the fridge. “Yogurt,” he gasped.

“Non!” Grantaire laughed. “Yoghurt is not lunch.”

“Sure it is,” Enjolras said, grabbing the container. “I’ll cut up the last of this sad looking fruit to go with it. Do you have honey? Granola?”

“Honey,” Grantaire confirmed. “And I can run next door and see if Léonie has any granola?”

“Non, non, this is fine,” Enjolras said, kissing his cheek as he passed by to place the items on the counter. “I can make up two bowls - unless you’re too good for yogurt.”

Grantaire smiled, touching his fingertips to his cheek. “Non, yoghurt’s good,” he said.

“We can go out for a proper dinner, ah?” Enjolras said, serving our two bowls of fruit and yogurt. “Is there another place you like to eat?”

“Merci,” Grantaire said. “Oui, there are a couple of places round town.”

Enjolras hoisted himself up to sit on the counter to eat. “Maybe we could wander around town a bit before dinner?”

“Oui? That sounds good,” Grantaire agreed.

Enjolras smiled at him. “You can take me to buy more of this coffee.”

Grantaire laughed. “You want to stock up already?”

“I will need some form of comfort when I am back in Paris all alone,” Enjolras said with a dramatic sigh.

Grantaire snorted a laugh, though he hated the thought of Enjolras leaving. “You’ll have all the other Amis. I’ll be the one all alone here,” he pointed out. “Where’s my comfort, ah?”

Enjolras laughed too. “You have Léonie,” he said.

“You’re the worst,” Grantaire said. “Léonie is engaged.”

“You can’t be friends with people who are engaged?”

Grantaire waved a hand at him. “It sounded like you were implying Léonie will be keeping me warm on cold and lonely nights.”

Enjolras snorted. “Were you implying Les Amis would keep me warm on cold and lonely nights?”

“Courfeyrac would probably be up for it,” Grantaire teased.

“I think he’d have to fight Ferre off first,” Enjolras said with a laugh, setting his empty bowl aside. “Jehan is coming to visit soon, non?”

Grantaire nodded. “As soon as we agree on the sweet spot between too soon and too far away,” he said.

“Just have him fly in the same day I fly out,” Enjolras said. “How long will he stay?”

Grantaire laughed. “That would be a dream, ah? We haven’t decided on that yet though - he’s taking a break from studying and working and everything to visit, and he’s leaving Callie behind, so…”

“It’ll be good for him,” Enjolras said with a nod. “Even just a few days. I wonder who he’s asked to watch Callie; I’m sure there’s a fight going on somewhere.”

“Oui, I should think so,” Grantaire said, laughing a little.

“Remember how long it took Bahorel to finally give her back when he was babysitting while Jehan was at work?”

“Maybe he’s the guy to ask,” Grantaire said, smiling.

“Oui, sure, if Jehan is trying to rehome her,” Enjolras said with a laugh.

“I expect Combeferre would be happy to anyway, ah?”

“If only because Lucy wants him to be,” Enjolras said, sliding off the counter. “Are you finished? I’ll wash up.”

“Merci,” Grantaire said, handing over his empty bowl, then stealing Enjolras’ spot on the counter.

“I see how it is,” Enjolras said with a little laugh. After washing and drying their bowls, he moved to stand beside Grantaire, leaning back against the counter. “Do you just want to hang out for a while before dinner? Do you have work to do?”

“Non, I’m good to hang out,” Grantaire said, smiling at him. He reached out to run a hand through his hair.

Enjolras smiled back at him, leaning his head into his hand. “It’s almost like being back at home,” he said lightly.

“Ah, oui?” Grantaire said.

“Oui, remember the odd lazy weekend we’d have?” Enjolras asked, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “This feels like a long lazy weekend.”

Grantaire smiled. “Oui, it does a bit,” he said. “In a good way?”

“A really good way,” Enjolras said, moving to stand between Grantaire’s legs, resting his hands just above his knees. “Those were my favorite days.”

