#Enj and I had a slightly different bicker every night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kjack89 · 3 years

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gold rush

As was requested, a sequel to ‘tis the damn season (tumblr, AO3). ExR, modern AU, former relationship. Still not a happy ending. Still the potential for writing more.

I’m here.

Enjolras sent the text message and tried to ignore what felt an uncomfortable amount like nerves as he leaned against the fence, scrolling aimlessly through Twitter. He jumped when the gate swung open next to him, relaxing only slightly when he saw Grantaire. “Hey,” Grantaire said, his breath fogging the air.

“Hey,” Enjolras returned, a little awkwardly, wondering what the protocol was for greeting an ex.

Luckily, Grantaire solved the problem for him, reaching out to give him a quick, one-armed hug. “I honestly wasn’t sure you’d call,” he said as he let go of Enjolras. “Considering how we, uh, left things.”

Enjolras was tempted to ask if he was referring to how they’d left things a few nights ago after their chance meeting outside of the bar, or how they’d left things a decade ago when they broke up, but decided against it. “Technically I didn’t call you,” he pointed out instead, shoving his phone in the pocket of his coat. “I texted.”

Grantaire grinned. “Pedantic as always,” he said.

Wordlessly, they fell in line next to each other, walking down the sidewalk in momentary silence, which Grantaire broke with a sideways look at Enjolras. “So are you still scared of my parents?”

Enjolras scowled. “I’ve never been scared of your parents,” he said, somewhat insulted.

“Then why would you not just come up and ring my doorbell instead of texting me?” Grantaire asked, amused. “For that matter, why did you never once ring my doorbell the entire time we were dating?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras said honestly. “I guess it never occurred to me that I should have.”

Grantaire chuckled and shook his head. “Well, I suppose I can forgive you,” he said, nudging Enjolras lightly with his shoulder. “You were in high school, after all. And an idiot.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras said sourly.

“But I’m sure you’ve had a lot more experience meeting the parents of your significant other, Grantaire continued, glancing sideways at Enjolras. Right?”

Enjolras hesitated. “Depends on what you mean by experience,” he hedged.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“In my defense, I haven’t really ever dated someone that seriously.” Grantaire didn’t say anything and Enjolras winced with sudden realization. “Besides, um, besides you, I mean,” he muttered.

To his surprise, Grantaire just laughed lightly. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” he said, and Enjolras frowned at him.

“Do what?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Pretend like we were more than what we were.”

Enjolras frowned at him. “I was under the impression we dated for three years in high school,” he said warily, wondering where exactly Grantaire was going with this.

Evidently, nowhere, since Grantaire just shook his head and looked down at the slush-dotted sidewalk. “You know what? Let’s not do this right now.”

Part of Enjolras wanted to ask, again, do what?, but he figured playing dumb wouldn’t get him particularly far. Instead, he asked, “Why not?”

“Because this is our last night in town together, and I assume when you texted me this morning to ask if I wanted to grab a drink that there would actually be drinks involved,” Grantaire said with a sigh. “And I don’t know about you, but I prefer my drinks without dredged up decades-old arguments.”

Enjolras cocked his head slightly. “Does it count as an argument if only one party is seemingly involved?”

Grantaire didn’t laugh. “I’ll defer to the lawyer among us on that.”

“Then I would say no,” Enjolras said, but Grantaire still didn’t so much as crack a smile. “Seriously, I’m not sure where you’re going with this, and I’m definitely not sure I can table something that I don’t understand.”

Grantaire sighed and crossed his arms tightly across his chest. “Can we please just get that drink?” he asked, sounding tired. “It’s too fucking cold to have this conversation out here. And you know that I’ve always been better arguing with a drink or twelve in me.”

“On that point, the defense will stipulate.”

“Ok Yoda,” Grantaire said with a snort.

Enjolras scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Please tell me that I don’t have to explain Star Wars to you.”

