#Enjolras not blinking the whole time
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hope it never ends
Started writing this back when it was, y'know, timely. Then had to get stitches in my hand and have struggled with the whole typing thing. So even though it took me longer than reasonable to finish, have whatever this is.
Established E/R, modern AU.
Enjolras pressed Joly and Bossuet’s doorbell with his elbow since he was holding a coffee in each hand. Joly answered the door, blinking blearily at him. “You know, I really thought these days were over,” he said with a yawn, stepping back to let Enjolras in.
“So did I,” Enjolras said, a little grimly. He hesitated, realizing for the first time he should’ve brought more coffee. “Sorry, I didn’t think—”
Joly waved a dismissive hand, yawning again. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m going back to bed anyway.”
Despite the circumstances, Enjolras couldn’t quite stop his smile as Joly turned and revealed that the hair on the back of his head was sticking straight up. “What about Bossuet?”
“There wasn’t even a break in his snoring when you rang the doorbell,” Joly said sourly, giving Enjolras one more wave over his shoulder as he shuffled back to his bedroom. That left Enjolras with nothing to do but head into the living room and the conversation he was already dreading.
As much as Enjolras loved to watch Grantaire sleep, he was glad that the man was already awake and sitting up, scrolling through his phone when Enjolras walked in. He wasn’t in the mood to sit around waiting for Grantaire to wake up, not when his own sleep had been disturbed by not having the other man there. “Here,” he said gruffly in lieu of a greeting. “I brought you coffee.”
Grantaire lit up. “My hero,” he said with no small amount of enthusiasm, dropping his phone in his lap to reach out with both hands for the extended cup of coffee.
Enjolras hesitated before asking, “Can I sit?” When Grantaire just arched an eyebrow, he clarified, “Next to you?”
Something softened in Grantaire’s expression. “Of course,” he said, and Enjolras jerked a nod before sitting down next to him on the couch.
For a long moment, both men sipped their coffee in silence, Enjolras glancing at Grantaire and trying to determine how this conversation would go. But unlike most times that had preceded heart-to-heart conversations in Joly and Bossuet’s living room, they hadn’t (to Enjolras’s knowledge at least) had a fight. Or a disagreement. Or even a joke that didn’t quite land right.
To Enjolras’s knowledge, everything between them yesterday had been fine.
Up until the point when he had gotten a text from Grantaire at 1 in the morning letting him know that he was spending the night at Joly and Bossuet’s.
Which invariably meant Enjolras had missed something.
“So what’s going on?” he said, cautiously breaking the silence.
Grantaire glanced at him and away again. “Nothing,” he said, a little too quickly.
Enjolras didn’t buy it for a second. “And yet you slept here last night,” he pointed out.
Grantaire shrugged. “Well, I was a little drunk,” he said.
“That’s never stopped you from sleeping in our bed before,” Enjolras said, trying very hard not to sound accusatory.
Grantaire made a face. “Fine, so I was drunk, and a little in my feelings, and being ridiculous, and I thought for the sake of the longevity of our relationship, it might be a wise idea to crash here.”
He said it all in a rush, and Enjolras took a moment before responding. “When you say you were in your feelings—” he started cautiously, and Grantaire barked a humorless laugh, running a hand across his face.
“That’s probably a mild way of putting it,” he muttered.
Enjolras frowned. “Oh?”
Grantaire took a swig of coffee before admitting, “I was in a self-deprecating panic spiral.”
“Ah.” Enjolras knew the type of panic spiral Grantaire referred to all too well, though it had been awhile since he had witnessed one himself. “About what?”
Grantaire flushed. “I don’t want to tell you that,” he mumbled.
Enjolras stared at him, dumbfounded. The one and only time Grantaire had ever been embarrassed about the words coming out of his mouth was when he had confessed his feelings to Enjolras. “Excuse me?”
“It’s just…you’ll think it’s stupid,” Grantaire muttered. “Like, not just me being slightly irrational stupid. But me being, like, really fucking stupid.”
“Ok, well now you have to tell me,” Enjolras said, aiming for teasing to try to lighten the mood, but it seemed to have the opposite effect, as Grantaire’s flush darkened. After a long moment, Grantaire huffed a sigh and stared up at the ceiling as he mumbled something so quietly that Enjolras couldn’t catch it. “What?”
Grantaire cleared his throat. “Taylor Swift,” he said, still staring determinedly at the ceiling.