“Mine too,” Grantaire admitted, resting his hands on Enjolras’.

Enjolras smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Maybe we’ll get to have more of them now.”

“That would be nice, ah?”

Enjolras kissed him again. “It would be,” he agreed, squeezing his legs gently, mostly to stop himself moving his hands further up his thighs.

“The first week I’m home,” Grantaire promised him, smoothing his thumbs over the backs of his hands.

“That feels so much further away now,” Enjolras groaned, dropping his head against Grantaire’s chest.

Grantaire rubbed his back. “I’ll be home for Christmas,” he reminded him. “And you can come back and visit again, non?”

“Oui, maybe even for longer,” Enjolras said, lifting his head again. “If I find an associate to help with the workload.”

“I’d like that,” Grantaire said, nodding. “Think you’ll find someone good enough?”

Enjolras breathed a laugh. “Are you implying that I have impossibly high standards?”

“Oh, I’m not implying it,” Grantaire said, grinning at him.

Enjolras’ laughter grew. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to want someone with the same work ethic as me.”

“It’s not at all,” Grantaire agreed. “It’s all the other things you want that make your demands ridiculous.”

Enjolras gasped. “What other things?”

“What, all you want from a business partner is them to have the same work ethic as you? That’s all?”

“Well, non, it would be ideal if they held the same values and beliefs, and had some experience in the courtroom and outside of it advocating on behalf of the people, but I hardly think that’s too much to ask.”

“Non?” Grantaire teased.

Enjolras laughed. “You think that’s too much?”

“We’ll find out, I guess, ah?”

“You better hope it’s not,” Enjolras said, kissing him just because he could, “if you want me to stay longer than a week next time.”

Grantaire kissed him again, holding his face in his hands. “You’d better work hard, then.”

Enjolras smiled, moving his hands to Grantaire’s waist and pulling him closer. “That’s a promise I know I can keep.”

“Lucky for me, ah?” Grantaire said, then laughed. “You pull me any closer and I’m going to slip clean off the worktop.”

Enjolras laughed too, curling his fingers into his shirt. “Then maybe you should get down so I can have you close as I want without injury.”

“What about going into town this afternoon, hmm?”

“It’ll still be there tomorrow, non?” Enjolras said, tilting his head to kiss his neck.

Grantaire exhaled a slightly shaky laugh. “Enjolras…”

Enjolras immediately straightened, his face flushing. “Sorry, too much?”

“Non, non, sorry,” Grantaire said quickly. “I just… Let’s just not rush into anything.”

Enjolras nodded, giving him a small smile. “We can get ready to go, if you want,” he said. “I just need to get shoes on.”

“Oui?” Grantaire said, sliding down off the worktop. He kissed Enjolras’ chin. “There’s a really pretty fountain in the square I want to show you.”

Enjolras returned the kiss to Grantaire’s cheek before reluctantly easing away from him. “Is it the kind you can make wishes in?”

“If you’ve got some change,” Grantaire said, leading the way out of the kitchen.

“Ah, I think I can afford us a wish or two,” Enjolras teased, going to fetch his shoes where he’d left them at the front door.

“You’re so generous,” Grantaire said, grabbing his own from beside the sofa.

“I think that’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Enjolras said, standing ready at the door.

“Not true,” Grantaire said, grabbing his keys before joining him. He immediately leaned in for a kiss.

Enjolras smiled, holding Grantaire’s face in his hands as he kissed him back. “You did give me a really lovely compliment on my hair once.”

Grantaire broke the kiss with a laugh, pulling away to lead the way out. “Well, it’s great hair.”

Enjolras followed Grantaire out, only just stopping himself for reaching for his hand. “I did a lot of research to make sure I helped it reach its full potential.”

“It shows,” Grantaire teased.

[machihunnicutt]

FICVEMBER DAY FIVE

Here’s part one of my very self indulgent les mis fic. (Chapter two will probably be next week sometime tbh.)

