#alright grantaire calm down

[jesuisserieux]

do it. write the fic.

Alright bestie @passiveaggressivegummybear I don't know how you pulled the motivation out of me but here's a drabble. For anyone who doesn't know this is in response to this post I made about Hozier's new album Unreal Unearth, which if you haven't listened to, I HIGHLY recommend. I can't promise actually writing a fic for each song, but here's one based on First Light, because it made me weep. Sorry this is like a month late lmao. Also sorry if it's not what you were expecting, I am physically incapable of writing things without happy endings atm. I hope you like it!

Read it on ao3 here!

Could This Be How Every Day Begins?

            R wakes slowly, blinking sleepily in the faint golden light filling the room. He’s awake early, he realizes, which is unusual for him. He turns, to look at the clock on his bedside table, but he’s not in his room and he’s not looking at the clock. There, on his other side, sleeps Enjolras. He’s still, his breathing deep and even, and he is beautiful illuminated in the light of the new day. Grantaire just stares at him for a minute, not even trying to think about how he got here, just enjoying this sight he never thought he’d get to have. He thinks back to the night before, despite how unreal it all still feels.

~

            He had been anxious. He and Enjolras had been getting along so much better this past year and Grantaire was about to ruin it all with his stupid feelings. But he had to tell him. He’d talked extensively with Joly and Bossuet about it, and everyone agreed their friendship would always be a little bit weird if R never told him how he felt. He’d always be wondering “what if?” about things. They were definitely right, and it was definitely the mature adult thing to do, but that didn’t mean it didn’t make him want to throw up. There was no way Enjolras was just going reciprocate. Probably. Joly and Bossuet (and also Eponine and Courf and Bahorel and-) had been insistent that there was evidence that Enjolras liked him back. They were biased though, they had to be, they were his best friends!

            But the bottom line was Enjolras deserved to know. He deserved to know how disgustingly and totally Grantaire was in love him, and if he didn’t want to be friends after, that would be okay. It wouldn’t be okay, a voice in his head said, it would take months, maybe years to recover from. But that wasn’t Enjolras’s problem. Another more sensible voice in his head pointed out that, even when (if) Enjolras turned him down, he wouldn’t be mean about it. There’s pretty much nothing Enjolras cared for more than his friends, and if Grantaire had already made that cut, then a love confession wasn’t likely to push him over the edge. But still, his brain was echoing what if what if what if? all the way to Enjolras’s door.

            “Hey,” Enjolras’s smile was like the sun when he greeted him, “are you still up for Pride and Prejudice?”

            “You know it.”

            It was an inside joke between them (they had inside jokes now!) that Enjolras had never seen a movie before. It was completely untrue obviously, but it felt like every time Grantaire made a movie reference he inevitably ended up explaining the whole plot of the film because Enjolras didn’t know it. Eventually, they’d just started writing down all the movies he needed to show Enjolras. Pride and Prejudice was at the top of the list because Enjolras had read the book, so he’d actually know what was going on. Grantaire hadn’t thought that choice through when he was planning out a love confession.

            The movie had finished, Enjolras discreetly wiping away a few tears, and then they were sitting on the couch just talking. It was far too late, but Enjolras didn’t seem to care, and R certainly didn’t. The conversation was easy, like it almost always was now. He was in the middle of telling him how he felt before he even realized he’d begun. He felt weirdly calm. This was Enjolras. He could talk to him about anything. And the feeling of that, that surety, made him tear up a little. He felt a hand on his and looked up. Enjolras was watching him raptly, looking a little teary himself.

            “So yeah, basically I’m in love with you. Not basically, I love you. That’s it.” Aaaand the nerves came rushing back. Never let it be said it was an eloquent confession.

            Enjolras squeezed his hand, so tight it almost hurt. “Do you really mean that?”

            R was taken aback, “Of course I-” but that was all he got out before he was being kissed, passionately, awkwardly, and most importantly by Enjolras. He grabbed Enjolras’s waist on instinct alone, pulling him closer, practically into his lap.

            Enjolras pulled back a few inches. “I love you too. I’ve loved you for a while.” He smiled shyly.

            “Really?”

            Enjolras nodded, some of R’s nerves reflected in his face. “Are you sure?”

            R’s brain was still coming back online after that kiss. “Sure of what?”

            “That you love me.”

            R laughed out loud, “Did you hear everything I just said, Ange?”

            Enjolras flushed red, “Yes of course I just mean- sometimes, you don’t want it to be reciprocated. Or… I don’t know you could’ve changed your mind now that you know how I feel. It’s okay if you do!” he added hurriedly, though his expression seemed to contradict that statement.

R kissed him. Enjolras melted into it almost immediately, throwing his arms around his neck. “I meant it. I mean it,” said R between kisses, “I love you. I’ve been in love with you pretty much forever, ask any of our friends.”

“Okay.” Enjolras twined his fingers in R’s hair. He still looked uncharacteristically shy. “I love you,” he said again, like he just had to say it. Grantaire had felt like his heart would burst. He just had to kiss him again. And once he’d started, he couldn’t really think of a reason to stop.

~

            In the light of morning, Enjolras stirs. His eyes blink open slowly, a far off look in them. Then, as if he can sense Grantaire looking at him, awareness sparks in his eyes, and he turns his head. His whole body relaxes when he sees R. He makes eye contact and smiles, a small and joyful smile.

            “Hi,” says Enjolras. God he’s beautiful.

            “Hi,” says R, and then, “God you’re beautiful,” because he can.

            Enjolras blushes and slides a little farther under the covers. It’s adorable. “So are you,” he says. Before Grantaire can make a self-deprecating remark, he continues, “I love you.”

            R can feelhimself grinning like an idiot. “I love you too.” He leans into give him a good morning kiss.

When he tries to deepen it, Enjolras pulls back, “Stop, my breath is disgusting.”

“I don’t care, I love you. Bad breath and all.”

“Gross,” says Enjolras, but he allows himself to be pulled in for another kiss.

~

            When Grantaire finishes brushing his teeth, he steps into the kitchen to find Enjolras is making them breakfast.

            “Hey,” he says smiling, and Grantaire realizes that that look on his face isn’t new. How did he miss how Enjolras lights up when he sees him? He’s going to get such an earful from their friends later. “Are banana pancakes okay?” asks Enjolras, like he’s worried they really won’t be. Like he doesn’t want to fuck this up just as much as Grantaire. “They’re not fancy or anything, but I’m pretty good at making them and I-”

            “They’re perfect,” says R, “I love pancakes of any kind.”

            “Great.” Enjolras hands him a cup of coffee and then leans in to pour creamer. “Cream no sugar, right?”

            Grantaire nods, watches him pour with a small amount of awe. It’s possible, that this whole time he’s been noticing things about Enjolras, that Enjolras has been noticing things about him. Wow how did it take them this long to get their shit together?

            Enjolras smiles and goes back to watching the stove. His hair has a coppery tinge in the light of the sunrise. The sky is beautiful right now, an explosion of colors painting them both in shades of gold and rust.

            R must be staring, because Enjolras turns back questioningly, “What?”

            “Nothing,” says R, “I just can’t believe I get to have this now.”

            Enjolras’s smile is brighter than the sunrise.

#I really hope this is kind of what you were wanting #either way thank you for motivating me to write this #it's been in my head for a bit #and it was nice to write something other than my WIP #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #les mis #les amis #my writing #fluff #new relationship #the mortifying ordeal of being known #hozier #first light #first light hozier #one shot #ask box #answered asks

[expired-applejuice]

Grantaire confessed his love in English, (or any language that Enjolras doesn't understand,) and then he walks away. He did it so he can move on, which it doesn't work.

Enjolras looses so much sleep because of it, so he finally purchased a translator. Once he figured out what was said he blushed before rushing to Jehan or someone's house. He asked them what did Grantaire say. They comfirm what he thought he had said.

The next meeting, Grantaire comes in without being noticed. He sits in his unassigned assigned spot. He already had his wine in hand and ready for another meeting lead by Enjolras. He told his feeling to Enjolras that way he can pretend Enjolras understood, and rejected him. It seemed to work at the moment, but he still longed to be the cause of his smile. He ignored it by drinking. Just like he did with other problems.

Enjolras finally spotted him and slammed down his hands on the table raise from his chair, "Grantaire!" He seemed to started quite a few people including Grantaire. He earned over to him and grabbed him by the collar, "You have some nerve telling me something in a language you know I don't understand!"

"Should we do something?" Asked Joly.

"No, this has been long coming," Jehan smirked.

It freaked Bossuet out a bit, "is jehan aloud to make an evil face?"

Grantaire struggled to breathe, he had choked on his drink from the suprise.

Enjolras still was fuming as he let him go, "I couldn't sleep."

"Want some?" Feuilly asked Bahorel, holding some table food out to him. Bahorel took some watching the scene infront of them play out.

Grantaire finally calm down, "Awe poor thing. Too bad. I ain't saying anything."

"You don't have too," Enjolras stated frowning at the drunk, "I got someone to translate it."

Combeferre pulled his chair closer to the two. If he would get any closer he'd be directly in between the two.

Grantaire swallowed, "You did?"

"Yes. And- and." Enjolras started to struggle. R was sure he was about to explode, so he tried to back up.

"I-i didn't mean it."

"Yes he did!" No one could really tell who said that, but jehan was hiding his face behind his journal and joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were pointing at him. So they could make a good guess on who it was.

"And I may have feeling for you too." Enjolras finally said, still angry.

"Yes!" Musichetta said loudly before slapping her mouth shout.

"Oh... well..." Grantaire was unaware of what to do.

"Pick me out at 8 o'clock tomorrow! You're taking me on a date! Got it?" Enjolras said poking his chest forcefully.

Grantaire nodded, "Alright Apollo. "

"Bring flowers, I like roses!"

"Of course Apollo. "

Grantaire sat there wide eyed, trying to figure out what had happen. Enjolras turned the rest, who all immediately turned their head and pretended they weren't invested in the show...

besides Courfeyrac, "Now that! That was better then an opera."

#grantaire #enjolras #exr #les amis de l'abc #les miserables #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #rxe #e x r

[pumpkinspice-prouvaire]

any fic recs that are aus based on other stories (like eternal sunshine of the spotless mind)

hey anon! If you check out this post, you can find an AU for Supernatural, Game of Thrones, Kiki's Delivery Service, True Blood, Sky High and The Time Traveller's Wife. And below you can find some more!

L'Insurrection Republicaine des Etoiles by kjack89- STAR WARS AU BABYYYYY. I fucking love Star Wars and this is so good! Cosette as Luke, Enjolras as Leia, and Grantaire as Han Solo. It's just good FUN, y'all! Very excited for when kjack89 writes Return of the Jedi and we get Enjolras in a gold bikini...........for personal reasons............

Dance with Me by MostGeckcellent- Bridgerton AU with older sibling! Combeferre trying to help his younger twin siblings, Enjolras and Cosette, get through their first London Season.

wouldn't it be beautiful (why can't i?) by playedwright- Thirteen Going on Thirty AU. It's pretty angsty, but trans Enjolras having gender euphoria in the shower when he sees his top surgery scars got to me, man

The Witcher's Reprieve by The Librarina- The Witcher AU, with Grantaire as a Witcher and Enjolras as a rebel elf with no self-preservation skills (seems to be a general theme) Last chapter is rated E

To Making It Count by lessnearthesun- Titanic AU. It goes pretty much exactly how you would expect it (when I read it I was like MAYBE IT'LL BE A FIX IT FIC LOL) but it's a good time!

Sing, Oh Goddess series by lessnearthesun- Hadestown AU with a twist! Srsly the second part especially deserves more kudos everyone go read it!!!

Green Rushes by loverism- This fic is currently ongoing, and it's a The Little Mermaid AU inspired by the original fairy tale rather than the Disney version. There's one more chapter left and I know everything is gonna go wrong but idk HOW and I am STRESSED.

Something Under the Sand by anniewritesaboutstars- The Mummy AU, Enjolras as Evelyn and Grantaire as Rick. It's silly and campy and good fun all round, just like the movie!

and now, because I'M NOT GETTING PAID FOR THIS YOU KNOW (I'm just joking obviously, I've had a lot of fun rediscovering old fics and I totally gonna go back and reread all of these at some point), I'm going to shamelessly plug my own ao3. So far, I have one fic that is an AU, Never a Flame, We Just Wanted a Spark- It's an AU of a French Netflix show called The Hook Up Plan/Plan Coeur, just standard cheesy romcom stuff with sex worker Grantaire and Terrible Best Friends Combeferre and Courfeyrac. It's definitely not my best work, all my other fics are way better by a mile imo. But I do have some other AUs in the works that I'm hoping to post soon-ish!

Hope you enjoy these! Leave some kudos/comments for the authors if you read them, you might make someone's day!

#answered #fic rec!!! #if anyone has any more recs feel free to add them below!!! #exr fic rec #feel free to reblog and share the recs #long post #me rereading my first bullet point- #alright grantaire calm down

[restlesswasteland]

Miserables Month Day 29: "Old"

Written for the Miserables Month @themiserablesmonth First, Grantaire was skeptical that it would even happen. Eventually he became resigned that it would. Then, as it drew closer, he started to fight. It wasn’t until the end that he began to plead.

Enjolras with his sharp tongue and big ideas and dangerous mind were going to get them all killed.

Grantaire didn’t give a fuck if he died, really.

But Enjolras? Different story.

Of course, Grantaire knew that that if Enjolras died, he wouldn’t actually have to endure it. There would be no pain, no mourning. At that point, there’d only be one thing left for him. If Enjolras died, so would Grantaire.

But that didn’t matter. What mattered wasn’t that it might all stop. It was that there could be more. Enjolras could live. Grantaire knew that if the man would just open his eyes to the possibility of life, Enjolras could do great things.

Instead, Enjolras chose this.

Spring was turning to summer, and Grantaire could feel the charge in the air. Everything was moving so fast. He couldn’t imagine any of his friends had more than days to live.

It was then that Grantaire broke down. The fight left him, he kept quiet at meetings. Enjolras would glare at him, seemingly more disturbed by his silence than his outbursts. It didn’t take long for Grantaire to stop looking back at him.

It was desperation that drove him to Enjolras’s doorstep.

When Enjolras answered Grantaire’s knock, the man looked exhausted. Grantaire didn’t think he’d ever seen him look so tired. It made him seem almost human. Grantaire wished he’d have more opportunities to see him this way, cursed the time he wasted these past few years.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras blinked at him.

“Sorry, I know it’s late,” Grantaire mumbled. “Did I wake you?”

“No. I was working,” Enjolras yawned. Grantaire watched his chest rise with the intake of breath, marveled at the life this dead-boy-walking was so full of.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Grantaire apologized again, though he wasn’t particularly sorry.

“Did you want to come in?” Enjolras asked, his face confused in his exhaustion.

“If that’s okay,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras stepped back to let Grantaire into his apartment.

He’d never been inside Enjolras’s home before. It was small and, to Grantaire’s surprise, messy. He looked around, noting the papers strewn everywhere, his laptop open on the desk in the corner, document blinking mid-sentence. The smell of coffee surrounded him.

“Tea or coffee?” Enjolras asked, gesturing for Grantaire to sit at the kitchen counter.

“I’m alright,” Grantaire said, taking the offered seat. Enjolras retrieved a coffee mug from his desk before sitting across from him.

“Why-” Enjolras started.

“You don’t have to do this,” Grantaire interrupted. If he let Enjolras start in on anything, he’d lose his nerve and not say what he’d came here for. “There’s still time to call it off.”

Enjolras stared at him. Grantaire braced himself for anger, for another furious tirade that he so often found himself on the other side of.

Instead, Enjolras sighed.

“Is that why you’re here?” He asked, and Grantaire didn’t know what to make of his quiet exasperation.

“No one would blame you,” Grantaire pressed on, trying to keep a level head in the face of Enjolras’s eerie calm.

“I know that,” Enjolras nodded.

Grantaire studied his face, the composure in his eyes, the hard set of his jaw.

“But you’re not going to do it,” Grantaire said, and it wasn’t a question.

“No,” Enjolras confirmed.

“But you could,” Grantaire felt lost.

“Yes,” Enjolras agreed again. They sat in silence. Grantaire looked down at the coffee in his hands. He could feel Enjolras’s eyes on him.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras started, his voice quiet, as if trying to be soothing. “You know you don’t have to join us. I would never ask that of anyone. Everyone needs to make their own-”

“This isn’t about me,” Grantaire said through gritted teeth. He gave Enjolras a hard stare. “You know that.”

“You can’t change my mind, Grantaire,” Enjolras said.

“But I have to try,” Grantaire admitted. He’d be embarrassed if he had anything else to lose.

“I know,” Enjolras said for the second time.

Silence again.

“There’s a whole world out there that you’ve never seen,” Grantaire started in again.

“My world is right here, and it’s crumbling. Someone has to put it back together,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire was struck by how simple he made it sound.

“Dying won’t help anyone. The things you could do if you lived,” Grantaire was working himself up. “Do you have any fucking idea, the difference you could make?”

“I can make a difference doing this.”

“Maybe. You can maybe make a difference doing this. And even if you do, it’ll be the last. Think of how much you could do in a lifetime,” Grantaire’s voice broke on the last word.

Enjolras contemplated him.

“I was never meant to grow old,” he said with a frown that would’ve looked sad on anyone else.

Grantaire didn’t have a response to that.

He heard the finality in the statement. The truth in it, almost. He tried to imagine Enjolras as an older man, and nothing came to him. He was destined for this damned and eternal youth.

Grantaire swallowed hard. There was nothing left. He had fought, argued, pleaded on his hands and knees. There was only one thing for him now.

“Then, at least let me stay young with you.”

Enjolras took in Grantaire’s words with a heavy silence. He removed his hand from his coffee mug, reaching across the table to grip Grantaire’s hand in his own.

#the miserables month #day 29 #old #les mis #grantaire #enjolras #enjoltaire #modern au #ouchy #I made myself sad #writing//mine

[kjack89]

Determination of Death (pt. 1/2)

Extremely self-indulgent, and the kind of angst I haven’t written in a long while. Because I was having a bad week and figured, hey, why not make it worse :)

I split it in two because it was getting long; second part should be posted sometime later this week.