Enjolras blinked. “You were freaking out about…Taylor Swift.”
He didn’t mean it to sound as derisive as it inevitably did, but Grantaire’s expression still tightened. “See,” he said grimly. “I told you it was stupid.”
Enjolras reached out automatically, resting a light hand on Grantaire’s knee. “I didn’t say it was stupid,” he told him. “I’m just not sure that I follow. Or see what Taylor Swift has to do with the longevity of our relationship.”
“Well, not just Taylor Swift,” Grantaire amended. “Mostly her, y’know, break up.”
“I still don’t follow,” Enjolras said slowly.
Grantaire fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup. “Well, you have to keep in mind that I was very drunk.”
“Sure.”
“So, uh, we started talking about it, and I came to the drunken conclusion that if even Taylor Swift can’t make true love work, then there’s no hope for the rest of us,” Grantaire said. “Including, mainly, you and me.”
The leap in logic was so immensely vast that Enjolras was left actually speechless for perhaps the first time in his life. “You – what?”
Grantaire shrugged almost blithely as he took another sip of coffee. “In fairness, I warned you it was stupid.”
Enjolras shook his head slowly. “More batshit insane than stupid.”
“Pretty sure that’s ableist,” Grantaire said, cracking a smile.
But Enjolras wasn’t deterred. “I’ll figure out some kind of progressive act of contrition later,” he said impatiently. “Why on God’s green earth would you think—”
“Did you miss the part where I was incredibly drunk?” Grantaire interrupted.
Enjolras scowled at him. “Yes, but need I remind you of a little phrase known as in vino veritas?” he asked sharply.
Grantaire smiled again, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Actually yes, my Latin isn’t quite what it used to be—”
“Grantaire.”
Grantaire sighed, his smile fading. “Fine,” he said, looking away. “But then I’d counter that alcohol isn’t truth serum and sometimes you say shit just to say it, especially when you’re emotional.”
“Seemingly deliberate use of second person aside,” Enjolras said, his voice still sharp, sharper perhaps than intended, “that still doesn’t explain the apparent kernel of truth there, that you somehow think there’s no hope for us.”
“That’s not quite what I said,” Grantaire said, though he couldn’t seem to meet Enjolras’s eyes.
“And I think we’re getting into splitting hairs territory,” Enjolras returned.
This time, Grantaire’s attempt at a somewhat weak smile seemed genuine. “Yes, and there’s nothing you and I love more than parsing semantics.”
Enjolras exhaled sharply. “Under normal circumstances, sure,” he said, trying to reign in his impatience. “But this isn’t exactly normal circumstances.” He paused, trying to determine how to refocus the conversation in the least accusatory way. “So why don’t we instead focus on what it is about Taylor Swift’s break-up that has you feeling this way.”
He said it as a command more than a question, and it worked – Grantaire never was very good at ignoring a direct order, and now was no exception. Grantaire traced a finger along the seam of the couch, his expression troubled. “It’s just…Taylor and Joe were, by all accounts, very much in love, right?” Enjolras guessed it was a rhetorical question but nodded anyway. “With, like, a dozen songs about their love on best selling records to prove it. And now they’re just – not.”
Something about the way the last word caught in Grantaire’s throat gave Enjolras pause, and he nodded slowly, understanding beginning to dawn. “And you’re worried that one day, you and I will just not love each other.”
Grantaire’s eyes darted to his and away again. “Well, less that we’ll just not love each other, and more…”
He trailed off, and Enjolras’s heart clenched. “You’re worried that one day, I’ll just stop loving you.”
He said it flatly, and Grantaire jerked a shrug. “I wasn’t before,” he said. “But now…”
“But now just because Taylor Swift and her boyfriend broke up, you suddenly doubt everything about us?” Enjolras asked, unable to temper the sharpness in his tone.
“No,” Grantaire said, equally sharp. “But it put the idea in my head, and after one too many drinks last night, I couldn’t get it out of my head.” He met Enjolras’s eyes, something of a challenge in his expression. “Besides, you can’t tell me it’s out of the realm of possibility.”
Enjolras didn’t rise to it. “I could,” he said quietly. “But even if I did, I don’t think promising you that it’s not going to happen will help.” He paused before adding, somewhat pointedly, “Especially to someone already disinclined toward belief.”
Grantaire managed a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not that I wouldn’t believe you, per se,” he said, “it’s just that I don’t think it’s something you can really promise.”
“Why not?”