(Or read on ao3.)

How to Define a Sandwich

There was a line. Of course there was a line just when he’d worked up the courage to leave the mountain of books in his room for a coffee break...downstairs. Marius Pontmercy didn’t know he’d chosen the artsy dorm. He’d picked the most centrally located of the three housing options his scholarship provided. Marius didn’t believe in things like fate, but maybe it was. Maybe he was always destined to end up in places where he didn’t belong. Like in edgy, student-run coffee shops that were only open at night and had free refills for the weary eyed college kids who lived upstairs.

Marius had spent most of Welcome Week hiding from friendly but intimidating people down the hall and across the hall and in the room beside him (so, everyone.) He’d spent the first four weeks of classes taking aggressively detailed lecture notes in his panic handwriting and pretending to be better adjusted than he was when he Skyped Cosette. He hadn’t made any friends. He’d aced all his first exams but his insomnia was getting bad and sometimes he went full days without talking to anyone. So far college was quiet.

The Musain wasn’t quiet. The line stretched out the door and buzzed with laughter and conversation. He took a place at the back awkwardly and juggled the coffee mug in his hands. He’d been told he would get a discount if he brought his own.

“Look, I see where you’re coming from, but if you turn a hot dog on its side how is it different from any other meat sandwich? You have a top and bottom piece of bread with a filling. Those are the basic components of a sandwich.”

The girl in line in front of him shook her head aggressively, mussing the already messy bangs that covered most of her forehead. The line inched forward and the guy making the hot dog argument punctuated his sentence with a wave of his mug. It had a science olympiad logo on it.

“Holy shit Ferre, it is in no way that simple. A hot dog bun is one piece of bread--connected, unified, you get where I’m going here right? A sandwich has a distinct top and bottom layer and…”

“Layer, Eponine why are you…?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to include a hot dog but exclude an ice cream sandwich because it doesn’t have bread? You need to open your mind a little, pal.”

“Don’t passive aggressively pal me, just because it has sandwich in the name doesn’t mean it’s intrinsically a sandwich,” The guy said calmly, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “What does Enjolras always say? We must question the powers that be. I’m not going to change my definition of a sandwich because the man tells me something.”

“Don’t give me that shit in the same breath as your hot dog argument. You probably put dijon mustard on your bougie ass hot dog sandwich,” she shot back, but she was grinning. “What do you think?”

Marius blinked. She had turned to look at him and was waiting expectantly, eyes more intense with winged liner and a brilliant red eyeshadow.

“Me?” He said dumbly, regretting every step down the stairs from the fourth floor it took to get to the end of this line.

“Yeah, you. Where do you draw the proverbial sandwich line?”

“Don’t feel compelled to take her side just because she’s confrontational,” the guy cut in.

“I...uh, haven’t given it much thought,” Marius spluttered, feeling his face go pink.

The girl’s gaze softened and her dark brows furrowed together. “Understandable, understandable. We won’t interrogate you.”

“But we would appreciate your thoughts once you’ve gathered them,” the guy said good naturedly. “I’m Combeferre.” He stuck out his hand and Marius tried not to be self-conscious about his sweaty palms when he took it.

“Marius,” Marius replied.

“I’m Eponine and I greet with fist bumps not handshakes.” She extended a fist and Marius cautiously returned a fist bump.

The line inched forward again and now Marius was in the doorway. A gentle hum of something indie with soft vocals mixed with the muddled conversation, loud screeching of the machine that steamed the milk, and the enthusiastic greetings of the dark haired barista who was...distracting. The nervousness that had thus far kept Marius’ hands clenched so tightly on his coffee mug that he thought he might break it now made his shoulders tighten and teeth bite the inside of his mouth.

“Oh shit!” Eponine leaned out from behind Marius and grinned. “Courf’s working. I forgot!”