Former E/R, modern AU. CW: car accident, major injuries, discussion of end of life care, referenced major character death. Y’know. The good stuff.

Joly sighed, staring longingly up at the clock in the emergency room as if he could somehow force it to jump ahead four hours to the end of his shift. Not that he would ever voice the thought out loud, since doing so was the surest way to jinx it, but it had been a quiet night, and this was his last scheduled overnight shift in the E/R for at least a few weeks.

He tapped his pen against the counter, idly wondering if he could maybe sneak out a few minutes early and surprise Bossuet with breakfast in bed. Suddenly, another doctor ran past, donning a trauma gown, and Joly immediately straightened. “What do we got?” he asked urgently.

“MVC,” the other doctor called over her shoulder, using the acronym to indicate a car crash. “Multiple victims incoming.”

So much for a quiet night.

Joly grabbed a trauma gown and followed her out into the ambulance bay to meet the ambulance that screeched to a halt, its lights blaring. “Unrestrained driver,” one of the paramedics reported. “Lost control of the vehicle and crashed head first into oncoming traffic. Nonresponsive at the scene, and we’re gonna need a tox screen – we think she might have been drinking.” 

“I got this one,” his colleague told him. “Go deal with the second ambulance.”

Joly nodded and jogged over to the second ambulance. “What do we—” he started as the paramedic shoved a clipboard at him, but his question died in his throat as he saw who was strapped down on the gurney.

It was Enjolras.

The paramedic was telling him something but it was as if Joly had gone temporarily deaf as he stared down at Enjolras, barely recognizable from the injuries he had sustained. Joly catalogued all the injuries he could see with a sort of vague detachment as if he was seeing them on someone other than one of his closest friends, the man he had vowed to walk through fire for.

Penetrating head trauma. Multiple facial lacerations. Chest and pelvis crush injuries. Open tibia fracture. Almost guaranteed massive internal injuries.

It was a miracle Enjolras was still alive, and Joly’s hands started shaking so badly that he dropped the clipboard the paramedic had handed him. “Dr. Joly?” someone was asking, and Joly just shook his head violently and turned away to empty his stomach on the pavement of the ambulance bay.

Christ, he hadn’t puked at the hospital since he was an intern.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his still-shaking hand and straightened to find his colleague gripping his arm and staring at him with clear concern in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” Joly whispered. “I just...he’s a friend.”

Understanding crossed her expression, and she nodded. “Ok,” she told him, her voice calm, soothing. It was the voice they used for hysterical family members, and Joly hated her a little bit for using it on him. “Get in touch with his emergency contact, get them to the hospital. You can brief them when they get here, ok?”

“I want to help—” Joly started, but she shook her head before he could even finish his sentence.

“You’re not a doctor right now. You’re a loved one.” She hesitated for just a moment before adding, with genuine sympathy, “I’m so sorry.”

He hated her even more for that.

Then she was gone, she and the paramedics whisking Enjolras inside to do what they could – if there was even anything that they would be able to do.

And Joly had nothing left to do but to call Combeferre and tell him the worst news he had ever had to deliver.

----------

It was now four hours past when Joly had been supposed to get off of work, and there was no indication that he would get to go home anytime soon. All of Les Amis had trickled in during the night and were now all camped out in the waiting room, eager for whatever news Joly could tell them.

But unfortunately, he had nothing that he could tell.

He pulled his scrub cap off as he slowly made his way over to where they were all waiting, trying to school his expression to something less grim, but judging by the way Courfeyrac’s smile slid off his face as soon as he saw him, he hadn’t succeeded. “How is he?” Combeferre asked, scrambling to his feet.

Joly swallowed. “He’s alive,” he said shortly. “That’s all that I can tell you right now.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances. “What the hell are you talking about?” Courfeyrac asked, uncharacteristically blunt. “What do you mean, that’s all you can tell us?”

“I mean that I am required to tell Enjolras’s family first before I can share any details.”

Combeferre’s expression was ashen but Courfeyrac’s eyes flashed. “We are his family,” he started hotly, but Combeferre shook his head and squeezed Courfeyrac’s arm.

“Pontmercy,” he said, a little hoarsely. “We need to call Marius. He’s everyone’s power of attorney, remember? He can authorize them to share medical details with us.”

Courfeyrac quickly dug his cellphone out his jeans pocket, dialing Marius’s number from memory. “Come on, come on,” he muttered urgently as he waited for Marius to pick up. “Come on, damnit.”

A pile of coats that had been tossed onto a chair suddenly seemed to stand up of its own accord, and Marius emerged from under them, blinking owlishly as he clearly had just woken up. “Sorry, m’here,” he said between a yawn, and Courfeyrac looked like he was torn between wanting to hug him or throttle him.

Combeferre didn’t let him do either. “You’re Enjolras’s power of attorney, right?” he said in clipped tones.

Marius ran a hand over his face and blinked once more before nodding. “Yes,” he said.

“Then tell Joly that he can share medical details about Enjolras with all of us.”

Marius winced. “Ah,” he said. “Um, there’s a bit of a problem with that. I’m Enjolras’s power of attorney for certain things, mainly related to his estate and his trust fund, but I’m not designated as Enjolras’s medical proxy.”

Courfeyrac looked between Marius and Combeferre, his eyes wide. “What does mean?” he asked, a little faintly. “Who would make the decisions if Enjolras didn’t designate a medical proxy?”

“Well, generally speaking, the closest blood relative would—”

“His parents?” Courfeyrac interrupted, horrified. “He hates his parents!”

Marius shook his head. “No, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “The problem isn’t that Enjolras didn’t designate a medical proxy, so we don’t have to worry about that.” He winced again. “The, uh, the problem is that he did. And the designation is still legally binding.”

“Who?” Combeferre asked, his brow furrowed.

Marius just gave him a look. “You know who.”

Realization crossed Combeferre’s face, followed by something like rage. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

----------

Grantaire had been, up until that moment at least, thoroughly enjoying his evening. He had been hit on not once but twice at the bar, and had decided to take the second one, a thin, blond man (because Grantaire had always had a type, damn it), home for the night. They were right in the middle of making out like teenages on Grantaire’s couch when his phone rang.

Grantaire groaned and pulled away to reach for his cell, but the blond – Shane? Brendan? something? – pushed him back against the couch. “Ignore it,” he whispered before sucking on Grantaire’s earlobe.

He was only too happy to comply, but unfortunately, his phone had other ideas, ringing repeatedly until the best makeout session in the world wouldn’t have been able to hold his attention. “Let me just get rid of whomever this is,” he said, holding the man on his lap in place with one arm while reaching for his phone with the other. “Someone better be dying,” he said in lieu of a greeting, followed by a very confused, “Pontmercy?”

His brow furrowed as he listened to Marius, and he abruptly pushed the man off his lap, standing up and looking wildly around his apartment. “Yeah, ok,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hung up and threw his phone down on his couch. “You need to go,” he told the guy he’d brought him, unusually brusque. “I have to get to the hospital.”

“Oh no, is everyone alright?” the guy asked, reaching out for him, but Grantaire brushed him aside, grabbing his shirt from where he had tossed it earlier. 

“No,” he said shortly. “It’s my husband. He was in a car accident.”

“You’re married?” the guy asked, sounding almost offended by the thought.

Grantaire closed his eyes for a brief moment, wondering how he had got himself in the position of needing to explain this to a one-night stand. “No, I mean my ex-husband,” he said with a sigh.

“You’re divorced?” the guy asked, sounding even more disgusted by that.

“You know what, I don’t really have time to debate this with you, so while I’m sure you would have been a great lay—” Sudden pounding on Grantaire’s door cut him off and he groaned. “Great,” he sighed, hurrying over to open his door.

He was only a little surprised to see Combeferre standing there. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering Marius’s phonecall,” Combeferre said shortly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I did, and I’m getting ready to go to the hospital, so you can just—”

Before he could finish telling Combeferre exactly where he could go, the guy he’d brought home snuck past him, pausing to kiss his cheek and tell him breathlessly, “Call me when you’re back from dealing with your ex.”

Combeferre watched him leave, his expression stony. “Nice,” he told Grantaire, who rolled his eyes again.

“You have no right to judge me,” he snapped. “Enjolras and I have been divorced for longer than we were married, so I’m allowed to do whatever and whomever the fuck I want.”

“Yeah, well, about that,” Combeferre started, and Grantaire frowned.

“What?”

----------

“What?” Grantaire said, his voice cracking. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Marius quailed slightly under his glare. “Well, see, the thing about it is—”

“Enjolras and I got divorced!” Grantaire interrupted loudly. “I signed the damned paper!”

“You did,” Marius told him. “But Enjolras didn’t.” Grantaire’s mouth opened but no sound came out, and Marius continued, “He didn’t sign them, and he didn’t file them, so legally, you two are still married. And legally, you’re still his next of kin.”

Grantaire shook his head, but he still couldn’t seem to manage any words, and Marius reached out to grasp his shoulder. “We can talk through this more later but for now, Joly needs to talk to you.”

Without waiting for Grantaire to reply, Marius spun him around to face Joly, who looked exhausted. “C’mon,” Joly muttered, glancing at all their friends, who were staring expectantly at them. “Let’s talk over here.”

He jerked his head towards a meeting room off of the waiting room, and Grantaire numbly followed. Joly pulled the door open and stepped back to let Grantaire walk in first before following him in, closing the door after them. “So,” Joly started, but Grantaire shook his head.

“No, before you start, I just want to say…” He trailed off, then took a deep breath. “Despite the circumstances, it is really good to see you. I know Enjolras got you and Bossuet in the divorce, but—”

Joly let out what might have been a wordless sob, surging forward to wrap Grantaire in a fierce hug. Grantaire froze before slowly patting Joly on the back. Then, abruptly, his hand froze. “Wait,” he said, his chest tight. “This isn’t a good hug, is it.”

He didn’t say it like a question but Joly still shook his head as he pulled back, his eyes wet and red. “No,” he said hoarsely. “No, it’s not a good thing. It’s—” He broke off and shook his head, his tone turning professional. “It’s not good, R. Enjolras suffered severe internal injuries, but those—”

Again he broke off, but this time, he didn’t seem able to start again. Grantaire swallowed and nudged him gently. “But those?” he prompted softly.

Joly shook his head once as if to clear it. “The internal injuries were severe but probably not fatal,” he said tonelessly. “But he suffered massive head trauma. Part of his skull was broken in the crash and his brain swelled drastically, and likely irrevocably.” 

Grantaire reached out wordlessly to grasp the back of a chair, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. “Oh,” he managed finally as he stared unseeingly at the wall in front of him.

Joly quickly wiped a tear off his cheek and cleared his throat. “I know that this isn’t what you expected to be dealing with, but as Enjolras’s next of kin, you have some decisions to make.”

“He’s an organ donor,” Grantaire said hollowly. “I don’t– I don’t know if, in his condition, any of his organs are—” His voice cracked. “—are viable, but if any of them are, he would want to donate that.”

“His heart, his lungs, maybe a kidney and part of his liver,” Joly said, giving Grantaire a watery smile. “He could probably donate those.”

Grantaire jerked a nod. “So then do it,” he said, more harshly than he intended.

Joly’s smile disappeared. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” he said. “It’s...I mean, it’s complicated.”

Grantaire couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“No, I don’t just mean because of you and him,” Joly said impatiently. “I mean, it’s complicated medically.”

Grantaire blinked. “How so?”

Joly wet his lips. “In order to donate organs, a patient must meet one of two conditions. The easiest one is brain death. But unfortunately, we don’t know if Enjolras is brain dead yet.”

“How do you not know that?” Grantaire demanded. “Aren’t there tests?”

“Yes, and we’ve run all of them, but the tests revealed limited functioning. It could just have been an artifact of previous brain activity, so we’ll run the test again in a few hours.” Joly took a deep breath. “But if the repeat tests should even just the slightest amount of functioning, we legally can’t declare him brain dead.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “Ok, so what does that mean?”

“It means that him signing up to be an organ donor won’t be enough.” Joly met his eyes. “It means we would need your consent to withdraw life-sustaining measures and allow cardiac death if you wanted to donate his organs.”

Grantaire’s eyelids fluttered closed, and a muscle worked in his jaw for a long moment before he finally managed, his voice sharp, “Fine, whatever, I consent.” He opened his eyes to stare fiercely at Joly as if daring him to say anything. “Do you need me to sign something, or—?”

Joly just shook his head. “Again, it’s unfortunately not that simple.” 

“Why not?” Grantaire asked tiredly, feeling older than he ever had before.

“Because no matter how small a chance it is, if he isn’t brain dead, then there is still a chance—”

“That he could wake up,” Grantaire finished with sudden realization, and he hated himself for the way his heart leapt in his chest, hated that after all this time, the only person in the damn world who could still make him feel something like hope was Enjolras. 

Joly nodded. “Yes,” he said. “He could live in a comatose state for...well, technically indefinitely. And there have been cases where someone has woken up after a month, or six months, or a year, or—”

“But what are the chances of that actually happening here?” Grantaire asked, harsher than he intended, trying desperately to quash the hope he could still feel rising in his chest, that there might still be time left with Enjolras, time to at least say goodbye and tell him he was sorry, time to tell him he still – that he never stopped—

“In my medical opinion…” Joly hesitated. “Not high. The trauma that his brain has suffered...and even if he woke up, I don’t think he would be Enjolras anymore.”

Joly’s words hit Grantaire like a punch to the gut, and he sagged, still gripping the chair with all his strength to keep himself upright. “So then that’s that,” he said, his voice trembling, just slightly.

Joly just nodded once. “Like I said,” he said quietly, “you have a choice to make. Not even just in regards to donating his organs, but in regards to if you think he would want to live like this.”

A laugh burst unbidden in Grantaire’s throat, an almost hysterical sound, because that had been one of the last things Enjolras had said to him before telling him he wanted a divorce – “I just can’t live like this anymore,” Enjolras had said, sounding tired, and sad, and more defeated than Grantaire could possibly bear. “And I don’t think you can either. Or maybe you can, but that doesn’t mean we should.”

So Grantaire had signed the papers to dissolve his marriage to the only man he had ever loved and moved out, leaving Enjolras, and Les Amis, and his entire life behind. He had thought that chapter was over, but now—

He realized a moment too late that Joly had asked him something and was waiting for his answer, and shook his head once to clear it. “Sorry, what?” he asked.

“Do you want to see him?” Joly repeated.

Again, the words were like a dagger in him. “Until about three hours ago, my answer to that question would have unequivocally been yes,” Grantaire said, his voice low. “But now, like this…” He shook his head again. “But I have to, though, don’t I?”

He meant it more rhetorically than anything, but Joly shook his head, sympathy clear in his expression. “You don’t have to,” he told Grantaire. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I should though,” Grantaire said with a sigh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “I can’t make this decision without seeing him – without it being real.”

He couldn’t, because no matter how things ended between them, he would never be able to picture Enjolras as anything other than alive, and perfect, and the thought of making a decision about ending his life when that was how he envisioned Enjolras still was frankly laughable. Absurd. Like the world’s sickest joke.

So he needed to see him. No matter how much it would break what was left of him in the process.

“Ok,” Joly said softly. “Then I’ll take you back to him.”

#enjolras x grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #grantaire #enjolras #joly #combeferre #courfeyrac #marius pontmercy #fanfiction #part 1 of 2 #les miserables #former relationship #car accident cw #major injury cw #end of life care cw #major character death cw #angst #all the angst

[cumbercookiebatchs]

No thoughts, only Grantaire acting like a human weighted blanket for Enjolras when he's had a really bad panic attack

Fact is, Enjolras's panic attacks don't come with trembling nor fastened breathing. He shuts down, completely, turns pale and as cold as ice and can't stand being in the open.

The first time Grantaire witnessed it, he'd just came home from a shift at the bar. It was late and he was sure Enjolras'd be long asleep, so he guessed something was off when he heard the TV still on. But the couch was empty and Enjolras was nowhere to be found in their living room.

He found him in the kitchen, sitting on the floor in the corner of the room with his back plastered to the wall, knees up tight to his chest and a lip bitten so roughly it was bleeding. What had him fear the most though was Enjolras's look, empty and distant, pupils so tight they could barely be seen.

He was beside him in an instant, wanting to comfort but so afraid to touch, drawing back immediately when Enjolras flinched at the brush of his fingers. Grantaire's eyes settled on the grip Enjolras's had on his own wirst, so tight his nails were biting his skin, even more strongly after Grantaire's touch.

His heart in his troath, he sat down beside him, well in his sight, speaking as soft as he could, calling him back slowly, oh so slowly. Tender and careful, until Enjolras found his focus back, tense shoulders crumbling down and trembling lightly, blue eyes blinking into awareness and melting with tears.

"Grantaire", he breathed, a pained gasp that had him falling within Grantaire's awaiting arms, and he let himself be held and lulled, Grantaire's warm breath and his soft aftershave grounding him gently.

He trembled under Grantaire's caresses, as cold as he'd ever been, nodding his permission when Grantaire asked to pick him up.

Burrowed into Grantaire's chest, his voice was just a whisper. "I can't talk about it yet", he said, "but can you hold me close?"

With a smile and a tender kiss on his head, Grantaire let him down on their bed carefully, bundling him up with their softest blanket.

He laid down beside him, holding him close, but Enjolras was restless still and his breath had Grantaire worried all the more, "What's wrong?"

Not talking, Enjolras prodded and tugged to find himself under Grantaire's body, sighing in the croock of his neck.

"Like this", he mumbled, more calm and relaxed that he'd been until then. Careful, Grantaire let his weight settle down on him, fingers brushing the tangled curls, "Alright?"

But Enjolras was already asleep.

#Hope you like this anon ❤️ #Thank you ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ #Enjoltaire #Riri's writing #Enjoltaire fic #Enjoltaire modern au #tw panick attack

[racebox-of-higgars]

Worth It - Les Mis SPFC

Here’s my entry for the Les Mis Single Prompt fic challenge! This was my first time writing for Les Mis so it was a lot of fun! 