“Fuck off, you know that’s not what I meant,” Enjolras said, without any real heat. “But if you see me as Yoda, of all characters—”

“I didn’t say that, but your turn of phrase was particularly Yoda-esque,” Grantaire shot back.

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “So you don’t think I’m like Yoda?”

Grantaire smirked. “Didn’t say that either.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and huffed, “I feel like I’m beginning to understand why Han shot first.”

“Oh, so now I’m Greedo?” Grantaire asked, half-insulted and half-amused.

“And I didn’t say that.”

The familiar bickering carried them all the way to the bar, where they settled at a table in the back. “Uh, vodka tonic for me,” Grantaire told their waitress as he struggled to peel his sweatshirt off, the tshirt he was wearing underneath caught up in it as he tugged it up over his head.

Enjolras tried not to stare at the swath of taut skin revealed, and it took several tries before he realized the waitress had asked him a question. “Uh, what?”

“Can I get you something to drink?” the waitress repeated, looking like she was trying not to laugh.

“Uh…” Enjolras trailed off as Grantaire, finally triumphant over his sweatshirt, settled back in his seat, his arm muscles shifting as he reached up in vain to flatten his hair. “I’ll have the same.”

The waitress nodded and headed over to the bar, and Grantaire frowned at Enjolras. “Since when do you drink vodka?”

“Since when do you?” Enjolras returned, arching an eyebrow. “Last I saw, whiskey was your drink of choice.”

“Yeah, well, too many Jamo shots will ruin even the best whiskeys,” Grantaire said with a light laugh. “Besides, clear liquor has less calories, and I’m trying to watch my girlish figure.”

Enjolras laughed and the waitress returned with their drinks. Grantaire picked up his drink and made a mock toast. “Happy holidays,” he said, taking a large sip, as Enjolras just shook his head, his own sip much more reasonable.

“So now that you have alcohol in your system,” he said, setting his glass down on the table, “can we revisit what it was you were talking about earlier when you said that I shouldn’t pretend we were something we weren’t?”

Grantaire sighed. “Just when I was beginning to have a nice time,” he said mournfully.

“Grantaire.”

Even after all those years, it appeared Enjolras saying Grantaire’s name had a similar effect as it used to, as Grantaire sighed again, tracing a finger around the rim of his glass. “I just think you and I remember things a little differently,” he said carefully. “Maybe it’s just nostalgia coloring your memories, or maybe you’ve got early-onset Alzheimer’s.”

Enjolras frowned. “That’s not funny.”

“And the one thing I ever had going for me was making you laugh,” Grantaire said, a little too wry to be a joke. “But seriously...whatever you and I had, it wasn’t a relationship.” He tried to smile, but to Enjolras, it looked more like a grimace. “Not in the traditional sense of the word, anyway.”

Enjolras searched his expression for a long moment, trying and failing to understand what he meant. “What are you saying?” he asked finally.

Grantaire picked his drink up and drained it before glancing around for their waitress. “I’m saying that you were my boyfriend. But I wasn’t yours.” He spotted their waitress and gestured to her before meeting Enjolras’s eyes again. “I was, at best, your friend with benefits.” He made a face. “Probably more accurately, I was your booty call. Physical release. Whatever you want to call it.”

“That’s—”

Not true was what Enjolras desperately wanted to say, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to. Mostly because he had a sinking feeling that Grantaire was correct. Grantaire arched an eyebrow as he waited for Enjolras to say something, taking a sip of his drink when the waitress returned with a refill. “Fine,” Enjolras said finally. “Maybe it was mostly physical, but that wasn’t all it was.”

“Sure, it was also your rebellion against the heteronormative world,” Grantaire said, nodding.

Enjolras scowled. “That’s not what I meant.”

Grantaire sighed. “Enjolras—”

“I loved you.”

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable. “Maybe you did. I can’t exactly claim to know every thought that’s run through your head. But I can tell you that that’s not how you acted at the time.”

“Was I really that horrible to you?” Enjolras asked quietly.

Grantaire considered it for a moment. “I think to be really horrible, that would have required you to care more about me,” he said slowly. “Instead, you...tolerated me, I guess.”