The barista, Courf evidently, looked up when he heard his name and for a second after he waved to Eponine made eye contact with Marius, just a quick, friendly sort of glance like maybe he thought Marius and Eponine were friends, making them mutual friends (which made Marius worry that he was somehow lying to this beautiful stranger who was now stirring a hot chocolate at a harried pace, making conversation as he went and reaching over to open the fridge door and grab whipped cream.)

“That’s our friend Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said, because apparently he’d been adopted by the fascinating sandwich arguers after five minutes in line. He felt lightheaded and like he should’ve just stayed in his room and tried to Skype Cosette again but also like he was on the precipice of something important and since this was the only social interaction he’d likely have all week (it was Thursday) he nodded, and repeated the name.

“Courfeyrac,” Marius Pontmercy said. And then they were at the front of the line.

“Dude, you owe me a playlist,” Eponine said, thrusting her coffee mug across the counter. “The usual.”

“I know, I know,” the barista said, snatching up the mug and tossing it between his hands. He looked even more animated up close and fumbled around the extensive collection of syrups along the back wall of the cafe as he spoke. “I’m almost done and then I’ll send it your way. To be fair, ‘Songs to Annoy My Shithead Parents that Won’t Corrupt Gav More than He Already has been’ is a challenging and specific request Ep. Also, vegan chai?

“Eponine is an occasional vegan,” Combeferre said, clarifying once more for Marius’ benefit. He nodded and the barista’s attention turned to him.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said, grinning. He slicked some hair out of his face and extended a hand across the counter, which Marius took after painfully detaching his hand from its death grip around the mug. “Courfeyrac.”

“Marius.”

“We met Marius five minutes ago. Riddle me this: is a hot dog a sandwich if you turn it sideways?

“Absolutely not,” Courfeyrac said without missing a beat.

“Thank you! Finally someone I can trust.”

“It’s nice to meet you Marius. Do you know what you’d like?”

Your friendship, immediately, Marius thought but didn’t say. “Um...what I’d...I don’t know. He looked desperately to the menu board but it was too long and he was acutely aware that he was being watched and suddenly the question seemed much too big to answer.

“May I interest you in something from the specials selection?” Courfeyrac asked, gesturing to the messy handwriting on the chalkboard to his right. Marius blinked at it:

Songs that would be greatly improved by a banjo solo

(a specials board by Couf)

Wonderwall by Oasis

Earl grey tea with steamed milk - $1.50

All Star by Smash Mouth

Random soda, random shot - $0.75

Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler

Hot chocolate with tiramisu syrup - $2.00

Baby by Justin Bieber

Vanilla milkshake with cheesecake syrup - $2.50

In the Hall of the Mountain King by Grieg

Affogato with caramel - $2.25

“I’m a firm believer that everything is improved by the banjo,” Courfeyrac said seriously.

“Um...Wonderwall then please.” Marius said.

“For here or to go?”

Eponine laughed. “He brought his mug Courf, you don’t need to ask.”

Marius glanced at the stack of paper to go cups and stiffened. He had planned to retreat discreetly to his room, coffee mug be damned.

“Maybe I’m just curious as to whether or not I’ll be enjoying Marius’ company any longer.”

“Touche,” Eponine said, leaning her elbows on the counter and accepting the latte Courfeyrac had finished. “You can sit with us if you want Marius,” she finished.

“Unless he has to go,” Combeferre put in helpfully.

They looked at him and Marius looked at them. He looked at the witty, significantly cooler than him people who’d offered him more friendly energy in the past 5 minutes than anyone else on campus had all semester. He looked at the languid line of talking, laughing, casually happy people behind them. He looked at the ridiculous specials board and multicolored string lights on the deep purple walls and nodded vigorously.

“For here, here would be great.”

***

The thing about college was that there was too much to do. Courfeyrac had only been campus a month and he already had a endless laundry list of things to accomplish. He’d swiped an application from the Musain the second time he’d come in, and they were desperate enough to hire an overly enthusiastic freshman for his first semester. There were a few weeks of spilling drinks and stumbling over orders. There were a few weeks where he wasn’t completely comfortable in his skin, where his smile felt too stiff and his classes felt too long. But then he figured it out. He learned how to make lattes without burning himself or dropping things. He joined the ultimate frisbee team. He joined Enjolras’ club again.