Prompt: Person a gently tilts person b’s head up

Pairing: Enjolras x Grantaire 

Word Count: 2576

Summary: Grantaire takes care of Enjolras after a fight

Warnings: Mild injury description

Grantaire glanced over at his clock, the harsh red letters slowly blinking at him in the black, almost as if they were mocking him. 2:46am. He rolled over, desperately trying to fall asleep, but something kept it from him, it’s elusive arms just out of his reach. A sense of unease had settled in his stomach hours ago, and it kept him tossing and turning, feeling sick to his core. He couldn’t tell what it was, and chose to ignore it, yet it incessantly crawled its way back into the corners of his mind, demanding his attention. It was an unwelcome presence, tugging constantly at his thoughts, and he couldn’t ignore it. 

Finally, he gave up. Sleep was going to elude him for the rest of the night, there was no point in fighting that. Instead, he turned his attention to the unsettled feeling that sunk deep within him, right down into his bones. Something was deeply wrong, he knew that much, but the question was what was wrong? What was wrong and how could he make this stupid feeling go away? It wasn’t like him to be so set in a feeling like this, usually he could just shrug it off and ignore it, but this one couldn’t be shaken, no matter how hard he tried. 

The ceiling swirled above him, slowly coming back into focus through the darkness as he stared up at it, lying starfished on his back. He started up at it for what seemed like hours, puzzling over the unease that shook him from the gentle embrace of sleep every time it was within reach. It only felt like hours though, when in reality it only lasted a few minutes. Again, glanced at the clock, frowning when it only read 2:57am. He groaned, flopping back against his pillow, throwing his forearm over his eyes. He was in for a long night. 

Each flash of the clock out of the corner of his eyes saw the feeling of unease settling deeper and deeper into his stomach, until it was almost unbearable. It ate away at the edges of his mind, until it consumed his every thought, completely taking over. Eventually, it became so powerful that he couldn’t stay in bed any longer. He hauled himself out, slowly shuffling to the kitchen, bleary-eyed as he felt around in the darkness for a mug, and he poured himself a coffee. Coffee at nearly 3am probably wasn’t the best idea, but he wasn’t going to be sleeping anytime soon anyway, so what did it matter? 

A knock at the door shook him from his thoughts. Right. Who the fuck was at his door at 3am? Whoever it was, could kindly fuck off thank you very mu- oh. 

“‘M’sorry,” Enjolras murmured, swaying where he stood. “Didn’t know where else to go.” Carefully, Grantaire ushered him inside, glancing down the hallway outside his apartment before shutting the door behind them. He flicked on the lights, blinking against the sudden brightness. He couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him as he took in Enjolras’ appearance. 

Blood slowly dripped from his nose and his lip was cut open and bleeding. An array of purples, yellows, greens, blacks and blues mottled his porcelain skin and one of his eyes was swollen shut.  A deep cut across his temple spilled blood into his hair, the crimson a stark contrast against the shining gold, that now sparkled with what appeared to be fragments of glass. He swayed steadily from side to side and his eyes were hazy and unfocused. He looked nothing like Enjolras, usually so put together and calm. This was what was wrong. 

Grantaire made his way over to Enjolras, gently taking his chin in one hand and tilting his head up to meet his eyes. 

“Who did this to you?” He whispered. To an outsider, he would appear calm, collected, but there was an underlying anger underneath, indescribably discreet but also fundamentally out of character for Grantaire. He wasn’t an angry person. Blaisé and flippant, sure. Confrontational and hungry for an argument, but there was never any malice to it. It had always been a game, but not now. Now, he almost trembled with the white hot rage that coursed through his veins. He wanted to find out who did this to Enjolras and find them, hurt them, but that wasn’t what Enjolras needed from him right now. Enjolras needed him there. 

“Some guy at a bar,” Enjolras said, voice hoarse. Grantaire pulled out a chair and helped Enjolras to sit. He looked dead on his feet, like he might have collapsed if Grantaire had left him any longer. Grantaire nodded, more to himself than Enjolras. A bar fight? That wasn’t like Enjolras at all. Enjolras would debate until he was red in the face and his throat completely closed up and he couldn’t speak anymore, but things never got physical with him. He would always de-escalate the situation before it reached that point. So what had been different about this time? 

“So, what happened?” Grantaire asked, carefully wiping the blood from the side of Enjolras’ face with a damp washcloth. Enjolras hissed at the contact and instinctively flinched away, but relaxed into it after a moment. 

“Some guy was being an ass in a bar, I called him out, he threw the first hit.” Grantaire frowned. 

“What was he saying?” “Doesn’t matter, does it?” Grantaire fell quiet at that. Enjolras rarely kept things concealed, so if he was avoiding this, he must really not want to speak about it. 

“Alright.” 

Grantaire worked in silence, gently wiping the blood from Enjolras’ face. His hand trembled slightly with the anger that rushed just beneath his skin, but that was to be released another time. He forced it down, he didn’t need it. Not now. When he was done removing the worst of the blood, he held ice over the bruises, hoping to at least ease the pain of them. Enjolras stared up at him, much more focused now than when he had arrived, and Grantaire had a hard time avoiding his steely gaze. 

“Why did you come here?” He eventually asked as he dressed the wound in Enjolras' temple. “Why not ‘Ferre? He’s a doctor, surely he would be better than me.” Enjolras’ eyes flitted around the room, almost as if he was searching for the answer somewhere there. 

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I guess I just- would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you?” Grantaire’s breath hitched in his throat. 

“Probably not,” he said with a laugh, and even Enjolras smiled at that. 

“It’s true though, R. I just wanted to see you.” Grantaire nodded, almost afraid that if he tried to speak it would just come out as some wildly unattractive squeak. He couldn’t help but think that there was something else, another reason why Enjolras had chosen him of all people to come to for help, but he wouldn’t press for that now, not while Enjolras was in this state. That could wait until later. 

“I’m done,” Grantaire said finally, when all of Enjolras’ injuries were clean and dressed to the best of his ability. “You’ll have to shower to get the last of the blood out of your hair, but it’s not as much anymore.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said quietly. “I’ll call a cab-” “No,” Grantaire immediately cut him off. “Stay here, I’ll sleep on the couch.” “Are you sure?” 

“Of course, I don’t want you going home alone like this. It’s okay.” 

“I don’t have any clothes.” 

“Borrow mine, one second.” Grantaire stood and left Enjolras sitting at the dining table, only slightly bewildered. Grantaire flitted around the apartment like a whirlwind until he found a hoodie and sweatpants that would fit Enjolras. 

“Here,” Grantaire said, handing Enjolras the clothes. They smelled like Grantaire. That was the first thing Enjolras registered. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly that was, but it was distinctly and unmistakably him. It was comforting. “You can change in the bathroom.” Enjolras nodded, and made his way down the hall, significantly less unsteady then he had been before. 

While Enjolras was gone, Grantaire made himself busy, tidying away his first aid kit, running a glass of water, and putting the kettle on. Enjolras didn’t have sugar in his tea - milk and honey, instead. He also threw a blanket in the dryer. Anything to keep himself busy. That way he didn’t have to face his anger. Someone had hurt Enjolras, and it made his blood boil. 

Enjolras had always been a peaceful person, quick-witted and silver-tongued, able to talk himself out of any situation. His words always slipped from his lips, able to pacify any situation. His words were one of the most beautiful things about him. They had so much power and intent behind them, and they could build you up, place you on a pedestal at the top of the world, or tear you down until you’re nothing more than a rat in the gutter. They were honey-coated or sharp as a knife, and whichever he chose could impact you for hours, days after they had been spoken. Ever the diplomat, Enjolras hated violence. He always talked his way out of situations, using those beautiful words to avoid any fight. So what had changed this time? That’s what Grantaire kept coming back to. Why couldn’t Enjolras talk his way out of this one?

Grantaire’s clothes were too big on Enjolras. They hung off his body, almost like a blanket, but they were warm and comfy and they smelled like home. He wrapped the hoodie tightly around himself, closing his eyes for a moment as he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, head in his hands. His head pounded, a dull, throbbing ache just behind his eyes that would not go away. It had been worth it though. 

Okay, so maybe he had lied to Grantaire when he had said the other guy had thrown the first punch. And about why. How bad was a little white lie, really? Right, it was probably very stupid, but how was he supposed to tell Grantaire that he had punched someone in the jaw because they had been talking shit about R? That wasn’t something he was just going to admit, because that would open up the floodgates to a million other discussions that he didn’t want to have. There would be hundreds of questions with answers that he just couldn’t articulate. Enjolras was way out of his depth when it came to Grantaire, and the way he felt about him. He could talk his way through any situation, except this one, because there were no right words for it. So instead, he stayed silent for what might be the first time in his life, because he and Grantaire were a million worlds apart, really. Sure, he had shown him kindness on this one occasion, but it wasn’t like Enjolras had given him much of a choice. Within a week they would be back at each other’s throats, surely. That’s just how they worked. But for now, wrapped up in Grantaire’s hoodie, he could pretend that maybe things were different. 

Grantaire looked up from the mug of tea as he heard Enjolras padding back down the hallway. 

“I made tea,” he said, holding up the mug. “Also I have water and painkillers if you want them too.” Enjolras nodded with a grateful smile as he took the painkillers, then took the mug of tea from Grantaire. 

“You remembered how I have it?” He asked. 

“Of course I do,” Grantaire answered with a warm smile. He had memorised everything that Enjolras liked, from how he had his tea to his favourite clothing brand. All of it was stored away in some corner of his mind, until he needed it in times like these. 

They drank their tea in silence. After a while, Enjolras’ eyelids began to droop. Grantaire took the blankets out of the dryer, folding them neatly in his arms. 

“Come on, it’s late,” he said. Enjolras just nodded vaguely as Grantaire helped him to his feet and led him down the hallway to his room. “I’m sorry it’s a mess, I wasn’t expecting anyone.” “It’s okay,” Enjolras mumbled. Grantaire helped him into bed, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. 

“Get some sleep, you’ll need it.” Enjolras hummed, nestling further into the blankets. “Goodnight Enjolras.” Grantaire turned to try to get some sleep on the couch, when Enjolras’ voice made him turn. 

“R?” 

“Yeah?” “Stay, please?” Grantaire faltered for a moment, glancing between Enjolras, then down the hallway, then back at Enjolras. Carefully, he clambered into the bed beside Enjolras, and immediately Enjolras wrapped his arms tightly around him. “Do you mind?” Enjolras asked, looking up at him. 

“No, it’s fine.” Enjolras nodded again, resting his head on Grantaire’s chest. 

Silence stretched for a million miles between them, and Grantaire was just beginning to think Enjolras had fallen asleep, when he spoke. 

“I lied,” he said simply, barely above a whisper. 

“About what?” 

“The fight. How it started. Who started it?” Grantaire looked down at Enjolras, brow furrowed in concern. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean I started the fight. I threw the first punch.” Enjolras didn’t look at Grantaire, but Grantaire felt his grip on him tighten just slightly. Grantaire was perplexed. That was so out of character for Enjolras. It felt wrong.

“Why?” He asked simply. 

“He was- he said some really homophobic and downright cruel things about you. I couldn’t let that slide.” Enjolras’ heart rate quickened. This was verging on dangerous territory. 

“But now you’re hurt.” 

“I wasn’t just going to let him say that about you!” Enjolras cried, suddenly sitting up, despite the way it made his head reel. 

“Why not? People say it all the time, it’s nothing new.” Enjolras’ face fell. He hadn’t known that. 

“I’m sorry. I hate that you, and other people have to deal with that.” 

“It’s alright, you don’t need to apologise for other people being shitty.” 

“I wish things were easier for us.” Enjolras’ voice had lowered to only slightly louder than a whisper again. 

“Me too.” Enjolras looked up at Grantaire, meeting his eyes. Then, he did what was quite possibly one of the most stupid things of his life. 

He kissed Grantaire. 

It was brief, he pulled away before it could get heated, but it was soft and magical all the same. Grantaire looked at him for a moment, utterly shellshocked, before wrapping him in his arms tightly and pulling him against his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to Enjolras’ hair, running a hand through it. 

“Are we-” Enjolras started, but Grantaire cut him off. 

“We’ll talk about it in the morning. But now it’s-” he paused to check the clock, “-4:28am, and I want to get some sleep, and you’re gonna need it too.” Enjolras nodded. Grantaire hadn’t run, and that meant things were okay, surely. Grantaire titled Enjolras’ head up, pressed a quick, gentle kiss to his lips. It was barely there, but enough for Enjolras to know that everything would be alright. 

As he laid in Grantaire’s arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart and watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, Enjolras’ regret dissipated. If he got to have this, it had all been worth it.

Thanks for reading!

@lesmissamepromptficchallenge 

#les mis #les miserables #enjoltaire #les mis single prompt fic challenge #exr #enjolras x grantaire #fanfiction

[idiopath-fic-smile]

more 1950s lesbian amis

continued from this.

in which grantaire makes coffee, and a friend.

“Good morning,” said Chester. “Is that a new dress?”

It was not. Grantaire looked up warily from her sketchpad. She wasn’t good-looking enough for this to be anything but a ploy.

“Do you need something, Chester?” she asked in her sweetest voice, all cotton candy fumes.

“Secretary’s out this morning,” he told her. “That’s why there’s no coffee yet.” And there, it all clicked into place. 

Grantaire schooled her face as blank as she could make it; if she was going to reach his conclusion, he’d have to drag her there.

“Thank you but I picked up a cup on my way here,” she said, nodding at her half-empty styrofoam cup. After last night’s disaster at the Musain, she had been unable to even imagine the L ride to the office without a fortifying blast of caffeine. 

Chester stared meaningfully; Grantaire stared back, meaningless.

“Grantaire,” said Chester, as if talking to one very stupid, “do you think you could brew us a pot?”

Grantaire blinked. “Does this normally fall to the staff cartoonist when the secretary’s away?”

Chester made a suppressed sound of deep irritation. He spread his hands, appealing. “Listen, I could struggle through trying to make coffee for the office and no doubt poison everyone trying, or you could do it, and add that homey little touch I know all the fellas would appreciate.”

Homey. It was not a word you’d apply to Grantaire’s garden-level one-bedroom, which boasted stained wallpaper and a stove straight out of the Coolidge administration. Homely, maybe. Chester was the one with a home, and a wife, and a fat little baby and the money for a comfortable life.

“It’s only fair to divide the work according to natural aptitude, sweetheart,” Chester was saying, and it was the sweetheart that snapped Grantaire like a rubber band, that word deployed like a pat on the head, like penny candy for a crying baby, like a scrap of baloney to a dog, like it could only ever be the bitterest pity or the cruelest joke in concert with Grantaire’s face, with Grantaire’s entire being.

“‘From each according to their ability, to each according to their needs,’” she murmured in an agreeing tone.

“Now you got it,” Chester started, then frowned.

“Karl Marx, Chester,” said Grantaire. “Keep up, or someone might need to place a call to ol’ Joe.”

Chester’s entire countenance soured. “This is why you should leave it to the men to make the jokes,” he said, “and stick to what you can do--”

Grantaire stood. “I’ll make the coffee,” she said.

“There,” said Chester, “did that need to be such a production?”

The “Golden Ratio,” according to a high school Home Economics course which Grantaire had frankly passed by the skin of her teeth, was one to two tablespoons of coffee for every six ounces of hot water. Grantaire remembered this by virtue of having gotten it wrong many, many times. She was no good with math but the machine took thirty-six ounces of water, which meant the ideal amount of grounds was somewhere between six and twelve tablespoons.

“Stars shining bright above you,” Grantaire hummed under her breath, measuring and dumping coffee grounds into the filter. One, two, three, four, five.

Grantaire had gotten it wrong in high school because nobody in her house drank coffee. She hadn’t discovered the jolting benefits herself until her first year of art school, as the deadlines began to pile and the available time to meet them began to wane.

“Night breezes seem to whisper, I love you,” Grantaire hummed. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

If there had been a way to brave the choppy academic waters of work and criticism without chemical assistance, that path had been invisible to Grantaire. She had tried, she had cried, she had turned down “diet pills” that the other girl in her program swore by only because Grantaire figured her own figure couldn’t afford to be more unflatteringly stick-thin.

“Birds singing in the sycamore trees--” Eleven, twelve. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

The scrutiny and the pressure tempered the freedom of those heady days away from her parents. The expectation that Grantaire was only studying art as a way of killing time, until some charitable man came along to marry her, unless the poor dear simply couldn’t find anyone--she had found a survival strategy of her own, a roughly stitched-together patchwork of sarcasm and wine and more sarcasm, and coffee brewed so thick and strong it barely qualified as liquid.

“Dream a little dream of me.” Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Grantaire went ahead and dumped in the rest of the bag.

Grantaire was making shaky progress on her first deadline when Douglas stopped by her desk.

“Listen,” he blustered, “is this some kind of a joke?”

“Hm?”

“Your coffee’s undrinkable, it’s--” he faltered as Grantaire took a long swallow of the tarry substance in her mug. It was gritty and bitter, but by the standards of her art school years, only qualified as “medium dark.”

“Doug,” she said calmly, “if it’s too strong for you, you’re free to add plenty of milk and sugar.” She took another sip, meeting his eyes all the while. 

He spun on the heel of his expensive dress shoe. As he stormed away, she could hear him mutter, at a passive-aggressive volume designed to be just-barely audible, but audible nonetheless, “No wonder she doesn’t have a man yet, can’t even make coffee right.”

“Grantaire?”

She looked up. The secretary was back from wherever she’d been, apparently.

“Hello,” said Grantaire, hoping that if she kept a friendly enough countenance, the secretary might not notice that Grantaire did not remember her name. “Are you feeling better?”

The secretary smiled, polite. She was young but plain, although not as plain as Grantaire. “Thank you, it was my mother, actually. She’s a little under the weather so I stopped home to bring her some soup and heat it up for her.” Grantaire nodded as if that kind of filial duty was a part of her daily life, too. 