Enjolras’s chest felt tight as he thought desperately back on their relationship, on some piece of evidence he could present that would prove Grantaire incorrect. Instead, his mind replayed a litany of memories he had long since buried, of all the times Enjolras had scoffed when Grantaire tried to do something romantic, or told him to be serious when Grantaire asked him to homecoming or prom, or blew off their date nights because he had work to do on a protest.

Or, worst of all, that early morning in Enjolras’s bed, when Grantaire told him that he loved him, and Enjolras had told him that he needed to leave before Enjolras’s parents woke up.

Enjolras swallowed, hard, and forced himself to look at Grantaire. “You must’ve hated me for how I treated you,” he said softly.

Grantaire’s smile was sad. “I’ve never once in my life hated you, Enj,” he said quietly. “If anything, I hated myself for not being someone you could love.”

“I’m sorry.”

Grantaire shook his head. “That’s my issue, not yours. You didn’t do that to me.” He managed a tight smile. “I knew who you were when we were together. I knew what you wanted out of life, and I knew I wasn’t going to be a part of that.” He took a swig of his drink before adding, “And let’s also not pretend like I was some kind of stellar boyfriend. I was a fucked up mess.”

Enjolras huffed a sigh. “Maybe we both were,” he mused.

“Is that what this is about?” Grantaire asked mildly.

Enjolras frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, is this whole trip down memory lane with me just you trying to figure out where it all went wrong for you?”

“I– Who says it all went wrong for me?” Enjolras blustered. Grantaire just arched an eyebrow and Enjolras sighed, frowning down at his own, mostly untouched drink. “I guess I did envision a very different life for myself,” he admitted.

“And you’re not happy with where you are right now?” Grantaire asked, in a way that suggested he knew the answer and just wanted to hear Enjolras say it.

“How could I be?” Enjolras asked, aiming for levity as he added, “I wear a suit to work everyday, Grantaire. With a tie. My father told me he’s proud of me.”

Grantaire snorted. “The horror.” He propped his chin on his hand. “But speaking of your father, what happened to your college fund?”

“My college fund?”

“Yeah, you said that you’re working as a corporate attorney because you have to pay off your student loans, right?” Enjolras nodded and Grantaire continued, “If memory serves, your grandparents left you a fairly sizeable college fund that you were supposed to use to pay for school so that you didn’t have to take out student loans.”

“Ah,” Enjolras said, wincing. “They did.”

“And?” Grantaire prompted.

Enjolras sighed again. “And in a moment of well-intentioned idiocy, I donated every cent of it to charity.” He paused and took a sip of his drink. “Well, almost. I did pay for undergrad with it. But what was left went to charity. And then my father told me that he would be happy to pay for law school.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “Really?”

Enjolras made a face. “Yeah, if I agreed to specialize in business law.”

“And?”

“And I told him to get fucked,” Enjolras said bluntly before making a face again. “Of course he’s clearly had the last laugh, so.”

Grantaire shook his head, his expression softening. “Don’t count yourself out yet. I mean, for Christ’s sake, you’re not even 30 years old yet. You’ve got time.” He paused before adding, “Besides, I still believe in you.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Be serious.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “I am wild.”

A small smile twitched at the corners of Enjolras’s mouth and he shook his head slowly. “I keep thinking that you’ve changed so much, but then you go and say something like that and it’s like we’re 18 years old again.”

Grantaire laughed and took another sip of his drink. “I don’t know that I’d say I’ve changed,” he said.

“Then what would you say?”

“That I’ve had a lot of therapy, mostly,” Grantaire said, suddenly serious. “And grown up a little. And that while I may not have changed as much as you’re giving me credit for, I’m also not the fucked up mess I was in high school.”

Enjolras nodded, looking down at his drink again. “I wish I could say the same thing.”

“Well, it’s not too late to try.”

“I suppose not,” Enjolras allowed, managing a small smile, though it quickly faded. “And now I feel even worse.”