“Who’s that?” Enjolras asked, putting his mug on the counter for a refill. He looked tired. He was wearing his all nighter headband and spare glasses.“With Combeferre and Eponine,” he clarified, when Courf just stared at him.

“That’s Marius, they’ve adopted him. Are you okay? You look kind of…”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Kind of what, Courf?”

“Exhausted. The semester just started, how do you already look like that?”

“Well aren’t you supportive?” Enjolras scowled at him before taking a sip of his refilled black coffee. At least it wasn’t an espresso kind of night. “I’m finishing up my project about my summer service learning. We give our presentations next week. It wouldn’t be a lot if I wasn’t already taking too many credit hours and working on ABC stuff.”

“Stuff?” Courf replied, eyebrow quirking up. Enjolras was typically more verbose about the goings on of the ABC, often excessively so.

“The anti-rape culture rally, the fundraiser for the ACLU, Eponine’s crisis hotline volunteer group, your very important suggestion that we partner with the campus environmental club on their greener campus initiative. It’s a lot of stuff, Courf, and I want to be done with the summer so I can properly devote my time to all of the fall’s stuff .”

“Right,” Courfeyrac said slowly. Enjolras had spent the summer in Cape Town working with a human rights advocacy organization to promote health education and citizen empowerment. He’d been gone for 2 months, which would’ve been fine if he’d straightened everything out at home before he left. But he was Enjolras, so he hadn’t. “Have you seen R today?”

Enjolras gritted his teeth. “I haven’t seen him since the meeting. He doesn’t hang around the Musain as much now that he has a boyfriend.”

Courf frowned. He thought Grantaire’s absences during his shifts had more to do with Enjolras’ lurking by the counter or in his no nonsense study corner than R’s boyfriend of 3 weeks now. They didn’t talk much about what happened the week before Enjolras left for South Africa. The short version, Jehan had informed him, was that Enjolras and R had kissed at their Medieval poetry themed end of the year party. (Jehan was still salty that the majority of their invitees hadn’t respected the theme.) Courf hadn’t been told who kissed who (there were varying accounts), how much alcohol was involved (given Grantaire as a person and Jehan’s party menu), or what conversation (if any) followed, but Enjolras didn’t call or send R any postcards over the summer, and when school started up they didn’t talk about it and R showed up to the first amis meeting with Pierre, the new boyfriend.

It was a little jarring, given how long R had been interested in Enjolras and only Enjolras, and the look on Enjolras’ face when R introduced him. (Bossuet had compared this look to Joly’s when Bossuet had shown him the t-shirt he’d salvaged after he’d dropped it, sopping wet from the washer, behind the dorm laundry machines and forgotten about until the next time he did his laundry and fished it out with a yardstick.)

“Don’t stay up too late, alright? Knowing you, your presentation’s going to go just fine,” Courfeyrac said, glancing down at his watch. It was 11:30; he had a half an hour before closing.

“You’re the freshman, I should be the one lecturing you,” Enjolras said, but he was smiling, just a little, in the way that wasn’t fake. He retreated back to his table with his half empty coffee cup.

Courfeyrac had known Enjolras, Combeferre, R, and Eponine since middle school. He was a year behind them, but they were united by Enjolras’ social justice and advocacy club The Friends of the ABC. Enjolras had taken the amis with him to college, quickly establishing himself as the leader of the university’s most active, if not largest, advocacy organization.

He loved the friends he’d made through the ABC and he loved that at college they were tackling bigger issues and rallying more people. People, perhaps, like Combeferre and Eponine’s adoptee. Courfeyrac turned his attention to the skittish looking Marius who was seated between his friends.

“What’s your major?” Eponine asked him, as Marius sipped his tea nervously.