“Well, I hope her condition improves soon.” “Thank you, that’s very kind.” An awkward pause began to bloom. Into it, Grantaire blurted, “Sorry if you had the coffee today.” “Oh,” said the secretary, “no, no, I drink tea.” Of course she did, thought Grantaire. She had the look of someone well acquainted with the proper use of a cup and saucer. She lowered her voice slightly. “Douglas informed me all about this morning’s coffee maker adventure.” She lowered her voice a little more. “In some detail.” “Yes, I must have lost count spooning in the grounds,” said Grantaire blandly. “I can’t imagine how it slipped my mind.” “I can,” said the secretary with a crooked smile. Somehow, with both eyes wide open, she gave the impression of winking. “Say, Grantaire. I don’t suppose you could take your lunch break with me? There’s a park across the street, it’s very quiet. Private.” Grantaire nodded. “Good,” said the secretary. That crooked smile again. “My name is Combeferre, by the way.”

“You know, I saw you the other day,” said Combeferre as she neatly removed a packet of celery sticks wrapped in waxed paper from her lunch bag. “Did you.” Grantaire ran through her mental list of places she’d been over the past several days. If she was very, very lucky, maybe Combeferre simply meant that she’d glimpsed Grantaire at the Jewel, picking up some groceries for her tragically empty fridge. Combeferre glanced around the park in a very natural, off-hand way. “At the Musain,” she said. Grantaire’s stomach dropped. She could feel her grip on her turkey sandwich going white-knuckled. “Chester and Murray, such a pair of jokesters,” she said at last. “I suppose I was being hazed last night--” “No, I saw you last Thursday,” said Combeferre quiety. “By yourself.” Grantaire hadn’t been in there for more than forty-five seconds. Had all of Chicago seen? She felt something bubble up inside her. “So,” said Grantaire, trying to match Combeferre’s even, calm voice. “Is this blackmail, then? I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until I’ve gotten my first check, I’m a bit light at the moment.” Combeferre blinked. “Oh dear,” she said, “oh no, you misunderstand me completely. I saw you from inside.” “You were there?” said Grantaire, feeling very dumb for not having picked up on any sign of Sapphism earlier. There was nothing obvious in her manner or dress. The comment about stopping home to see her mother might have suggested she was still living with her parents, and thus unmarried, but plenty of girls did that. Of course, not every woman of a woman-loving bent chose to broadcast it to the world like that short-haired Amazon in the bar restroom. Combeferre’s hairdo and clothes were no doubt chosen for hiding, like Grantaire’s. “Do you have plans this weekend?” Combeferre asked, and Grantaire attempted not to look entirely pole-axed. Was this a pass? Grantaire felt no immediate pull, but, wretchedly, she realized she was lonely enough to consider it. She raised her eyebrows. “You see, I belong to, um, a social organization,” Combeferre continued, unaware. “We could use some new members, and it would be so nice to know someone else at work--” “Is it a book group?” said Grantaire. “A tupperware exchange? A cat appreciation society?” Combeferre smiled. “I do like cats,” she said. “No, we’re. Hm. The Chicago branch of a group of like-minded individuals who find ourselves on a slightly divergent path from the majority of mankind. It’s a very relaxed, informal thing. We’re meeting at the apartment of a friend for spaghetti dinner on Saturday. I can give you the details if you’re interested.” “And you’re all women?” Grantaire said. “We are,” said Combeferre. What the hell. It wasn’t as if there was a line of people waiting to make Saturday night plans with her. “Alright,” said Grantaire. “Wonderful.” Combeferre gave her an address, although Grantaire didn’t know the city well enough for it to mean much without a map. Her eyes briefly scanned the park again. “And I should add that you don’t have to use your real name,” she said. “In fact, I think most of us don’t.” “Some tupperware club you’re running, lady,” said Grantaire, and Combeferre half-laughed. “I was going to leave you a note,” said Combeferre, “on your desk, explaining everything in advance, but then my mother was sick and there wasn’t any time.” “If anyone saw what you wrote,” Grantaire started. “In shorthand, of course. None of the men would understand.” “I can’t read shorthand,” said Grantaire. “I took a course on it but that was about the time I realized my future would need to be elsewhere.” “I was going to be a physician,” said Combeferre dreamily. Grantaire turned to face her. “I had the grades, you know. Biology was my best subject, and I enjoy helping people.” “What happened?” Grantaire asked uneasily.

“Oh,” said Combeferre. “I had a marvelous professor. I’d asked him to write me a recommendation, and he pulled me aside and explained that if I’d have to do twice the work for half the respect, which was of course the truth. I considered nursing, but a life of emptying bedpans and dodging the head doctor’s wandering hands didn’t appeal.” “So instead you empty inboxes and dodge Richard’s wandering hands,” said Grantaire. “You’ll fit right in with my friends,” Combeferre said with another smile. “I’m sorry about what my friend said to you last night. She has an excellent heart and is a key part of our set, but she can be somewhat severe.”

“Do you mean the Hippolyta who cornered me in the powder room?” “Undoubtedly,” said Combeferre. Then, “oh, and definitely don’t call her that!” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Grantaire.

#eXr DOB

[eienloveslesmis]

This has probably been done before but imagine this (pt. 1 of 2)

Grantaire looked around frantically, trying desperately to find Enjolras in the mass of people atop and surrounding the barricade. There were no bodies anywhere that he could see, so chances were he was still alive. For now.

Just when he was beginning to panic, he finally saw Enjolras on top of the barricade. He relaxed automatically at the sight of him, but the panic returned immediately when he saw a musket pointed straight at Enjolras.

“NO!” he shouted, scrambling up the barricade as fast as he could. He made it just in time to pull the musket away from Enjolras and towards himself before the guard holding it pulled the trigger. 

Grantaire fell down the barricade slowly, unnoticed by Enjolras. He came to the bottom of the massive mound of furniture and sat back against a table that had been thrown out onto the street with the rest of the things for the barricade.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there when the gunshots subsided. 

“Courfeyrac, you take the watch,” Enjolras began to give out instructions. “Hey, Grantaire. What are you doing all the way over there? Come join us.”

Grantaire shook his head and Enjolras stepped towards him.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked quietly, sitting down beside Grantaire.

“I am dying,” Grantaire replied simply.

“What do you mean? Of course you aren't dying, what are you talking about?” Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand in his own, but Grantaire jumped back at the touch.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to overstep boundaries or anything, sorry,” Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment.

“No, no it’s not that, Grantaire laughed weakly, giving his other hand to Enjolras. “Look, it’s just a bit painful,” he smiled softly, demonstrating his injured hand.

Enjolras’s eyes widened at the sight of Grantaire’s bloodied hand.

“What happened, R?” he asked gently.

“I went and got myself shot. Just like I told you we all would.” Grantaire chuckled, but Enjolras seemed unamused.

“Well, that’s alright then. You won’t die from a shot to the hand. Have Joly bandage it, you’ll be fine,” Enjolras stood up to leave, but Grantaire pulled him back down.

“How about this, then?” he asked, opening his vest to show Enjolras the blood soaking his shirt. “Worth your attention yet?”

“Bloody hell, Grantaire, what have you done?” Enjolras choked out as he tore off his own red jacket and tried to use it to block the would, causing Grantaire to yelp out in pain.

“Saved your damn life, Enjolras.” Grantaire gasped and grabbed Enjolras’s shoulder as he tried to soak up the blood. “Will you stop that, we both know it's no use.” But Enjolras didn’t stop.

“What do you mean, you saved my life?” Enjolras’s breathing was speeding up, he was getting frantic as the blood continued to leave Grantaire. “JOLY, JOLY COME HERE AND HELP ME,” he yelled. Joly stood nearby, but did not move. He knew as well as Grantaire did that there was nothing to be done.

“Apollo, stop. Just- just hold me, okay?” Enjolras calmed down slightly at the use of his nickname. He wrapped his arms around Grantaire and pulled him in so that Grantaire lay across his lap.

“Does it hurt?” he whispered, a tear glistening in his eye but not falling.

“Not a bit.”

“You saved my life?”

“There was a musket aimed at you. Could hardly you die, could I?” Grantaire gave a weak laugh, as if the thought of allowing Enjolras so much as a paper cut was ludicrous.

“I’m so sorry, R, this is all my-” Enjolras began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“No, don’t do that. If I had lost you, God, I don’t even want to imagine... This is perfect. I’ll rest in your arms now. Finally.” Grantaire’s body shook violently for a half-second, and he let out a cry of pain before settling back down.

“Oh. Oh. Grantaire, if you had said, if you had told me..” Enjolras trailed off, a tear finally rolling down his cheek.

“No matter,” Grantaire whispered, reaching up to wipe it away with his thumb. “Just don’t tell me you don’t love me, alright? Let me die imagining that it’s possible. Please.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again and nodded.

“Make me one-” Grantaire cut himself off, crying out in pain as his body shook again. “Make me one promise, Apollo, okay?”

“Anything.”

“Will you kiss me on my forehead when I die? I know I’ll feel it,” Grantaire spoke so softly now that Enjolras had to lean in to hear him.

“Of course, R.”

Grantaire’s head fell onto Enjolras’s knee, and Enjolras thought he had gone. After a few moments, though, his eyes fluttered open one last time.

“And then, do you know, Enjolras? I think I may have been a little in love with you.”

He tried to smile again and died.

#enjolras #grantaire #a little fall of rain #Eponine #Eponine Thenardier #Meponine #ENJOLTAIRE #gayest #Les Miserables #les mis #les miz #les amis #les mierables #i swapped it

[despisydraws]

Okay, so this went from headcanons to a one-shot draft real fast and I'm 100% not sorry to fill your entire timeline with trans Courfeyrac's first meeting with the Amis and his coming-out story

Enjoy this mess of a bullet point half-oneshot that has somehow gotten the length of 1,7k words, with no beta because we die like men

-It took Courf quite a long time to figure out what it was that made him so uncomfortable with himself and even once he came to conclusion he just tried to repress it

-He used to dress in extremely feminine clothes (mostly out of fear that nobody would want him anymore otherwise)

-Yep, right, he was super scared of being alone in the world and he constantly needed the assurance that he was needed

-He had a bunch of super shitty boyfriends who treated him like dirt and only wanted him as a status symbol, to have 'a hotter girlfriend than the others'

-He was so tired of being cheated on and used, but he felt so alone and helpless that he tried to hold on to every. single. one. of those douchebags

-That made them even greater assholes, of course, like a confidence boost (disgusting)

-He got rid of them only by them getting rid of him, what happened after a fairly short time (because 'He was just so clingy' and 'they never wanted a long-term relationship they just wanted some fun') (I repeat: disgusting)

-After an especially bad breakup, which he reasoned by himself not behaving enough as the girl he should be ('shitty-ex also said that, so it's true, right?'), his almost frantic femininity got even worse

-That was the phase in which he met Combeferre

-Courf was sitting in the corner of a very empty cafe, staring into his cup without drinking

-Ferre has to deal with the Amis, so he's kind of a hobby-therapist, he came over immediately and asked to sit with him

-He just sensed that something was off about 'the girl who constantly shoves her beautiful long curls back as if they were tiny snakes trying to bite her, who kneads the hem of her short dress nervously, trying not to let anyone see, who shifts her feet in her heels as if she stood on needles' - it reminded him of Enjolras, but in less furious and more hurt

-They chat a little and Ferre gets him to attend one of the amis' meetings

-They go there together, there is a mirror in the corridor of the cafe next to the coat rack, where Courf stops dead and just gazes at what has become of him

-Ferre just tries to calm him by saying 'don't worry, you look wonderful.' And Courf immediately clenches his jaw, because 'oh, great, another one of those guys...'

-Anyway they attend the meeting and Courf is absolutely in awe over Enjolras, about his strength and confidence, generally just his aura which is almost visible to him, red and burning

-Feuilly, who is a hobby-hairdresser and cuts cuts the hair of all of the Amis for free, takes one look at him and immediately goes "wooow, I'd love to cut your hair, can I cut it? Look at all those cool and sexy hairstyles over here *gestures to Bahorel* and here *gestures to Joly who grins and waves at him*, okay, over here I messed up *gestures to Bossuet, who notices Courfs mortified expression and goes 'no, don't worry, I'm naturally bald he's just joking!'* and Feuilly laughs and goes on with his rambling" but Courf is like 'no way, you're not gonna touch my hair, wtf?' And he avoids Feuilly because he has a vague feeling that the redhead is a huge creep...

-Enjolras takes one look at Courf and then turns to Ferre with a raised eyebrow

-They have something like a telepathic discussion about Courf, Ferre desperately wants to keep him because he just feels that it's right but Enjolras can't stand him because his behavior seems so fake (he can't get behind it yet, he tends to judge people immediately, like an instinct, and he really doesn't want a 'little prom queen Ferre wants to go off with' in his activist group. He should really know Ferre a little better than that, given the fact that they grew up together, and know that he's got his reasons, but Enj had a very bad day so he goes with whatever his mind tells him)

-Courf gets along quite alright with the others, especially with Bahorel, Grantaire and Jehan (even though he thinks they're a little weird) and 'that Joly is cute I guess'

-After the meeting they all get ready to go home and most of them have left already, Jehan suddenly comes up to him and hugs him deeply, saying how much they wish for Courf to stay with the group

How? How could anyone resist that?

-So Courf comes back a few times and when they plan to go on vacation with the group to strengthen the team spirit and mayyybe just have a chill weekend for once Courf is already included in the plans without them even asking him

-They go by train to a summer cottage Jehans parents own at the coast of Spain, right at the beach

-Courf shares a room with Grantaire and Joly and Bossuet, Enj and Ferre share a smaller room and Jehan sleeps with Feuilly and Bahorel on a huge extendible couch

-Let's say this is at a point where Courf has already gotten so much queer influence from this group that he is just confused and absolutely can't tell anymore who he is, because, apparently it's okay to not feel the same way your body lookw?? But that's colliding with everything he learned from the shitty douchebag boyfriends and his clique he had a few years ago????

-His mind is absolutely overwhelmed and he doesn't know what to do anymore, the assumption he had about himself is proving true at an alarming speed and he can't repress it anymore.

-Even though his is with such an open minded group now, he still fears to be cast out once he opens up

-He fears that they would think he was shamming himself again to fit in more ('I presented myself so different when he first met them, it would be strange, right? It would seem like a lie if I told them!')

-He sleeps less and cries a lot, this holiday should have been relieving but it has become the horror to him

-Everytime he sees Joly and Bossuet kissing, everytime Enjolras lifts his shirt in the heat, showing his scars and Grantaires' longing gazes, he excuses himself. He sits in the bathroom quietly, staring at the wall, until a person comes along who has to use it

-One night he can't take it anymore

-There's Grantaire and Bossuet snoring to both sides of him and Joly shifting in his boyfriend's arms the entire time, sometimes pressing a pillow on his face to stop the noise

-There is too much sound, too much movement around him so the thoughts that need to be thought, if not at daytime, then at least at night, get even louder

-He stands up with his blanket underneath one arm and quietly leaves the room into the dark hallway. His knees are shaking and all he wishes for is to break down on the floor but his body just can't pass that point of desperation, so he stumbles around until his hands find the next doorhandle and pushes it

-There is a muffled voice, saying "Don't even try it, Jehan, I hid your notebook. Go to sleep, write that thought down tomorrow..."

-When there is no reaction a bedside lamp is switched on, revealing Combeferres sleepy face

- "Ferre, turn the goddamn light on one more time and I'll kill you" Enjolras grunts from the other bed, turning his back to the room

-Combeferre just quietly signs for Courfeyrac to lay down next to him after he took one look at his face and he does (Ferre is after all still the one he trusts most)

-He crawls underneath Ferres blanket and buries his face against the latter one's chest and then everything just starts streaming out of him, all of his thoughts, all of his feelings, he just talks about everything for the first time

-As he ends there is silence and Combeferre places a kiss on his head when he starts to cry again

-Enjolras just quietly apologizes for being rude to him all the times before and stands up, moving over to the two of them

-He starts to tell Courfeyrac the story of his own coming out, how he got kicked out by his parents and had to move out of the city and live with Combeferre and something about the story calms him down

-He falls asleep sandwiched between Ferre and Enj after they had to promise to not tell anyone about it yet

-The next night he feels better but he is still restless

-He's up again, quietly shifting to the living room where he shakes Feuilly awake

C:"Can you help me with something?"

F:"Sure, what is it?"

C:"Cut my hair..."

-Feuilly is out and about in an instant and soon there is light in the kitchen, Courf is sitting on a stool they found in a small storeroom and Feuilly comes in with a grin and a pair of scissors

-The next morning the others almost don't recognize him anymore, if not because of his looks then because of his aura. He is genuinely happy for the first time in what feels like an eternity

-Even Enj is grinning when he sees him and stands up from the table where they are eating breakfast, putting an arm around his shoulders

"Listen here my boy, you don't know what danger you just put yourself in. Look at them, they're all gay and ready to eat you alive"

-The entire table bursts in chaos, Joly spits out his juice, Bahorel is screaming from the top of his lungs, Grantaire is muttering "I'm so in love, I'm so in love, I'm so in love" over and over again and Bossuet jumps up from his chair so suddenly it falls over "Enjolras made a joke?! Enjolras is funny?! My life is a lie!"

-Courfeyrac just laughs with them, glad that Enjolras saved him from all the awkward questions for now

-He sits down next to Combeferre and shoots him a small look

"Are you also, you know... gay and ready to eat me alive?" He chuckles and Combeferre turns his head into his direction with an amused smile "Eating you would be a little harsh, don't you think? But I admit, I have been thinking of eating with you this evening" "Are you... asking me out?" "What else could I have intended with that?"

And they all live happily ever after, finish, yaaay

#Les Miserables #les amis de l'abc #Courfeyrac #Combeferre #Enjolras #Grantaire #Bahorel #Feuilly #Joly #Bossuet #Jehan #Yep I tagged them all #Courferre #Enjoltaire #JBM #But Chetta isn't there at the moment I didn't want to make this even longer #Do I have to put trigger warnings on this? Idkkk #Anxiety #Guess that's the only one but if any of you find something else tell me pls #My headcanons #but is it?

[permets-tu-means-i-love-you]

ExR: "God, I missed you"

Hope this suits your needs anon.

Summary: Enjolras returns home from college nervous that nobody will remember him.

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, tell me if you need anything else listed/tagged.