Grantaire frowned. “Why?”

“Because we’ve spent all this time talking about me and I haven’t asked you anything about you.” Grantaire made a face but Enjolras continued, “What are you doing these days? Hell, where are you living these days?”

“In a van, down by the river,” Grantaire said dryly.

“Hilarious.”

Grantaire smirked. “I like to think I am.” He shrugged. “I also prefer keeping a little mystery about me. Keeps ‘em coming for more, you know?”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “So you’re not going to answer even basic questions?”

Something darkened in Grantaire’s expression. “I mean, what is there to say? You want the square footage of my apartment? You want me to drone on about my terrible, awful, absolute godsend of a cat? You want me to talk about the latest exhibit I’m curating at the gallery I work at?”

“Actually, yeah.” Enjolras said, a little defensively, even if he didn’t quite understand the hard edge in Grantaire’s voice. “I’d like to hear about your life, if you’d let me.”

Grantaire shook his head and finished his second drink, already looking around for their waitress. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” Enjolras asked impatiently.

“Pretend you’re interested.”

“What makes you think I’m not actually interested?” Grantaire scoffed and looked away, and Enjolras swallowed, hard, realization hitting as the theme of the evening returned in full force. “Because I never used to be.”

“Not particularly, no.”

“I’m—”

Grantaire looked flatly at him. “I swear to God, Enjolras, if you try to apologize one more time…”

Enjolras held his hands up defensively. “Fine, then I’m not sorry for being a completely self-absorbed asshole.”

It was a little too caustic to be a joke, which is probably why Grantaire just shook his head, something contemplative in his expression. “You were never self-absorbed. A little self-important, maybe, and with a white savior complex to rival the colonizers you so desperately hated—”

“Watch it.”

Grantaire smirked, though it quickly faded. “But your problem was never that you only cared about yourself. Your problem was that you cared so much about saving the world that you didn’t have a lot left for the people right in front of you.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Yeah, well, I don’t have that problem anymore,” he said tiredly.

Grantaire just raised an eyebrow. “That remains to be seen.”

“Harsh, but fair,” Enjolras said with a dry, humorless laugh. “Well, in the spirit of trying to show you that, tell me about yourself. And I will actually listen.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, I will tell you about myself – if you answer one question for me.”

“Anything.”

“Why now?”

The stark question took Enjolras by surprise, and he blinked at Grantaire. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why do you suddenly want to know about me?” Grantaire asked, a challenge in his tone. “My phone number hasn’t changed. Facebook exists. Hell, you could even find me on LinkedIn if you really wanted to. But you never made that attempt. So I want to know why you care now.” He gestured around the bar. “Because if it’s just proximity, you go back to your life tomorrow, and I go back to mine, and since the likelihood of us running into each other again is pretty slim, you don’t have to waste time pretending to care.”

“That’s not fair,” Enjolras said quietly.

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “Maybe not. But like I said, I grew up. And I don’t have time for anything but honesty.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “Fine, you want honesty?” he snapped, more riled than he had any right to be. “The phone works both ways. If you had wanted to stay in touch, you could have just as easily.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Grantaire’s face. “Objection. Presumes facts not in evidence.”

“I beg your pardon?” Enjolras said coldly.

“C’mon, you’re a lawyer, if I can pick up what that means from watching reruns of Law & Order, surely I don’t have to explain it to you.” Enjolras just gave him a look, and Grantaire sighed. “Fine, I guess I do.” He picked up his drink and lifted it in a mock toast once again. “I never said that I wanted to stay in touch.”

Grantaire didn’t deliver the words harshly, but Enjolras still recoiled. “Now who’s the one who doesn’t care?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, but it was too late to take them back. Hurt flashed across Grantaire’s face before his expression evened out. “There are a lot of things you can accuse me of,” he said quietly, “but don’t ever accuse me of not caring about you. Not after everything.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said softly. “That was...out of line.”

“You think?”