“Because love doesn’t work that way,” Grantaire said, almost impatiently. “You can’t control who you fall out of love with any more than you can control who you fall in love with.” He gave Enjolras a look. “And don’t try to deny it, because I know you never would have chosen this.”
Enjolras just shook his head. “Didn’t I?” he said quietly. “Aren’t I still?”
Grantaire made a small noise of dissent. “Be serious.”
“I am,” Enjolras told him. “I don’t think you can control lust, or attraction, and those are the things that can fade. But being in love is hell of a lot more than either of those. Being in love is choosing to build a life with someone, and choosing to stay if those things do fade. Being in love is choosing not to walk away when things get hard, or—”
“Or if your boyfriend decides to panic spiral about Taylor Swift?”
Enjolras half-smiled. “Or that.” He reached for Grantaire’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Love is an emotion, and one that you don’t have a lot of control over. But being in love is an act, and it’s an act that you have to choose every single day.”
He said it definitively, but Grantaire just made a face. “Now I think you’re the one entering into splitting hairs territory,” he said dismissively.
“And I don’t think I am,” Enjolras said. “I just don’t see being in love as something you fall out of, as if it’s some kind of accident. I think it’s a decision, conscious or otherwise, to stop putting in the work and doing the actions that sustain a relationship, sometimes for very good reason.” He squeezed Grantaire’s hand again. “Right now, I don’t have a reason, good or otherwise, to decide against choosing you and choosing this. And that I can promise you.”
Grantaire shook his head slowly. “You really believe that?”
Enjolras nodded. “I do.” He nudged Grantaire with his shoulder. “As much as you believe that the Donald Trump animatronic at Disney’s Hall of Presidents was originally Hillary Clinton and they had to super quickly swap them out.”
Seemingly despite himself, Grantaire barked a laugh. “Ok, but that’s, like, practically verified fact at this point.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately. “It’s decidedly not, but…” He gave Grantaire a pointed look. “Since that’s what you consider verified fact for me to compare my beliefs to…”
Grantaire let out a low whistle. “Wow.”
Still, there was something in his expression that told Enjolras this wasn’t resolved by any stretch. “And yet you don’t seem convinced,” he observed.
Something tightened in Grantaire’s face. “I want to be,” he said, his voice low. “You have no idea how much I want to be.” He laced his fingers with Enjolras’s. “You have spoken some truly beautiful words, and obviously I know firsthand what a gifted orator you are, but still…”
He trailed off, and Enjolras waited a moment before prompting, “But still.”
Grantaire just shook his head. “But as beautiful as they are, they’re just words. And even though the only thing I’ve ever believed in is you…”
This time, Enjolras didn’t need to prompt him to know what he was thinking. “It’s not enough to believe in just me,” he said, his breath catching in his throat. “Not when it comes to this.”
“Again, I want it to be,” Grantaire said softly.
“I know,” Enjolras said, equally quiet. “But the only way I can prove that they’re more than just words is with time. Which means you have to believe me enough to try.”
Grantaire half-smiled. “I’ll try.”
“You’ll try to try?” Enjolras asked, mostly teasing, and was rewarded with Grantaire rolling his eyes, his smile widening.
“I’ll try to believe you,” he amended, before adding, in a clear effort to head off any of Enjolras’s protestations to the contrary, “It’s as good as you’re going to get.”
Since Enjolras hadn’t planned on making any protestations, especially about this, especially knowing how delicate of a line they sometimes walked, he just leaned in and kissed Grantaire’s forehead before asking, “Then can you promise me something else?”
“What?”
“Next time, can you at least believe in me enough to come home and have the conversation with me there?”
Again Grantaire laughed, but it was as close to his usual laughter as Enjolras had heard all morning. “In fairness, who knows when there will be a next time that Taylor Swift breaks up with someone?” Grantaire asked innocently, though his grin was wicked.
Enjolras just rolled his eyes. “I mean it,” he said. “The next time you have doubts, or are in your feelings about us. Come home to me.”
Grantaire’s expression softened, but before he could say anything, Joly called from the bedroom, “Seconded,” followed by Bossuet’s sleepy shout of, “Thirded.”
Enjolras arched an eyebrow at Grantaire, who rolled his eyes. “The ayes have it, I guess,” he groused, before leaning in and kissing Enjolras. “And yes, I believe in you enough for that.”