Enjolras was worried. Even though he should be celebrating, he couldn’t shake the anxiety that stuck with him. He had just graduated from law school after seven excruciatingly long years. Now, he was moving back home. This wouldn’t be so much of a problem, except for the fact that he had a large group of friends he hadn’t seen for, what, three years now? Sure, he’d kept in contact, but that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t seen them face to face in forever.

He tried to visit them every once in a while, but as uni progressed he’d had less and less time to do so. Instead, regular texting was how they had to communicate, but even that had slowed down as more and more work had been piled onto Enjolras’ workload. It’s not like he’d been avoiding them, he just hadn’t had much time to do anything other than schoolwork.

As he taped the last of his moving boxes, he looked around his now empty dorm room. Seeing it so lifeless only made him more anxious about leaving. He had lived in this room for seven long, stressful years. Now he had to go back to a place he barely remembered. 

A tiny, nagging voice in the back of his head appeared, bringing unwanted thoughts with it. “And you’re back to people who barely remember you. They haven’t seen you for three years, why would they want to see you now?”

“That’s not true,” Enjolras said, thinking aloud. “I texted them last night and they said they were glad I was coming back.”

“But remember how long it took them to reply? It took them an hour to just read the text. And Combeferre was the only one who replied. Sure sounds like excitement to me. They don’t want you back, they only replied out of pity.”

He tried to argue with the intrusive thoughts, but anything he did only made them worse. He tried using various distraction tactics Jehan had showed him, but those didn’t help either.

“What if when you get back everyone hates you? What if you get back and nobody remembers you? What if you get back and you blackout and murder everybody? What if-”

Overwhelmed with anxiety, he instinctively started tapping a rhythm against his leg. He focused on that until he couldn’t hear the thoughts anymore, then picked up the last box and walked outside.

Once the last box had been neatly arranged in the back of his car, he sat down in the driver’s seat but hesitated before turning the key. There was still one train of thought that stuck with him.

“What if when you get back, Grantaire hates you? What if when you get back Grantaire doesn’t remember you? What if you get back and something’s happened to Grantaire?”

These thoughts had been plaguing his mind for longer than he’d like to admit. He’d been in love with Grantaire for some time, but he’d never told him. He’d kept his feelings bottled up for years, and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass. His anxiety increased every time he thought of how reuniting with his friends, but more specifically, Grantaire would go. He decided to stop thinking about it, but that didn’t do much to calm his fears.