Enjolras swallowed and looked away. “So why didn’t you want to stay in touch?” he asked, a little roughly.

Grantaire sighed. “Because I preferred not knowing,” he said simply. “If I didn’t know where you were at, what you were doing, then I could imagine you however I wanted to.” He managed a small, slightly sad smile. “And, at the beginning at least, I could imagine a way that we could still work things out.”

“Like what?” Enjolras asked, intrigued despite himself.

Grantaire glanced at him. “Do you actually want to know?”

“Yes.”

Enjolras wasn’t sure if Grantaire would believe him, but it didn’t seem to matter. Or maybe Grantaire had been looking for an opportunity, and this was as good as any. “I used to imagine showing up at your fancy law school,” Grantaire said slowly, with a genuine if wistful smile. “I used to imagine that I’d sneak into one of those fancy alumni dinners – I don’t know how – and I’d hide in the background, watching you, biding my time. Then when the opportunity came, when you made some claim about the working class or something, I’d casually speak up, contradict you or ask for your sources, just to watch the recognition on your face as you looked at me.”

“But you never did,” Enjolras said, his heart beating painfully in his chest, and Grantaire snorted and shook his head.

“Of course not,” he scoffed.

Enjolras frowned slightly. “Why not?”

Grantaire just shook his head. “Logistics aside, because I knew the reality would never have been as satisfying as what I imagined.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, in the version in my head, you’d smoothly counter my point, we’d bicker like old times and then you’d excuse us to discuss this further. And then…” He trailed off, his smile turning sad. “Well, then we’d wander around campus, bickering some more and it would be like you’d never left. Like we never ended.” His voice cracked and he looked away. “Perfect.”

Enjolras almost didn’t want to speak, to interrupt the moment, but he also couldn’t stop himself from asking, “And you didn’t want to try for that?”

Grantaire shook his head again. “Of course not. Because it was a dream. That version of me and that version of you don’t exist.”

“Do you think they ever could have?” Enjolras asked.

“I don’t know,” Grantaire said honestly. “But it doesn’t matter. If there’s anything I’ve learned over the past decade, looking back only gets you so far.” He finished his drink and set it down with a clunk on the table. “Let that be the lesson of the evening, I guess. And speaking of…” He looked at his bare wrist as if pretending to look at a watch. “It’s probably time I got home. I’ve got an early train to catch in the morning.”

“Hang on,” Enjolras said, frowning. “You still didn’t tell me anything about you.”

Grantaire smirked. “Oh, you noticed that, did you?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “So stay,” he said, more of a request than an order. “Have one more drink. Tell me about your life.” Grantaire shook his head and Enjolras reached across the table, closing his hand around Grantaire’s wrist. “Please.”

“I can’t,” Grantaire said quietly. “But you’ve got my number, if you ever want to continue this conversation. Or, y’know, start a different one.”

“I wish…” Enjolras trailed off. “I don’t know. I wish I had more time. To make things up to you.” He met Grantaire’s eyes. “Or to at least try.”

Grantaire smiled crookedly at him. “Are you kidding me?” he asked, twisting his hand in Enjolras’s grip so that he could grasp his hand. “You’ve given me the only thing I’ve wanted for ten years.”

“What?”

“You asked me to stay.“

Enjolras’s throat felt tight. “Grantaire—”

Grantaire let go of Enjolras’s hand and stood, grabbing his coat and sweatshirt. “Take care of yourself, Enjolras,” he said softly. “You know how to reach me if you want to. Otherwise…”

He didn’t bother finishing his sentence, just rapping his knuckles lightly on the table before walking away. Enjolras watched him leave, wondering not for the first time if this is how Grantaire had felt watching him leave a decade ago.

Wondering if this was really the end for them.

And wondering, just a little, if this was what heartbreak felt like.

#enjolras #grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #enjolras x grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #former relationship #light angst #idk what even to tag this as #there's a lot of painful honesty here #things that should have been said a long time ago etc etc #and then it fades into the gray of my day-old tea 'cause it could never be

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