“History,” he replied. “I’m...um, I’m interested in attending law school.”

“No kidding, you should meet our friend Bahorel. He’s on his way to law school too,” Combeferre said.

“If he doesn’t drop kick a political science professor first,” Eponine laughed.

Marius smiled. “And what about you two?” he asked. “Your majors, I mean.”

“Biology,” Combeferre said. “I want to be a doctor.” Ferre adjusted his glasses in the way that made him look studious and quick-witted, a move he’d perfected years ago. He had disclosed to Couf at a high school football game that it was his signature technique when trying to make a good impression (although back then he was trying to use it on the JV kicker, who he had a crush on.)

“And I’m in social work,” Eponine said.

“Really?” Marius brightened. “So is my friend Cosette. She doesn’t go here though. She’s at a small college three hours from here.”

“You two must be very close,” Eponine replied, and Marius looked momentarily panicked.

“What gave you that impression?”

Eponine leaned in closer. “You didn’t say the school or the town, just how long it would take to get there. And I’m good at listening.”

“Oh,” Marius said, he was turning a rosy shade of pink that made his freckles stand out further. “I mean, you’re right, I miss her quite a bit.”

“Did you say she was your girlfriend?” Courfeyrac blurted from the counter. He nearly dropped the mug he was drying as the three of them turned to look at him. Great, perfect, now he thinks you’re an eavesdropping creep .

“No, she’s just my friend,” Marius said, meeting his eyes for a moment.

In a lot of ways college was the way Courfeyrac had expected it to be. He’d been to a couple of parties in Bahorel’s basement where the lights were dim and every drink he was handed had too much vodka. He’d swayed, light-headed and distant as his friends and their friends danced and talked and laughed in high, joyous outbursts. But sometimes college felt like sensory overload. Sometimes he needed to catch his breath outside before the party swallowed him whole. Sometimes he showed up to class a minute too late and the whole lecture hall stared at him like he didn’t belong. Sometimes he just went through the motions.

“Well, we’ve gotta take off now, don’t we Ferre?” Eponine said suddenly and Combeferre gave her a confused head tilt. “Laundry, remember?” She pressed.

“Right, laundry,” he repeated.

“Oh,” Marius began. His hands were fumbling around his mug. “I guess I’ll go too, then.”

“Don’t leave. Go sit at the bar and keep Courf company,” she said, shooting Courfeyrac a sly look.

Marius said okay.

“Do you pick the music?” Marius asked as he slid gingerly into the seat closest to the cash register.

“Yep,” he replied, grabbing a cloth to wipe down the counter. It was a strange mix of 80s pop, indie songs with strange lyrics and unorthodox beats, and a few tracks from Ep’s punk phase that she rolled her eyes at whenever she heard now. His music taste could be off-puttingly eclectic. “What do you think?”

“I like it,” he replied, head bobbing up and down with vigor. His messy hair flopped dizzyingly and adorably.

“What kind of music do you listen to?” He asked, and Marius flushed again.

“Whatever’s on the radio, I guess. I don’t know a lot of cool music.”

“Cool music,” Courf repeated, setting down his dish towel. “If you like it then it’s cool.” He leaned his elbows on the bar beside Marius.

Marius laughed. “Okay, I guess.”

“I’ll make you a playlist.”

“Aren’t you already making Eponine one?”

“New potential friends have priority access,” Courf said, and then kicked himself for being too honest.

“Okay then,” Marius said. “How do you pick the songs?

“Sometimes a song just feels right for a particular moment, I guess.” If he had to pick a song for Marius in the current moment he’d go with something sappy and too much given they’d only met a couple of hours ago. Something like REO Speedwagon’s “Can’t Fight This Feeling.”

Marius nodded as if Courf was a music expert. “Well, thank you in advance.”