He started the ignition and began the hour-long drive, only his thoughts, and The Greatest Showman soundtrack for company. It was going to be a very, very long drive…

~~~

Grantaire woke to the sound of his phone going off like a siren, a million notifications screeching to be acknowledged. Still half asleep, he reached over to grab his phone, almost dropping it in the process. He turned on his phone to see more than 100 messages in the group chat, all of them probably important. He glanced at the time and almost fell off of his bed. Now wide awake, he scrambled to throw on some clothes.

“Courf is going to kill me,” he thought as he rushed out the door, scrambling to get to the Musain. “It’s 1 am and I just woke up. I thought I had an alarm set…”

While it wouldn’t be much of a problem any other day, today was the day Enjolras finally got back from uni. It had been years since he last saw him, and he had been texting less and less. It was understandable, given that he was in his graduating year, but it had still hurt when a text went unanswered for days.

Grantaire burst through the doors of the Musain to find everything arranged perfectly, waiting for Enjolras. Then he heard a voice from the other room.

“Is that Grantaire? Move aside ‘Ferre, I need to commit a crime.”

Courfeyrac entered the room, glaring at Grantaire with a murderous rage. 

“And just where have you been? You were supposed to help make the decorations! And help with the baking!”

“Would you believe me if I said I got… uh… caught in… traffic?”

“You live, like, a block away. Wait, do you even have a car? Nevermind, I don’t care. What I do care about is you showing up hours late! What is wrong with you!”

“Many things, but the relevant problem would be that my alarm didn’t go off when it was supposed to. Either that or I slept through it.”

Courfeyrac sighed, looking disappointed but not surprised. “At least you came… Well, since there’s nothing left to do, I guess you can just hang out until he gets here.”

Courfeyrac walked away and Grantaire sat down at a table, wondering if it was too early to start drinking. Suddenly, Combeferre rushed in through the door carrying a bag of chips.

“He’s coming! Everyone get out here, quick!”

Everyone scrambled out into the open, smiling excitedly and chattering loudly. After a few seconds, the noise died down as everyone waited in anticipation for Enjolras to walk through the door. Grantaire couldn’t see him come in over the crowd, but he did see the top of the door swing open and everyone rush toward him as they yelled “Surprise!”

The place erupted with laughs and smiles, talking about things they’ve missed out on and things to update Enjolras about. After everyone backed off and stopped crowding him so intensely, Grantaire tried to see him through the crowd with no luck. He wasn’t going to stand and try to push to the front, he wasn’t even that sure if Enjolras even wanted to see him.

He heard Eponine loudly announce how much she’d missed him and how she hated him for leaving her alone to deal with Courfeyrac, earning a very indignant “Hey!” from a fake-insulted Courf. He heard Enjolras and Eponine talk some more, not quite making out what they were saying. He zoned out, tuning back in when he heard his name.

“...Where’s Grantaire,” Enjolras said, sounding… anxious?

“Knowing him, he’s either still asleep or off somewhere drunk already,” Eponine said, trying not to laugh.

“Truly inspiring words, ‘Ponine. I can see how valued and noticeable I am in this friend group,” Grantaire said, voice dripping with sarcasm. The crowd parted as they turned to face him, and he could see Enjolras staring at him, a strange expression on his face.

“God, I missed you,” Enjolras said softly, almost too softly to hear. Grantaire smiled and stood up. He walked over to Enjolras and took his hands in his own.

“I missed you too.”

“Can I kiss you,” Enjolras asked, nervous but hopeful.

“Yeah,” he replied, not quite believing what was happening.

Then Enjolras’ lips were on his and everything else vanished. It felt like they stayed that way for years, but when Enjolras pulled away it was still too soon. 

“I told you something would happen.”

“Shut up Courf!”

Grantaire turned round to see a smug Courfeyrac receiving twenty dollars from a disgruntled Bahorel.

“Wait a second, did you guys bet on this,” Grantaire asked, shooting a glare their way.

“Yeah, and if you’d been here on time like the rest of us, you would’ve known,” Courfeyrac replied with a smirk.

Grantaire looked back at Enjolras who seemed embarrassed but not surprised. Grantaire rolled his eyes at the others, earning a small laugh from Enjolras.

“Alright Grantaire, don’t think that because you two idiots finally did something about those feelings of yours you’ll get to hog Enjolras. Especially because I called first dibs,” Courfeyrac said.

“You can’t call dibs Courfeyrac,” Combeferre replied.

“I can and I will,” he said, skipping over to Enjolras and Grantaire. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to steal my best friend for a moment.”

Courfeyrac grabbed Enjolras’ elbow dragging him away. Enjolras shot an amused look back at Grantaire before being hauled back into the crowd, Grantaire close behind him.

#Enjolras #Grantaire #Enjoltaire #Granjolras #ExR #Courfeyrac #Combeferre #Bahorel #Eponine #tw intrusive thoughts #Les Mis #Les Miserables #Les Amis #Fic Shelf

[gegabriels]

For the story requests. I would like to see how Grantaire and Enjolras got their cat, Mouse, and how they chose her name, since she is mentioned in a few of your recent stories.

Grantaire nervously knocked on the door to Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac's apartment. He swallowed, his hands fidgeting. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Grantaire considered walking away. But then, the door opened, showing a very frazzled looking Combeferre, in blue pajamas, without his glasses on. Combeferre yawned, wiping at his eyes.

"Who is it?" Combeferre asked, squinting, only able to make out Grantaire's shape without his glasses, not any of his features.

"It's me, Grantaire," Grantaire replied, Combeferre frowning, and stepping backwards,

"Come in, come in… What on Earth do you need? It's 10:00 pm," Combeferre demanded, walking into his room, and returning a second later with his glasses on. Combeferre yawned again, sitting down on the couch in the living room, giving Grantaire an expectant look.

"Y'know, average people don't head to bed at 10:00 pm," Grantaire commented, Combeferre resting his head on the blanket that was laid overtop the couch,

"Yes, well, average people didn't get back from working a twelve hour shift, only to have to put up with their two over-excited friends afterwards, and find out that one of their friends broke his toe again! And average people also don't randomly knock on their friend's door past 8:00 pm without reason," Combeferre argued, closing his eyes. Grantaire bit his lip,

"Wait… Bossuet broke his toe again?" He questioned, Combeferre nodding. Grantaire sighed,

"Ah," He murmured, Combeferre motioning to the empty space on the couch besides him,

"Sit," He ordered, Grantaire instantly doing as he said, "Now, what brings you here, my friend?" Combeferre asked, "Enjolras is out with Courfeyrac, trying to get to the store before it closes, since Courfeyrac broke the eggs again," Combeferre said. Grantaire frowned,

"Broke the eggs?" He repeated, Combeferre motioning towards the kitchen,

"Yes, he dropped them," He confirmed.

"And why did Enjolras go with him?" He asked,

"He was going to drop by the pharmacy real quick anyways, so it worked. Out of melatonin, again. I told him to get it last week, but no," Combeferre grumbled. Grantaire nodded, glad that he had caught Combeferre alone,

"Listen… Um, about next week," Grantaire began, Combeferre pressing a finger over Grantaire's mouth with a smile,

"Enjolras' birthday?" Combeferre stated, Grantaire blushing,

"Yeah… What do you think he'd, like, want?" He murmured. Combeferre thought, for a second, glancing around the room. The living room of the house was basically manageable chaos. Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras' work papers were scattered in every direction imaginable, and there were blankets thrown randomly about the room, alone with a pillow here and there. It was dark outside, and the main lights were off, the only light in the room coming from the tall lamp in the corner.

"... Well, you could get him what you get him every year. Another friendship bracelet," Combeferre said with a smirk, Grantaire going even redder than he had been before.

"I just… I know what he likes, but I don't know if he'll like it, you know what I mean?" Combeferre raised an eyebrow,

"That's rather redundant, don't you think?" He replied, Grantaire sighing, running a hand through his black curls,

"I know… I know," He muttered, Combeferre sitting up straight,

"So, you want me to give you suggestions for gifts that Enjolras wouldn't despise?" He guessed, Grantaire nodding.

"You know, it's the thought that-" Combeferre began, Grantaire cutting him off,

"Counts, I know," He dismissed, Combeferre glancing out the window of the living room for a moment. The sky was already black, and a bit of moonlight was seeping its way into the room, lining the edge of the carpet.

"A cat," Combeferre suddenly said. Grantaire frowned,

"What?" He asked incredulously.

"A cat," Combeferre repeated, yawning, and giving the door to his bedroom a longing look.

"Does… Enjolras even want a cat?" The thought of Enjolras with a tiny, furry kitten curled up in his lap made Grantaire laugh. There was no way.

"Are you kidding me? He adores cats, but I always objected to getting one, because pets are messy," Combeferre explained, "Why else would he always feed the strays outside of the Musain?" Grantaire blinked,

"Uh… As part of his whole "feed the homeless" thing?" He said, shrugging, "Do you and Courfeyrac even want a cat, though? I mean, since you guys all live together, and all." It was Combeferre's turn to shrug,

"I can put up with a cat, and Courfeyrac loves them, though he loves dogs slightly more," Combeferre supplied, Grantaire still in shock over the fact that Enjolras could like cats, "I see that face you're making," Combeferre commented, Grantaire blushing,

"W-What, what face?" He asked, even though he very well knew the answer,

"Your 'I just realised Enjolras is a human, face.' It's actually wrong, though, I think he's a cat," Combeferre muttered, his head half-buried in the couch again.

"Alright, you need sleep," Grantaire declared, Combeferre rolling his eye that was currently visible,

"No, seriously, I swear I've heard him purr before…" And with that, Grantaire decided to leave Combeferre in peace.

_____

"Thanks for this, Jehan," Grantaire graciously said, as Jehan unlocked the door to his apartment.

"No problem. It's actually me who should be saying thank you to you! My apartment only allows one pet, but when I saw these poor little babies, shivering in the rain… I just had to do something," Jehan murmured, Grantaire smiling. Jehan had the biggest heart anyone could ever have. Grantaire and Jehan stepped into Jehan's apartment, Jehan closing the door behind him.

Jehan's apartment had an array of colors, much like Courfeyrac's room, but all of Jehan's colors blended and matched in beautiful ways. The apartment was warm, and smelled like a combination of basil, and some sort of spice. A few of Grantaire's paintings were hung up in the room, a large framed picture of the Les Amis proudly displayed on the center of the front wall. Jehan led Grantaire over to the door to the spare room in the apartment. Jehan twisted the doorknob, opening the door, only to immediately have a brown and white kitten run out. Jehan quickly picked up the little fluffball, entering the room with Grantaire, closing the door, and placing the kitten down on the floor.

In the corner of the room, under the desk on a blanket, lay a brown and black tabby, the mother of the three little kittens scrambling around on top of her, and the kitten who was determined to be named Houdini by its future owner. Grantaire couldn't help but coo at the adorableness of the kittens, and the mother cat gave him a less-than-impressed look. Jehan pet her,

"This is Luna," Jehan introduced, "And these four are her babies." Grantaire nodded, crouching down, and getting a closer look at the four. There were two brown and white kittens, one black kitten, and one brown kitten. The brown kitten strutted over to him, her tail raised high in the air, as she sniffed his knee, before digging her claws into it, and clambering on.

"Ow," Grantaire said, gently detaching the kitten from his pants. It gave him a dissatisfied mew, and Jehan laughed,

"These three are boys," He said, pointing at the kittens who had gotten over Grantaire's arrival, and had gone back to annoying their poor mother, "And the one you're holding is a girl." Grantaire nodded,

"Which would you recommend for Enjolras?" He asked, Jehan thinking for a moment,

"Well, I think he'd like this one," He pointed to the brown and white kitten, "Or the one you're holding. They've got the biggest… Character." Grantaire nodded once more, giving the kitten he was holding a glance over,

"Her then," He decided, Jehan smiling,

"Alright! I've already dewormed the bunch, and they should be good with fleas," He informed, "She's eight weeks old, just old enough to leave Luna. Since you can't give her to Enj until tomorrow, do you have a litter box and kitten food at home? Is your house heated enough-" Grantaire cut Jehan off,

"She'll be fine," He reassured his friend, Jehan sighing, and taking the brown kitten, kissing her forehead,

"I'll miss you, baby," He whispered, before placing the kitten in front of Luna. Grantaire raised an eyebrow, "It's so she can say bye to her mom!" Jehan defended. Luna sniffed the kitten, licking her head, before Jehan handed her back to Grantaire, getting the carrier in the corner of the room, which had blankets inside of it, "Here, you put her in." Grantaire gently placed the brown kitten inside of the carrier. The kitten made a few panicked squeaks, as Grantaire lifted the carrier up. Luna growled, having heard her kitten's distress, and Jehan ran his fingers through her fur, calming her.

"Byeeeee kitten!" Jehan exclaimed, Grantaire smirking, before walking out of the room, and exiting the apartment.

_____

"So…" Grantaire gave the kitten, who was now sitting on the floor of his, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta's living room, an expectant look, about a day later, "What's your name?" The kitten blinked at him, Grantaire frowning, and turning his head towards Joly, who was making a sandwich in the kitchen, "I think she's broken." Joly rolled his eyes, walking over, and picking the kitten up,

"She's a cat, Grantaire, they don't speak English," He said, smiling at the kitten, before immediately setting her down, "Oh, oh, wait, I was reading an article about diseases transmitted by cats-" Grantaire quickly cut him off,

"She doesn't have a frickin' disease, Joly," He stroked her tiny head with his thumb, and she let out a few tiny purrs, digging her claws into his shirt, and scrambling up to his shoulder. Grantaire smiled,

"I almost want a cat myself," He murmured, Joly raising an eyebrow, and sitting down on the couch,

"Mhm, you can barely take care of yourself as it is," He replied, Grantaire sighing,

"I know," He gave the kitten another few pets, before lifting her up, and placing her back inside of her carrier, "Gonna head down now." Joly nodded, supportively patting Grantaire's shoulder, before walking back into the kitchen. Bossuet and Musichetta made their way into the living room, Bossuet tripping over his own feet, and landing face first on the couch. Musichetta shook her head exasperatedly, turning towards Grantaire,

"You taking her down now?" She enquired, Grantaire nodding.

"The meeting was pretty cool today," Bossuet said, "Less political stuff and more of Combeferre telling embarrassing stories of Enjolras when he was two, and Enjolras hiding under a table." Musichetta tugged Bossuet's head off of the couch cushion, sitting down in its previous place.

"I like the political talk," She defended, "I want to help make a change." Grantaire snorted,

"Yeah, hate to break it to you, but nothing we do will actually change anything. When was the last time that it did? The people in power don't care," He argued. Joly joined the conversation, walking into the living room with his completed sandwich,

"That's why the people in power need to go down, my friend," He said, Grantaire opening his mouth to argue. Musichetta shook her head,

"Alright Mr. Negativity, go deliver that kitten," Musichetta instructed, Grantaire lifting carrier up, the kitten mewing from inside of it. It was Enjolras' birthday that day. Everyone had already wished him a happy birthday, and given him a gift. Except for Grantaire. Grantaire hadn't. If this bothered Enjolras, he had done a great job of hiding it, as he hadn't given Grantaire as much as a glance the entire meeting. Grantaire left his apartment building, heading out to the streets, the kitten loudly protesting the chilly May air. Thankfully, Combeferre, Enjolras, and Courfeyrac's apartment was nearby, and the kitten was soon back inside of a warm apartment building, as Grantaire made his way up the steps to the Triumvirate's floor. She still didn't seem thrilled about being carried around, however, and Grantaire did his best not to jostle her any further.

Grantaire's heart thudded in his chest, as he stood outside of the door to Enjolras' place. Tentatively, he lifted up his fist, and knocked on it. There was a clambering sound from the other side, and Combeferre opened the door,

"Oh, hello," Combeferre greeted, giving Grantaire a nod. Grantaire nodded back, Combeferre glancing at the carrier,

"You can place it behind the couch," Combeferre directed, Grantaire nodding, and stepping into the living room, sliding the carrier containing the brown kitten behind the couch. The living room seemed even more messy since the last time he'd visited, with even more papers scattered everywhere, and something that looked suspiciously like confetti thrown into the mix as well. Probably Courfeyrac's doing.

"Where are Enjolras and Courf?" Grantaire asked, Combeferre readjusting his glasses,

"I believe they're throwing pillows at each other," He answered, Grantaire blinking,

"Throwing pillows?" He repeated, Combeferre sighing,

"Yes, because apparently the appropriate way to celebrate one turning 22 is for one to act like a 2-year-old," He sarcastically said, walking over to Courfeyrac's room, and opening the door, returning a moment later with Enjolras and Courfeyrac beside him.

"Oh. Hey Grantaire," Enjolras murmured, sitting down on the couch, not spotting the carrier behind it. Grantaire couldn't help the blush that spread across his face,

"H-Hey Enjolras, happy birthday," He said, Enjolras giving him a genuine smile,

"Thanks," He replied, Grantaire nodding. Courfeyrac gave Grantaire a confused look,

"Why are you here? Is it about the 5 dollars? I'll pay it back!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, Grantaire raising an eyebrow,

"...What 5 dollars?"

"Nothing!" Grantaire smirked,

"Anyways, I'm here because I have something for Enjolras," He informed, locking eyes with Combeferre, who went behind the couch, taking the cat carrier out, and handing it to Grantaire. Enjolras eyes widened,

"Is that-" He began, as Grantaire opened the carrier, gently removing the brown kitten, and placing her in Enjolras' lap. Enjolras froze, giving Combeferre a shocked look, Combeferre giving him a smile in return. Enjolras gently stroked the kitten, the kitten purring, and stretching her tiny body out across his lap, showing off her light brown tummy.

"Uh… Happy birthday?" Grantaire murmured, Enjolras tenderly picking the kitten up, and placing it in Courfeyrac's lap, before approaching Grantaire. Grantaire felt himself stiffen in fear, despite the fact that he was at least a head taller, and three times more muscular than the blonde. Enjolras then proceeded to pull him into a short hug. Grantaire smiled, wrapping his arms around the blonde. They parted after a second, their blue eyes meeting, and time itself seeming to stop, before Enjolras finally looked away,

"You were in on this?" He asked Combeferre, Combeferre giving him a thumbs-up.

"And I kinda knew," Courfeyrac piped up, "But I didn't know Grantaire was the one who was gonna bring the cat. Say, where'd you get it?" Enjolras ran his fingers across the kitten's body, picking her up and cradling her against his chest.

"Got her from Jehan, remember how he took in those strays?" Grantaire responded, Courfeyrac nodding,

"What's her name?" He asked. Grantaire shrugged,

"Up to E." Enjolras opened his mouth, Courfeyrac raising an eyebrow,

"Don't you dare name the poor thing Revolution," He warned, Enjolras rolling his eyes,

"It's a good name!" He defended, Courfeyrac face-palming,

"You can't name a little baby kitten Revolution!" He protested, Grantaire tapping the side of his face in thought,

"I can go over her features, if that helps. Brown, tiny, like a little mouse…" Enjolras snapped his fingers,

"Mouse," He decided. Courfeyrac giggled,

"Mouse the cat?" He enquired, Enjolras lightly smacking the side of Courfeyrac's head, causing him to giggle even more. Mouse approved of her new name, and voiced her opinion with a meow, as she rolled over in Enjolras' lap.

"C'mere Ferre, hold Mouse," Courfeyrac prompted, Enjolras holding her out to Combeferre,

"No thank you," Combeferre started, Enjolras shoving the furball into his lap anyways. Combeferre sighed, but pet Mouse anyhow, and the three began a lively conversation together. Grantaire stood up,

"I'm gonna go get Mouse's stuff from my apartment, and bring it over," He said, quickly heading towards the door. Enjolras exited the living room, following after him. Grantaire froze, as Enjolras approached, certain that things were all going to go to shit,

"Hey, thank you," Enjorlas murmured. Grantaire giving him a small nod, "You can come over and see Mouse, if you'd like," Enjolras offered,

"Really?" Grantaire asked,

"Really," Enjolras confirmed. Grantaire blinked,

"You wouldn't mind?"

"No, it'd be nice to spend more time with you anyways," Enjolras mumbled, Grantaire grinning,'

"Uhm, great then," He responded,

"Great," Enjolras repeated, looking back towards the living room, "I better go make sure Courfeyrac didn't accidentally sit on Mouse or something." He gave Grantaire one last awkward glance, before walking off.

Grantaire needed to make sure that his heart didn't forget it's job, as it thumped wildly inside of his chest.

[windmilltothestars]

Another (less) short piece for @mynameisremyiamadumbass - who suggested the other day be “Grantaire Appreciation Day” - right before I had to my tutoring job.  I thought of this idea WHILE I was tutoring, when I supposed to be thinking of eighth grade math!!  Anyway, it ended up being more of ensemble piece, and (of course) longer than planned, but Grantaire does get appreciated!  Enjoy a very ridiculous story, my friend!

-

Combeferre, Feuilly and Enjolras were all hunched over the table in the back room of the Café Musain, in serious consultation of the wording of their latest manifesto to be taken to the printers’.  Enjolras was grinning faintly – out all of his friends, these two were the least likely to let women or booze or even artistic excitement or personal problems interfere with their focus on the cause, and today’s progress had been swift and efficient.  

Suddenly, the thudding of urgent, ungainly footsteps approached, and they all tensed and raised their eyes to the door in anticipation.  The sound had been so loud and forceful that they were all surprised when it was Jehan who appeared in the doorway, pale-faced, clinging to the doorframe, and gasping for breath.

“Jehan?  What is it?” wondered Feuilly, approaching him in concern.

“I was – just – talking to –” Jehan panted, leaning over and bracing his hands on his knees.

“Catch your breath first,” Combeferre advised, laying a calming hand on his shoulder.  Jehan nodded vaguely and held them all in suspense as he inhaled.

“To an inspector!” he said at last, straightening up.  “He seemed – suspicious – heard some rumor!  He was asking – questions – about our organization – ‘What is the aim and purpose of the Friends of the ABC?’  I told him – we teach poor children – teach them to read!  ABCs, you know!  Then he asked – where?  Where we met – and did our teaching!  And – I – I panicked, I thought – I’d better not say here – so I said – the Café Corinthe!  And he’s going there – now!  And I’m – I’m sorry,” his contrite eyes were more on Enjolras than the others, “I didn’t know what to say – I panicked.”

They all glanced at each other anxiously.

“Is anyone there now?” Combeferre wondered.

“It’s too late for breakfast –”

“They might all be in class –”

“Though it’s possible – Bahorel or Grantaire –”

“But if he questions the staff, poor old Mère Hucheloup – might not know what to say,” Feuilly concluded uneasily.

“I’m sorry,” Jehan repeated, ducking his eyes.

“It’s alright,” Enjolras told him firmly, “you did nothing wrong.  We’ve just got to go there now – and pray God we can get him off the scent.”

This was all the incentive they needed to be on their way.  They even sprung for a carriage ride just to get them there faster and stand a better chance of catching the inspector and minimizing the possible damage to their cause – not to mention their lives.

With terror hammering in each of their hearts to varying degrees, the four of them poured through the door and came upon a surprising sight.

Grantaire, fists raised in front of his face, was mock-sparring – the blows connecting but ever-so-lightly – with a scrawny, ragged young boy who sometimes delivered messages for them, whilst the inspector, tall, imposing, and in full uniform, stood to the side and watched the proceedings with a puzzled expression.  There was a faint blush to Grantaire’s cheeks that someone who didn’t know him might have taken for exertion or embarrassment, but he seemed, on the whole, but minimally impaired; he had the presence of mind to subtly roll his hastily-hidden wine bottle further behind the counter with his foot as he passed. He allowed the boy to get a good mock-hit on face, before tumbling dramatically to the floor in response as the boy cheered his victory, and then straightening up and smiling pleasantly to the inspector.

“So you see,” he panted, “how he’s improving in his self-defense lessons!  Now, I may be biased, Monsieur Inspector, but to my mind, self-defense is one of the most important skills for our students to learn!  Though the others –” his eyes turned upon his four friends at last, and his grin widened – “are sure to correct me!  Monsieur, might I introduce our afternoon teachers?”

The inspector turned to look at the four of them.  Combeferre faintly raised a hand in greeting, and Grantaire therefore honed in on him as the calmest and most ready to convincingly play his part.

“This is Monsieur Combeferre,” he said, indicating him.  “He teaches anatomy and other sciences.  Fantastically gruesome stuff! Talking for hours about blood and bones!”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Combeferre greeted the inspector, shaking his hand.  He turned pleasantly to the raggedy boy. “Can you tell the inspector what you call the bones in your fingers?”

“Knuckles!” the boy shot back.

“He prefers boxing to science,” Combeferre informed the inspector ruefully.  “We’re working on it.  Though it’s a testament to my honored colleague Monsieur Grantaire’s skill, I’m sure.  He also teaches art.”

“Art and science?” the inspector wondered, tilting his head.  “And self-defense?  I was given to believe you were teaching them to read!”

“We here of the Friends of ABC believe in a balanced education,” Feuilly put in.  He, too, held out his hand to shake the inspector’s. “In started with just literacy, but we’ve since expanded our aims.  I’m Monsieur Feuilly; I teach woodworking and handicrafts.  And here, you’ve met Monsieur Prouvaire.  He helps our advanced readers to reach a higher understanding of literature and poetry; sometimes they write their own!”

“And he teaches the Bible in Hebrew and Greek!  Quite a polymath, our Monsieur Prouvaire,” Grantaire added fondly, causing Jehan to hastily withdraw the hand he was extending to the inspector and use it to quickly hide his furiously-blushing face.

“And this,” Grantaire went on as his eyes fell with their regular glowing admiration on Enjolras, who had been standing like a statue watching the proceedings, “is the chief and foundation of our whole enterprise, Monsieur Enjolras!”

Enjolras gave him a slight nod and shook his hand mechanically, but said nothing.

“And – what do you teach, Monsieur Enjolras?” the inspector asked, his expression unreadable.

“History,” he replied swiftly.  “French history – especially of the last century – is my specialty, and quite enough to fill a whole course, I daresay, but Monsieur Feuilly has persuaded me to expand the area of study across centuries and continents – to have a more whole and complete picture of the world.”

“The way he tells those stories,” Jehan put in shyly, “why, he puts you there, in the shoes one living in that moment!  To listen to them is to be enthralled by some fey creature!  His is the magic to transport one across time and space!”

“I can see why he teaches poetry,” the inspector muttered.

“Monsieur Prouvaire is right,” the boy added suddenly, dashing over to Enjolras and clinging to his leg.  “Monsieur Enjolras’s stories are amazing!  His class is my favorite – after boxing, of course!”  Enjolras awkwardly patted the boy’s shoulder.

“It’s true,” added Mère Hucheloup, ducking her head out of the kitchen, “Even I get distracted in my serving by dear Monsieur Enjolras’s history lessons!”

The boy faced down the inspector and continued. “I was one of the first students to learn with the Friends the ABC!  Back when it was just Monsiers Enjolras and Combeferre teaching reading!  Monsieur Enjolras taught me my ABCs – right at that table over there!”

There was a silence as they all gazed intently at the inspector’s impassive face – even Mère Hucheloup had paused in laying out oysters – and collectively willed him to believe their elaborate castle of lies and half-truths.  He gazed from face to face and seemed to be reading for nerves or lies in each of them.  They each internally trembled for Jehan’s exceptionally timid manners and propensity for blushing.  But his inner valor upheld him, and his face stayed pale, and he did not duck his eyes.

At last, the inspector completed his sweep, he gave a soft breath of satisfaction, and slightly smiled. Five pairs of tensed shoulders relaxed.

“Is there anything else, Inspector?” Combeferre said.  “Only our afternoon students will be arriving in twenty minutes, and we really must prepare!”

“And the sort of children we teach,” Feuilly made bold to add, “are sometimes afraid of the police! They might not show up today if they see you here!”

“Er – yes, alright,” the inspector agreed awkwardly.  “I’ll be going, and I’ll tell them at the precinct that we’ve nothing to fear from the Friends of the ABC, that they’re but a lot of harmless dreamers – who in my opinion,” he added, casting a dubious glance at the ragged boy now holding Enjolras’s hand, “are wasting considerable talent on this sort of riffraff!”

Enjolras’s outrage at this comment managed to confine itself to tightening his grip on the boy’s hand and clenching his fist; but Feuilly’s expression darkened dangerously.

“Now, see here, Inspector,” he said, stepping up two paces closer to the man. “To educate is to deliver a soul out of darkness, and to offer a chance at a life of use and light and joy and purpose!  Do you say we should condemn every poor man’s child to darkness?  Dismiss this whole class of people, as not worth consideration?”

“It is our philosophy,” Combeferre added, “that education – the illumination of all minds into greater truth and understanding – will bring light and progress to all the peoples of the world; thus, starting in childhood, and not excluding any class of child, is vital for the progress of the human race.”

The inspector gave a sort of snort, his mouth upturned in a somewhat derisive smile.  “What did I say?” he shrugged, “Dreamers!  Harmless dreamers!”  And without another word, he turned on his heel and left the café.

Jehan immediately sunk down into a chair.  The urchin ran to window and stuck his tongue out at the inspector’s departing back. Combeferre and Enjolras confined themselves to sighs of relief.  Grantaire, also sitting, said, “I need a drink.”

“You and me both, brother,” Feuilly said fervently, clapping him on the back and going to pick up his hidden wine bottle.  “I think perhaps we all do. Mère Hucheloup, some more cups, if you please!”

“Do you know,” Combeferre said softly to Enjolras as they watched Feuilly accepting the cups and pouring out the wine, “I rather liked the idea – all of us as teachers!  Molding young minds!  I had myself half-convinced!”

“In the new world – in the Republic,” Enjolras promised him, “that will be the way.  When that day comes, I freely pass my torch to you – in your hands, the light of illumination!”

Jehan, during this exchange, had risen to his feet and gone to the window to join the boy.  “You saved us,” he told him earnestly. “The Friends of the ABC will forever be in your debt!  Here,” he added, reaching into his pocket and handing the boy an entire five-franc coin, “get yourself something nice!”  The boy excitedly rushed to the counter to buy himself a pastry.

“And he’s not the only who saved us!” Feuilly added as he passed the cups into each of their hands. “Without Grantaire’s being here, his quick thinking and adaptability, we’d be lost!”

“Certainly, we would!” agreed Jehan, smiling warmly at him.

“Oh – oh, really,” Grantaire dismissed, ducking his own head and trying not to look too pleased by this praise, “it was nothing, my friends – nothing, really!”

“It was far from nothing,” Feuilly assured him heartily.  “Gentlemen, let’s raise our glasses – to Grantaire!”

“To Grantaire!” they all echoed, smiling at him.

Grantaire’s face was rather blank as he observed his friends – it was, like the inspector’s scanning over each one as if to ascertain this was real.  As they knew it would, it settled last of all on the fair countenance of Enjolras, a desperate question in his eyes.  To reassure him, Enjolras raised his glass a fraction of an inch again, widened his smile gave him a little nod. At last, Grantaire’s face relaxed and reflected his smile, and they all drank deep.

Next second, Bahorel burst into the shop, greeting them with a shout of, “Afternoon, my friends! ARE WE ALL READY TO SMASH THE GOVERNMENT?!?”

Jehan choked on his wine, and fell out of his chair.

#mini fic #my fic #fan fic #les miserables #i am sorry #i am a people pleaser at the depths of my (canine-like) soul #so i hope you are pleased with this :') #i forgot how to spell feuilly's name every single time i typed it #and don't ever ask me to say it out loud #ignore me #it's 4am again here

[wilwywaylan]

The Artist above and the Revolutionnary below

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern!AU, Enjolras x Grantaire, 4979 words

Following of this first part, written for the Same-Prompt Fic Challenge !

Also on AO3 !

- 

There was no music the next day, when Grantaire opened his windows. Weird, the weather was quite good, so it couldn't have been the rain chasing him inside. Maybe he just wasn't there today ? He certainly had a whole life beside trying to power through a song. Grantaire sat back at his easel, started working, trying to ignore his suddenly gloomy mood. He wasn't blind enough to wonder about the reasons of that sadness, of course. He'd become used to the music, discordant as it was, as a companion. He should have known that it wouldn't last forever, of course, but now that it wasn't ruining his eardrums anymore, he was almost missing it.

Out of habit, he leaned on the windowsill to smoke and enjoy a bit of fresh air. There was a gentle breeze blowing through the trees, carrying the first fallen flowers with it. As Grantaire's gaze followed their slow dance, he suddenly noticed that there were shoes on the balcony. Red shoes, with feet in them. Ah, so the boy was here. But not playing. Grantaire bent as far as he could, and called :

- Hey, down there ! Everything okay ? Did the cat eat your guitar or something ?

At first, there was only silence, and Grantaire thought that, maybe, he'd been mistaken and those shoes had been just abandoned there. But after several long seconds, they moved, and he got an answer :

- I can't do it.

- You can't ? Why ? You've been making progress, and...

- I can't, the boy repeated. The protest is on saturday, and I still can barely play a few notes.

- It's still something, Grantaire offered.

- I'm supposed to demonstrate that music is inspiring and something we must have in our lives. All I'm going to do, he said in a pitiful tone, is to comfort them in the idea that those programs need to be destroyed as soon as possible if the only thing they can create is that... horror.

Grantaire wanted nothing more than to jump on the lower balcony and give him a hug to get rid of the sadness in his voice. But he was no Tarzan, and maybe Enjolras would find it a little weird. So instead, he said, as casually as he could with his heart beating so hard :

- Maybe I could help. You know, a little.

There was a new silence, louder, this time.

- You could ?

Did he really hear that note of hope in Enjolras' voice, or was it just his imagination ? He really, really hoped on the first.

- Yeah. I mean, I could give you some advice...

- Can  you ?

- I just said...

- No, I mean, right now.

Grantaire's heart did a somersault and stuck itself right in his throat, making it hard to swallow. He did his best to talk around that sudden lump :

- Yeah, if you have the time, I can drop by. If it's okay with you.

- I'm at number 32.

- Okay, let me just find my shoes...

And my composure, Grantaire mentally added as he dove back inside. He rummaged for a moment through the mess on and around the couch. There was absolutely zero chance of finding his shoes here, but he needed a little time to calm down before he did something weird or too embarrassing. Once his heart was back to something tolerable, he went to the door where his shoes were patiently waiting for him.

The hallway outside seemed to stretch endlessly in front of him, perilous trek full of danger, and the two flights of stairs were made of cliffs a mere man could never pass. And still, the next second, he was standing in front of a door that looked exactly like his own, but with a shiny 32 exactly at its center, with no idea how he managed to cross the obstacles.

He barely had time to knock that the door opened, and something hit his legs, hard enough to make him stagger back and look down. It was a cat. A big, fluffy cat with white fur. It seemed as distraught as him by the sudden collision. Bending down swiftly, Grantaire grabbed it before it could run away, and hoisted it up in his arms. Luckily for him, the cat didn't seem too angry at being manhandled (cathandled) like this, and just kneaded at his sleeve.

Grantaire turned to give the cat back to its rightful owner... and froze. Because in front of him, standing in the doorway, was the vengeful angel from the staircase. For the third time today, Grantaire's heart decided to do a little gymnastics. And then, the angel spoke :

- Oh thank you, you caught him ! He's always trying to run away, and I'm always afraid that...

The angel was speaking in a very normal, non-angelic voice that Grantaire was very familiar with, given that it was Enjolras' voice.

Enjolras and the vengeful angel were one and the same.

He'd just been invited by the man he couldn't forget the face, to give him a guitar lesson because the beautiful angel he'd seen for five seconds and the dorky boy who was complaining about his fingers hurting were the same person.

The man - the angel - Enjolras stepped forwards to get his cat back, and Grantaire noticed several things at once. One, he'd have to touch up his drawings a little ; he'd got the beautiful blue eyes and their long eyelashes perfectly right, as the soft oval of the face, and the small curls, and the lovely mouth.... But the nose was a little straighter than he had thought, and there was a little scar on his forehead, almost hidden under the curls. Two, that their respective places on the stairs had made Enjolras seem way taller than he was in reality. The top of his curls could barely tickle Grantaire's nose, and that's only if he were standing on his toes. Third, that maybe Grantaire needed to breathe if he wanted to be able to give that guitar lesson and not faint on the spot. So he handed the cat to his master, who immediately cradled him to his chest, and announced in a tone that he hoped was relaxed :

- So, how about we take a look at this song ?

Enjolras nodded and led him inside. The flat was almost the same as Grantaire's, the only difference being the size of the living room and the balcony. There were high windows with that weird tilting part at the top, an open kitchen on the right, and a small hallway on the left, leading to the bedroom. It wasn't very messy, but it was covered in books. On the shelves lining the walls, piled on the coffee table, the couch, on the floor... It was a wonder there was still furniture, and Enjolras wasn't just living on books.

The guitar was resting against the metal chairs on the balcony. Grantaire took it, sat on one of the chairs.

- Do you have the sheet for that song ?

Enjolras looked at him like he suddenly grew a second head.

- A what ?

- The notes, you know ?

- Ah... no. I can't read music.

- So you were... playing by ear ?

No wonder it had sounded so weird. Grantaire refrained from making any semblance of a biting remark that would have gotten his ass kicked. Instead, he put his fingers on the fret :

- Okay, look, you put your fingers here, and here....

~*~

After four hours of efforts only interrupted by some coffee (Enjolras owned a wonderful coffee machine that looked a bit like a spaceship, and made very good of it), Enjolras was finally able to get something out of the guitar that almost sounded like Wonderwall. He'd still need a lot of practice, sure, but he was on the right track to be ready for Saturday with all the notes he took on Grantaire's advice.

Grantaire got up, his back and neck cracking after so much immobility. He would have liked to stay like this for a few hours more, sitting on that balcony with Enjolras beside him, close enough so he could feel the warmth of his arm brushing against him, his eyes on him, watching his every move... But he had to leave. Enjolras had a life beside him, it was starting to get cold, he was tired, and he was getting too close of saying or doing something extremely stupid. Too much exposure to such a pretty boy, probably. He didn't want to break the fragile link that had formed between them by doing something perfectly idiotic, rude or a combination of both. It was time to gracefully leave. Which he did, assuring Enjolras that it would be alright and he'd do a perfect job during the rally.

As soon as the door closed, Grantaire made a beeline to Eponine's door and banged on it until she opened. He didn't even give her any time to protest, just dove in, flopped on the couch, buried his head in his hands and started whining. Eponine came to sit beside him, pushing his feet (and almost the whole of him) off the couch.

- What's wrong with you ?

- He is... oh, he is... The Sun, the Moon and all the Stars, he's just.... oh, he's....

Props to Eponine who managed to piece together what he was talking about. Okay, it was pretty clear to anyone whose brain hadn't turned to mush, but still.

- Which one ? The Angel ? Or the musical one ?

Grantaire moved a hand to look at her.

- They're the same.

Eponine just nodded.

- Only you can get a crush on two different people who happen to be exactly the same. So, how did you discover that you're an idiot ?

Grantaire summed up the events of the afternoon, trying not to sound too gidy despite the shivers still running up and down his arms. He didn't gush too much, at least he hoped.

- So, let me get this straight : you fall in love...

- I did not.

- Did too. You fall in love with a pretty guy you don't know the name of and only saw for five seconds in the staircase, and you also fall in love or whatever with the downstairs neighbour because he plays the guitar like I play the bagpipes.

- I'm sure you play divinely.

- Shut up. So he calls you to his help, you of course drop everything to go - and you did, don't even try to deny it - and then you realize that he's your dream angel. And then, instead of ravishing him, you spend four hours playing guitar with him. Did I get that right ?

- More or less. But I wasn't going to jump on him right now. Imagine he doesn't like men ? What if he prefers women ?

His stomach knotted itself at the thought. He hadn't even thought of it. Gay and bi men weren't exactly a dime a dozen, so what was the chance of another one living in his building, especially in his age range and exactly to his tastes ? Not very high. Not high at all. The fact that Enjolras was tiny and adorable didn't automatically mean that he prefered men. Which he, of course, told Eponine.

- You know, she said, there aren't many ways to be sure.

- I am certainly not going to knock on his door and kiss him senseless.

- Too bad. I'd love to see if he's able to punch you.

Grantaire made a face that she ignored.

- So if you're not going to kiss you or something, what are you going to do ?

- I don't know. Sigh and waste away, probably ?

- You're an idiot.

- And you're so nice.

They bickered for a few minutes, trying to push each other from the couch. Eponine put an end to it by smacking him on the head with a pillow.

- If I find a way to put you and Angel-Ass...

- Enjolras.

- Angel-Ass in a romantic mood with the possibility of kiss, what will you give me ?

- I'll give you the world and everything in it. Or more pragmatically, I'll be your slave forever. Which means a week. And I'll buy you the boots of your dreams and your choice, no restrictions.

- Careful with what you say.

She got up and went to the door, to Grantaire's surprise. By the time he'd gotten up and followed, she was already knocking at door 32, too late for him to stop her. He hid behind the railing to better listen.

- Yes ?

Enjolras' voice gave him goosebumps, and he mentally kicked himself. Come on, he had just left him ! He couldn't just be that affected by a voice ! And still, yes, he could, so much that he had to pinch himself to get back to reality and listen to what Eponine was saying.

- I'm having a party on Saturday night.

- I don't mind the noise, came the immediate answer.

- It's not about the noise. R seems to like you, and you're invited.

- R ?

The question hit Grantaire with the force of a punch from Bahorel. During all their exchanges, he hadn't thought, even just one second, to introduce himself. Of course, first he had just thrown comments into the void, and then it would have been too awkward. Also he just didn't think of it.

- Your neighbour. Tall, looks like something the cat dragged in, very dorky, black hair ?

Grantaire promised himself that he'd find a way to avenge his honor. But the description seemed to click, because he could hear the smile in Enjolras' voice.

- Is that... is he called R ?

- He'll introduce himself. Saturday evening. Bring something to drink if you want.

please say yes, please say yes, he thought. He even crossed all the fingers he could to add to the effect.

- So ? Eponine insisted, will you come ?

- I have a rally on Saturday evening, and we may celebrate with my friends, but I'll try to make it.

- Cool. See you then.

The door slammed, and Grantaire heard Eponine climb the stairs.

- I know you're hiding up there, you idiot.

No need to hide himself. Grantaire got up.

- So, aren't you glad ? Blondie will be there on Saturday, and you can flirt with him as you want. You're going to flirt, she adds before he could protest.

- And you call this a romantic meeting ?

- Just trust me for once, you animal.

They retreated to the couch again. As she unearthed the remote from the cushions, Eponine asked.

- Are you going to that rally ?

- Of course not. What would I do there ?

Eponine just snickered, and launched one of the millions cooking videos she had recorded, leaving him all the time in the world to replay the afternoon in his mind in peace.

~*~

What am I doing here ? Grantaire thought for the umptenth time, tapping his feet on the ground to get them warm. The weather had taken a turn for the rainy and chilly, and it wasn't very enjoyable, standing like this without moving. He wasn't a fan of big crowds, at least not that kind. Not that the people here looked dangerous, or aggressive, but there was something in the air, something... electric, that seemed to run through the crowd. It felt like an anticipation, an expectation. Like something was going to happen, but he wasn't sure it was going to be a good thing. Oh well, he was there, after all. He could spare a few moments. Out of simple curiosity, nothing else. Par pure curiosité, bien sûr.

After ten minutes, something finally happened. A tall man with glasses climbed on the stage and started talking about the reasons for the rally. Nothing that Grantaire hadn’t heard from Enjolras already, and he half-listened while scanning the crowd to see if he recognized someone. He thought he had seen some of his friends on the other side of the place. But before he could move, the guy with the glasses announced the first manifestant. And Enjolras stepped on the stage. He looked taller, up there, and more impressive, clad in a pair of jeans that didn't leave much to the imagination and a shirt with a slogan that Grantaire couldn't read from there. He grabbed the mic stand and started talking.

And how he talked. If Grantaire had been attracted by his voice beforehand, he was now mesmerized. Not by his words ; the arguments had been carefully constructed, crafted, even, each word had obviously been weighted to get a maximum effect, but nothing Grantaire couldn't poke a few holes in if given enough time. But the way Enjolras talked... the passion, the fury, the conviction in his voice... He was fire, he was burning, so hard and so brightly that the sun even looked paler next to him. He was talking, arguing, convincing, and Grantaire could feel the warmth, the energy, from where he was standing. He himself felt braver, stronger, as if a bit of Enjolras' strength was passing through his words.

Enjolras finally stopped, and Grantaire released the breath he had been holding. But the blond boy, apparently thinking that he hadn't shaken Grantaire enough, grabbed his guitar. He sat on the chair chair that his friend brought out, and started playing. It wasn't perfect, but it was miles above where he'd been a week ago. He'd been working very hard, and Grantaire felt a little proud of them both.

And then he started singing.

It was too much for Grantaire. The fire, the passion, and not this, the soft voice, almost lulling, and his smile.... No, he couldn't handle this. He was only human, and this was too much for him to handle. He retreated to the edge of the square, then turned heels and all but ran away. But no matter how fast he ran, the song was still bouncing in his head, and the smile when he started playing. Oh yes. He was fully and thoroughly fucked.

~*~

By the time Eponine's party rolled by, Grantaire had mostly recovered. He still felt a little feverish each time his mind started to wander in the direction of the events of the afternoon, but he could play the part of the guy cool enough to casually go to a party and spend some good time with friends and acquaintances.

When he knocked on Eponine's door, the party had already started, judging by the music pouring by the keyhole (or at least it seemed) at a volume that defeated the purpose of knocking. So he let himself in. After all, he was a friend of the house, wasn't he ? He almost lived here. He stepped into the living room bathed in a soft glow, where half a dozen people were trying to fit on the couch without falling over, things made difficult with Montparnasse who absolutely refused to squeeze himself against the armrest in fear of creasing his coat. Grantaire made a beeline to the table where the bottles had been gathered, put his own among them, then filled himself a glass that he emptied in one go. Armed with a second, he turned to the room, ready to face the crowd. Mingling in during a party had never been a problem for him, and soon, he was caught in a conversation, happy as a clam.

He was on his third glass and caught in a conversation about the latest modern art exhibition he'd seen, when a new group of people near the door drew his attention. Or rather, the very interesting color choice of one of the newcomers. There were very few people in the whole town who dared to sport such a garish pink, and only one who'd wear that much of it, especially with a very low collar to show off his chest. Grantaire made his way to the door to greet him. He noticed that Bahorel hadn't come alone ; his friend, a tall, lanky redhead, abandoned him immediately to go and talk with Montparnasse. Very interesting information that he'd need to think about later.

- Bahorel ! Grantaire screamed above the music. Fancy meeting you hear !

- What can I say, when there's an opportunity to drink and have fun, I'm always ready. Nothing better than a party after a fight !

Now that he looked closer, Bahorel had several cuts that had barely stopped bleeding, and there was a bandage wrapped around his wrist.

- Why am I surprised ? Grantaire asked. A day when you got into a fight ? Must be a day ending in -day.