They couldn’t talk much more because of the steady stream of customers. Marius stayed until closing, into the point of the night where Courfeyrac’s Spotify playlist reached its more questionable songs. Marius had a book out and was reading, his long lashes making shadows on his freckled cheeks. The Musain ran out of Fresca and sugar cookies and Courf had to defend his specials board before a couple of banjo haters. Marius looked up at him every so often, vague smile on his lips whenever Courf was trying to be charming or entertaining with customers to distract from his only moderately skilled barista-ing. At midnight Courfeyrac turned off the music and Marius looked up a final time.

“Closing time,” Courf said.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was the only one still here,” Marius said. He jumped up too quickly and nearly knocked over his chair.

“It’s okay,” Courf said. “It’s nice not to be alone,” he laughed and Marius’ face fell.

“Yeah,” he said, dejectedly. “It really is.”

Shit, what did I say?

“You’ll come back though, and hang out? If you want to,” he added.

Marius looked surprised. “I didn’t bug you? I know I don’t talk a lot,” he muttered.

“You don’t need to talk a lot if you don’t want to,” Courf said.

Marius looked down at his tennis shoes. “Okay,” he said.

“My shifts are every Thursday. You should come back, man.” He said, trying to sound casual. “You can see more of my amazing specials boards.”

Marius nodded. “Alright,” he said. “It was a really good board.”

He said it so sincerely that for a second Courfeyrac felt entirely present and at home in the moment. He wanted more moments like this.

[alifeiwishwasreal]

Understanding - Enjolras Oneshot

Character: Enjolras

Fandom: Les Mis

Gender: Female

Info: The reader has just recently become part of the revolution. Works in the ABC Cafe. They do not know each other previous to this meeting.

Warnings: Mentions of escorts. Abandoned by family. Gender injustice.

Summary: The Les Amis rip into the upper-class women who do nothing for the cause and in their defence, you feel the need to add your perspective.

Requested by: Anon.

"It is not fair! They clothe their children in the finest drapes and shove the most expensive food down their throats, yet pay no attention to the children dirty and starving to death in the street. They allow their husbands to step all over our people for the comfort of their homes."

"They might do something if they could afford to." The cheers of agreement silenced when you shouted this from the back of the ABC Cafe.

As if you were Moses, the crowd parted and you were instantly met with icy blue eyes. Your heart pounded, hating your spontaneous burst, knowing full well the confrontation that would appear. And you knew he wouldn't let.

"Excuse me? They are in the highest position in society and you think they can't afford to help?!" He asked, sauntering towards you as the men around him cheered.

"As a male, you would never understand. Behind those doors, women are talked down to by their husbands, treated like dirt, abused, hit. To try and contradict their husbands they would lose their livelihood and the fraction of respect they get anyway."

"How dare they lose their nice dresses and riches, boo-hoo." He responded and the men murmured in agreement. You knew you were fighting a losing side.

"If a man is denied by his family he is sent away with money to be a scholar or to be remarried. The man does not suffer, he can happily provide work with the education he received.

If a woman is kicked out she is shunned by her family, not allowed to see her children, has all her riches and possessions stripped of her and without any proper education ends up on the street and into a life of, yet again, pleasing men. You students pretend, but you don't really know of the harshness of the streets you try to defend. The scraps, the dirt, the abuse. Men may get by on labour, but women... They end up as prostitutes, like I almost did until I was allowed to work here." You told him and saw his face changed. The rest of the Les Amis shifted in their seats as you left his gaze unchallenging.

"The families I still see commend me for my risk, but say they could never imagine taking it. Do not blame them for not supporting the cause when they are hardly given a choice."

"You used to be a part of them?" He asked, the room hanging onto your every word.

"Yes. Apparently, I couldn't keep my big mouth shut. Spent too much buying bread for the children in our streets." You said softly as he held out his hand. You shook it as he smiled softly at you.

"I could never picture you as a bourgeoise. The ruggedness suits you." He quipped as you raised your eyebrows.

"I suppose our God has plans for me." You replied crossing your arm as he nodded at you.

"Welcome to the Les Amis."