- Not my fault... this time ! We were nicely minding our own business, having our rally like well-mannered people (Grantaire snickered) and suddenly, a bunch of idiots decided to storm the stage, push everyone down, scream slurs, the whole nine yards. And you know how it goes : things escalate, someone throws the first punch...

- That someone being you, I bet ?

- Not me, in fact.

Bahorel stepped aside, to reveal Enjolras standing just beside him and currently talking with another man with curly hair. Both guys looked battered, Enjolras sporting an impressive black eye, and his lip had been split. Grantaire refrained from running to him and doing something stupid, just nodded in what he hoped was a relaxed way.

- So your blond friend threw the first punch.

- Yeah ! And then it became something like the Third World War or something. Everybody started fighting, kicking, punching, it was wild ! And then of course, the police decided to step in, so a few of our opponents sided with them to hit us, and some sided with us to fight them... It was really truly epic.

- And you didn't get arrested ?

Bahorel looked offended by the question.

- How dare you imply that I'm not swift enough to leave and smart enough to know when to do so ! We missed the haul, barely, and ran home.

- All of you ?

- All of us ! It's the first time none of us got arrested. This deserves a celebration !

Bahorel grabbed Grantaire by the shoulders and dragged him back to the drinks, to Grantaire's utter despair. But he went with him, because pretty boy or not, Bahorel was his good friend, and if he wanted to celebrate with him, Grantaire wasn't going to deny him the joy. Still, he threw a look at Enjolras, and was very surprised when their eyes met. He waved at him, and was delighted when Enjolras waved back. He let himself be dragged, trying not to feel too giddy or to check again that the blond boy was looking at him.

~*~

The party was well underway when Grantaire finally managed to untangle himself from all the social interactions he was caught in for a well-needed smoke break. He was stepping on Eponine's tiny balcony, when he realized that someone was already occupying the spot, leaning on the metal railing. Someone wearing a worn red hoodie, with long, blond, cascading hair pooling in the hood. Grantaire's heart rate doubled, and he almost fell backwards. But after several hours spent talking and drinking, he needed some cold air to clear his mind, a cigarette to calm his nerves, and get away from people and the music for a moment. And Enjolras had turned around when he'd heard the window open, and he was now looking at him. If he backed down, God only could know how he'd fix the situation.

So he walked to the railing too, cigarette in hand, praying all the deities he could that Enjolras wouldn't start obnoxiously coughing to show his displeasure or ask him to put it out. But no, the other boy just looked at him. Grantaire lit his cigarette. Immediately, the sweet feeling filled his lungs. Elbows on the railing, he blowed a long puff of smoke towards the starry sky.

- Can I ?

Grantaire turned to face Enjolras, who was holding another cigarette.

- You smoke ?

- Don't I look the type ?

Grantaire refrained from answering, not wanting to aggravate him now. He motioned him closer to light his cigarette with his own. Suddenly, Enjolras was close to him, so close, that Grantaire could almost feel the warmth from his hair. The spark between them grew a little brighter, sending small shards of light on Enjolras' cheekbones, lighting gold sparks in his hair. Grantaire wanted nothing more than to touch him, right now, stroke his smooth skin, wrap those beautiful curls around his fingers, again and again.... but he simply drew back a little. Enjolras nodded in thanks, and they both resumed their stance, watching the smoke billow above us.

It was... nice, just staying like that, their arms almost touching, in a lull only troubled by the muffled sound of the music behind them. Almost... intimate, in a way. But it was just a small moment in time, a bubble that could burst at every second. A cigarette didn't last long, and Enjolras would probably go back inside once he was done. Grantaire watched the small burning spot, knowing that it may be the only thing that still kept Enjolras beside him. He needed to do something, and quickly. But what ? He couldn't kiss him now, could he ? He'd probably earn himself a punch, and never see him again.

- You were amazing, this afternoon, he blurted.

Good. Nothing embarrassing. Enjolras looked surprised.

- You came ?

- Yes ? I mean, I was curious about the song. And maybe your rally too, a little.

Enjolras smiled. He smiled, and Grantaire couldn't help but smile back.

- You were very good, he repeated.

- Wait, are you talking about....

- Both. Seems that the practice really did you good.

- And the rest ? Enjolras asked, eagerly.

- Very interesting. A few weak points here and there, of course...

- Weak points ?

Enjolras was frowning. Not very good. But life couldn't just always be peaches, right ? And Grantaire was on a roll.

- Yes ? Some of your arguments - very well phrased, I must say - are a bit weak, and could be countered without too much effort. But for a speech, it was okay. Convincing enough. You need to aim for the feelings first, and that did the job.

Enjolras' expression was hard to read in the low light, and Grantaire hoped that the red on his cheeks wasn't due to anger. Oh fuck, it probably was. He was angry.

- As if... he started, but Grantaire cut him.

- No no, sorry. Please don't take it the wrong way. I'm not starting to pick a fight. Even if I am, usually. I mean, I love poking holes in arguments, it's my favourite sport, and not just because it's not physical. I love nothing more than a good argument. Not the kind where you throw the furniture down, of course. The one that allows us to find flaws in arguments.

- So what ? You just said that for my own good ?

A beat

- Maybe ? I mean, if you want to perfect them, I could help. Discuss them with you. Play around until there aren't any holes to poke at them.

- So you want to help me. Like this.

- Yes ? I....

He sighed. This was quickly becoming a nightmare. He was going to wake up.

- Listen. I'm not usually.... I can be kind of an asshole, but that wasn't my goal. You.... you asked for my advice. I could have lied, but... that's not how I work. But I didn't mean to sound like an ass. Or judging. Or.... this.

A few seconds flew by, during which Enjolras simply looked at him. Then, slowly, his brows relaxed. He didn't smile, not yet, but at least he didn't look like running inside anymore.

- Yes, I asked you. I....

He crossed his arms, almost nervously, and Grantaire wanted nothing more than to hug him right this instant.

- I may still have some trouble with criticism, he confessed. Especially coming from someone I don't know well.  

- Maybe, Grantaire offered, I could drop by tomorrow or something, and discuss it with you ? This don't seem like a good moment for criticism, it's a party and... you look battered enough without me adding to the pile.

Enjolras gave a small chuckle.

- You're right. Maybe that could be beneficial. I can't swear I'm not going to try to convince you, or not get angry, or...

- Don't worry. I can handle it. In the meantime, maybe we should head inside ? Your friends are going to look for you.

- They know where to find me.

Had he heard right? Yes he had. Enjolras settled back beside him. Grantaire did the same, without a word. He didn't trust his voice right now to speak. So he just stayed beside him, their arms brushing sometimes, enjoying his presence in the calm of the night.

(inside, Eponine had wasted no time in gathering the different bets on whether or not the two would finally kiss before the end of the evening… )

#les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #jude the cat #more dorks #and the meeting ! #how many times can I describe grantaire seeing enjolras #at least once more

[enjoltveit]

before i met you, i only loved france

you frantically scanned the barricade trying to find him.  the rain was pouring and blurring your vision, but you perservered.  your ears were ringing from the calamity of gunfire that had ceased just moments before, and yet you still perservered.  your heart began to beat faster as you started to worry about his whereabouts and safety.  finally, after what felt like an eternity, you saw him with courfeyrac and joly tending to parts of the barricade that had been damaged during the battle.  you took a deep breath and began to walk toward him.  you had to tell him what had been on your heart for months, ever since you first met him, and you didn't know what pain tomorrow would bring.  you reached the trio after what felt like forever, your limbs heavy with nervousness and dread.  you cleared your throat quietly and spoke up.

"enjolras," you spoke.

all three heads turned to face you, concern written on their faces.  you took a deep breath and continued,  "enjolras, i have to talk to you about something important."

"y/n," he sighed.  your breath hitched at the sound of your own name falling from his lips.  "i'm extremely busy now, i can't talk.  if it's important then go and talk to combeferre about it, please."

your heart sank at his words, and a deep confusion found itself plastered onto courfeyrac and joly's faces.  you opened your mouth to speak once more.

"i-it's important that you--" you began, before being cut off by an increasingly frustrated enjolras.

"y/n!!  i'm busy.  if it's of any importance then i've put combeferre in charge," enjolras interjected, his face red with stress.  your heart began to crack under the immense pain in your chest.

"enj--" you stammered.

"do you WANT us to lose this battle, y/n?" he boomed, obvious anger embedded in his eyes.  at that, your heart shattered into a trillion miniscule pieces and you shrank as he towered intimidatingly over you.  you wavered for a moment, staring at your hands in shock, before absentmindedly turning on your heel and slowly walking away.  you headed for the musain, wanting to wash away the bitter taste of heartache with a bottle of absinthe.

as your feet dragged themselves up the stairs your eyes began to blur with tears.  as they trailed down your face and you furiously tried to wipe them away, you saw a familiar figure sitting at the table in the corner.  he looked up at you with a high degree of worry.

"y/n? are you alright?" he spoke softly, his voice sounding surprisingly sober.  you tried to hide the pain and brokenness in your voice as you faked a smile and spoke.

"hey, r," your voice cracked and you cursed the emotion swirling around your soul.  grantaire took notice immediately as he stood and slowly made his way over to you.

"what happened?  is everything alright?" his voice was gentle and brotherly, and the warmth and safety he radiated when he didn't smell of gin took you by surprise.  his kind gesture only stirred the broken pieces in your chest even more, and you felt yourself collapse into his embrace as your shoulders shook with misery.

"shhh, it's okay.  you're okay," his voice was soft as he rubbed your back and hugged you close.  you had always been like a younger sister in his eyes, but he stayed distant for fear of disappointing you with his unbeatable alcoholism.  your figure went completely limp as you lost all your energy to stand, and he brought you over to a chair.

"did you tell him?" he inquired as he sat across from you.  your swollen eyes met his in confusion and he smiled at you.  "a big brother can always tell when his baby sister has someone in her heart."

"i went to tell him and he dismissed me saying that if it's important to tell combeferre.  i think i made him angry.  i never should've bothered him when he was obviously stressed and busy!  i'm just going to ruin the entire revolution!!" you were now sobbing into your hands, too weak and ashamed to look grantaire in the eyes.  his heart crumbled at the raw agony echoing in your voice.  he reached across the table and stroked your hair gently.  you lowered your head to the table and let out a shaky breath in a lost attempt to calm yourself.

you hadn't realized you had been yelling until there was a knock on a table next to the stairs.  you dreaded who it could've been, so you kept your head firmly tucked into your arms on the table.  grantaire stood and walked over to you, leaning down and kissing your head before walking over to the visitor.

"you really fucked up this time, enjolras," grantaire spoke quietly, keeping the conversation between them only.  enjolras winced at the use of his full name rather than the usual nickname grantaire called him, but replied quietly.

"what are you talking about, grantaire?  the revolution has begun and we all must pay a sacrifice," enjolras whispered.  grantaire scoffed at him and shook his head.

"for a revolutionary leader you sure are blind," grantaire sighed and enjolras' eyes narrowed at the comment, but he stayed silent.  "go talk to her and apologize," and with that, grantaire walked down the stairs and out of the musain, leaving the two of you in a heated silence.

after a moment, enjolras slowly made his way over to you, sitting across from you as grantaire had just moments ago.  he opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off by rising from your chair and turning to walk away.

"y/n," he sighed.  "where are you going?"

"to talk to combeferre about something urgent that isn't important enough for you," you tried to speak with confidence, but all that emitted from your throat was a dull whimper.  enjolras felt his heart snap in two at the tone in your voice, and he stood, gently grabbing your wrist as you turned to walk away, pulling you back to face him.  you kept your eyes on the floor as he spoke up.

"please, y/n, tell me what i've done so i can fix it.  i am so immensely sorry for taking all of my stress out on you.  what did you need to tell me, hm?" his voice was calm and soft, and an emotion you had never sensed in him poured from his chest.  you willed yourself to look him in the eyes, and the deep expression in them caused all of your resolve to drain from your chest as you lost your footing and crashed into him.  he stood in shock for a moment before enveloping you within his arms.

"i'm so sorry, y/n.  i've made you cry and i've made a complete ass of myself," he spoke, and hearing your quiet sobs and feeling the gentle quake of your shaking shoulders only fueled his regret even more.  he reached up and stroked your hair as he cradled you, and you took a deep breath to steady your voice before speaking.

"i'm going to lose you, aren't i?" you croaked, your voice hoarse with emotion.  "i'm going to lose you and all my boys.  i'm going to lose my family before the sun sets tomorrow."  your voice shuddered and you clung to him tightly.  his eyes stung, but he willed the tears to stay at bay and held you tighter.

"y/n," he began, sorrow tracing every syllable he spoke.  "the revolution depends on us."  his voice was laced with regret and soft with care.

"so do i, julien.  i depend on all of you more than you will ever know," your voice was shaky as you spoke.  enjolras' heart stirred at your use of his first name.  after taking a steady breath, you continued, "especially you.  you have anchored me and kept me steady during the eye of the hurricane.  you have all kept me afloat, but you have willed me to keep swimming."  your voice was much steadier now as you poured your soul into his arms.  enjolras drew in a slow breath as he blinked away tears that had been threatening to spill.

"y/n, please tell me what you truly want to tell me," he spoke as he pulled away from you slightly, looking down at your tattered figure.  he grasped both of your hands and encased them in his own.  you drew in a shaky breath and raised your gaze to meet his, his eyes almost being too much to bare.  you searched for any sign of reluctance in them, and when you could find none, you slowly began to speak.

"i--" you began, barely above a whisper.  enjolras could sense the nervousness in your voice and brought a hand up to rest against your cheek.  he gave you a small smile, which propelled you to continue.  "i am in love with you, julien.  i have been ever since the first day i stumbled upon one of your meetings.  now, after all that time, i'm going to lose you.  when you die tomorrow, a part of me is going to die with you.  my strength will be gone and all my will to go on will turn to dust.  i was nothing before i met you all and i will be nothing after."

you hadn't realized that your tears had resumed falling until you felt enjolras wipe them away with his thumbs, hot tears also streaming down his face.  he steadied himself before speaking.

"if i die tomorrow, y/n.  there's still hope," he spoke, trying his best to sound convincing and calming.  you bit back your tears and shook your head.

"do you really believe that?  i heard you say we're the only barricade left.  i know you're trying to keep the faith, but please just tell me the honest truth," you sighed, too weak to even cry any more tears.  enjolras' chest ached at how well you could see through his prideful demeanor.

"the honest truth?"  enjolras asked softly and you nodded.  he nodded in return and continued.  "the honest truth is that i love you, y/n.  before i met you, i only loved france.  future generations will come to france's aid.  give it a few years and a new wave of brave revolutionaries will fight for freedom.  if i am gone, who will come to your aid, y/n?  who will keep you company, and who will be your family?"  your tears resumed full-force this time, both at his sudden coffession and at the thought of no one being with you once they are gone from your life.  you stayed silent and he continued.

"that's my point, y/n.  there will still be an army of people singing for france in ten years time, even after my brothers and i fall.  in ten years time i will be singing for you," he finished, looking at you and searching your eyes for a response.

"what are you trying to say, julien?" you asked, barely above a whisper for fear of another endless rain of sobs erupting from your chest.  he gave you a small smile and grasped your hands once more.

"let's all run away tonight, while it's still dark.  let's get out of paris and find a safe place to live, all of us together," he offered, much to your surprise.  your eyes widened and you frenetically shook your head.

"this revolution means everything to you, julien!  i can't allow myself to ruin it and make everyone's sacrifices meaningless.  i would never be able to live with myself if i was the cause for the rebellion's failure," you cried out, taken aback by his sudden willingness to give up after going so far.  his hands reached up to cradle your face and he shook his head with a soft smile.

"and i can't allow myself to leave you all alone.  i can't allow myself to be the cause of you losing everything and your entire world turning upside down," he began, caressing your cheeks and stroking them with his thumbs.  he took a deep breath and took one last look at your eyes before leaning in and closing the distance between your lips.  he was so soft, and his light stubble felt like warm sand against your face.  when he pulled away, he continued.

"and i certainly can't allow myself to leave you.  france will still be here in a hundred years, but our time is short and limited.  the people of the future will rise, and our efforts will not be all for naught.  we have planted the seed for success, but if i die tomorrow i will have failed you."  your hands were shaking and your mind swirled in a million different emotions.

"julien, i--" you began, but he spoke over you gently.

"this is my own decision, y/n.  no one is being let down, and nothing is failing.  please, y/n, will you just promise me one thing?"

"anything," you replied, and he smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"please promise me you'll stay with me no matter what?  promise me you won't ever leave?  even if i grow old and weary?" he asked, genuine emotion written all over his features.  you smiled and raised your own hands to the nape of his neck, twirling tufts of his blonde curls between your fingertips.

"oh, julien.  i fell in love with you, not just a revolutionary hero.  i'm not going anywhere," you began, a smile creeping upon your face and your cheeks beginning to match enjolras' coat.  you swallowed your nerves and pulled his face down to yours, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before concluding your vow.  "i promise."

the smile on his face grew even brighter as he leaned in to place his lips on your forehead.  you let your eyes flutter shut for a moment before opening them to meet his gaze.  he tilted your head upward and rested his forehead against yours, his eyelashes dancing with your own, and breathed new life into your soul.

"and i promise, too," he told you, sincerity and warmth evident in his eyes.  he planted one more, much longer kiss onto your lips and you felt his smile against your own.  butterflies erupted in your chest and your soul lit itself aflame.  as he pulled away, he spoke the words that gave your life new meaning.

"y/n, i love you so much.  you are my everything.  thank you for teaching me how to love," he sighed blissfully and embraced you like a cloud of warmth and safety.  you relaxed into him and let your head fall to his shoulder.  your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his enveloped your waist, and you spoke into his ear with your entire soul.

"i love you, too, julien."

#wow so much angst #i love angst #sorry grantaire i had to make you the wingman #enjolras #les mierables #les mis #les miz #aaron tveit #i love angst but can't handle sad endings #so that's why the ending is the way it is #because im a big baby #im so cheesy sorry

[cumbercookiebatchs]

Grantaire mostly is able to keep his emotions in check when it comes to his obvious love for Enjolras, but today the jealousy caused by it is hard to mask. It's ridiculous too. Enjolras is always cuddly with the other Amis. He just can't stand it though tonight. The look of the way he climbs onto Bahorel's lap to cuddle and point out everything extraordinary about the man leaves something bitter in his mouth, and he knows it's the bitter taste of jealousy. Which, again, is pretty ridiculous because it's clear that Enjolras and Bahorel view each othet as strictly platonic, like everyone else who he's clung onto tonight. It doesn't stop him from clenching his teeth at the sight.

Besides, Enjolras is drunk. Of course when he gets drunk all he does is espouse and emphasize just how much he loves his friends, getting extra tactile, to the point where he nearly fell asleep on Joly while giving a speech on how great he is. How could Grantaire fault or resent him for being possibly the cutest drunk in the world?

So determined he was to turn away and distract himself from these unneeded emotions that he didn't notice the way Enjolras stumbled over to him and clambered into his lap.

"Grantaire," he breathes, and Grantaire freezes. "Grantaire, how are you?"

He forces a chuckle out his throat. "I've been fine this entire time, Enj."

Enjolras cocks his head and pouts. "But you never came to me."

"You looked like you were having too much fun for me to interrupt."

"But you didn't look like you were havinf fun at all," Enjolras said, lifting his hands to run over the coarse stubble on Grantaire's face. "I saw the way you looked when I kissed Jehan's cheek."

He felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment and shame. "You saw—"

"You didn't look happy, Grantaire, why?" Enjolras sways in his lap as he says this, and Grantaire instinctively circles his waist with his arms to keep him from falling. "Were you jealous, Grantaire?" Enjolras sits in his lap but he's hardly still. His breath comes out in little pants that Grantaire judges with alarm may be Enjolras trying to move for friction.

Alright, so part time cute drunk, part time horny drunk. Good to know.

"Why didn't you come get me, hm? You want to date me, don't you? Why didn't you come get me?" Enjolras is still moving, rocking in little motions in his lap, and Grantaire's own pants are starting to feel pretty tight too, but this really isn't the time because for God's sake Enjolras is drunk!

He cups the back of his head gently and feels Enjolras' head drop to rest on his shoulder. "Hey, I think you should go home with Ferre and Courf now," he whispers softly.

Enjolras, however, makes no attempt to cooperate. "No!" he slurs. "The night is young!" He draws back enough to look Grantaire in the eyes as he frames his face with his soft hands and says, "And I have a lot I want to do," as he closes his eyes and leans in towards his lips.

But he's drunk! So Grantaire halts his movement with a hand to his chest and frantically looks over at Courfeyrac, who rushes over in panic and lifts Enjolras out of Grantaire's lap, to which he lets out whine of protest.

"Alright, time to go now," Courfeyrac mutters as he throws a glance at Combeferre, who nods his head and gathers his stuff as the three head out the door, Enjolras whining about wanting to show Grantaire that he has no reason go be jealous. The words cause a flush to appear on Grantaire's bearded cheeks, and while he did want to have Enjolras get extra touchy with him rather than the others, he wouldn't want it without his full fledged consent. So he tries to calm his racing heart and see what tomorrow brings. He winces out of sympathy when he thinks of the hangover Enjolras will have.

Outside, Combeferre winces as he thinks of how Enj will feel when the memories of the night come back to him.

Enjolras, as usual, betrays all expectations and hisses at Combeferre in the morning on his way out to Grantaire's flat.

He almost kicks the door in with his rough knocking and doesn't even let Grantaire the time to realize who's he's just opened the door to, pushing at his chest until he falls down on his couch.

Grantaire blinks at him, almost sure he's about to die. Enjolras looks like an avenging angel, even more than he usually does- curls flying wildly and cheeks red and hot. He glares at Grantaire and almost growls.

Grantaire's scared, but also really horny and subtly grabs a pillow to put it on his lap. Enjolras seethes.

Grantaire gulps, "En- Enjolras? Are you- is this about yesterday? I didn't do anything I swear - I"

He doesn't get to say more because Enjolras's climbing on his lap, pushing the pillow away with too much strength and curling his hands in Grantaire’s curls. He rubs up against him and breathes in Grantaire’s scent, tugs Grantaire's hands to grab his own hips.

"What do I need to do to make you understand that I want you?"

Grantaire chockes on nothing, "uh?"

Enjolras has started to subtly roll his hips and it's doing nothing to calm down Grantaire's raging hard on; he clings to Grantaire's neck and hums, licks his lobe, "Grantaire, I'm aware there's much to talk about but please, please I need you to fucking take me right now before I lose my mind".

#Ahhhhhhh #Thank you anon 🧡 #Enjoltaire #enjoltaire headcanon #tw sex mention #Tw alcohol