“Good,” Enjolras said, standing and holding a hand out to Grantaire to help him up from the couch. “Then let’s go home before I decide to sell our tickets to Taylor Swift’s tour for the sake of our relationship.”
Grantaire’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t fucking dare,” he said, mock-scandalized
Enjolras laughed lightly, turning to press a kiss to Grantaire’s temple. “No, I wouldn’t,” he agreed, taking Grantaire’s hand once more. “I promise.”
#exr#enjolras x grantaire#enjoltaire#enjolras#grantaire#fanfiction#les miserables#modern au#established relationship#heart to heart#it's a rumination on love really#love and belief
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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
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Oh man, so I got to see Les Mis again tonight (a bit over a month after seeing in it Charlotte), this time with my friend Heather in Greensboro.
It was the same production, of course, but we did have a different Valjean this time (he was an understudy, but holy shit, he might have been BETTER than the usual one?) and I have more yelling to do.
Also, I will forget all the details I don't write them down, so here goes:
We had an understudy Valjean, which worried me after my last understudy Valjean who couldn't hit the high notes on Bring Him Home. This time we had Randy Jeter, who was the Bishop when I saw it in Charlotte. But holy SHIT, he was AMAZING. He might have been better than the regular Valjean, Nick Cartell.
He had just a slightly more powerful voice, maybe, a bit more contrast and depth, I don't know. He was incredible. His Bring Him Home absolutely hit me harder than last time. Maybe I was just paying closer attention because I was worried once we saw we had an understudy but from his first line I was like "HOLY SHIT he's good!!'
Most of the same notes from last show still apply, Once again Gregory Lee Rodriguez was particularly good as Marius - and I don't even especially like Marius, but he makes him somehow a little more likeable, and like, you think he's just likeable and a perfectly good singer and then Empty Chairs comes around and he finds a whole new level with his voice and emotion and blows you away.
And I still just want to give all the awards to Kyle Adams as Grantaire. Because he's so spot on perfect, but it's subtle. Like probably a majority of the audience don't really know who Grantaire is or his motivations or character, he's just another barricade boy, so they don't pay him any particular attention. But the fans who do know more of the backstory, if you watch him in particular, he's so good.
The way he keeps to the edges of the barricade boys crowd, always a bit apart, the mocking touch to his gestures and mannerisms even when he has no lines, the undercurrents of bitterness and devastation...just so good. Like when Gavroche arrives and says Lamarque is dead, he kind of drops into a chair abruptly and slumps, like he's realizing "oh shit, this is about to get real."
And after Gavroche died, in the final battle on the barricade, Enjolras comes down for a moment to comfort him about Gavroche, and when Enjolras turns to climb back up, Grantaire grabs at him as if to stop him. Enjolras goes anyway, of course, and Grantaire kind of makes some abortive efforts to follow him but the battle intensifies and he falls back to the ground. A moment later though, he climbs up again; he still doesn't make it to Enjolras, who falls on the far side of the barricade as he's shot, but Grantaire is one of the last to fall.
Anyway I just love his Grantaire. It's probably unnoticed by a lot of the audience who don't know the story and characters as well, but if you do know to look for it, he's spot on.
And a random nerdy note - I never noticed before that there's a blink-and-you-miss-it nod to the Petit Gervais bit from the book. I definitely missed that last time.
Anyway, I'm both on cloud nine because it was so good and also sad because it's over and I don't know when I'll get to see it again and it's just honestly one of my favorite things on earth.
Anyway, I suppose I'm off to read some Valjean/Javert fic.
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under the cut you’ll find some quick blurbs about where my characters ended up throughout the event, how they’re leaving the party, and ultimately where things will go from here! as always, i am more than happy to continue event threads and/or transition current ones to post-event timelines! if you’d prefer to plot some things out first, please feel free to throw a like at this and i’ll make my way over to your dms !!
** also, just as an update, i will be dropping the majority of any pre-event threads.
catra ; she-ra and the princesses of power ( 0 / 3 )
survived mainly by a mixture of defensive fighting and hiding, definitely not someone who attempted to help anyone else — could’ve easily left you to fend for yourself by saying it wasn’t her problem! more annoyed she had to encounter people from etheria.
dorcas meadowes ; harry potter ( 0 / 3 )
definitely understanding more that things are not the way they seem to appear here, and is starting to get pretty damn tired of the different fun ways that the city seems to change things up all the time. relatively uneventful night for the most part, just more annoyed that a party with her friends seems to be impossible now.
elara palpatine ; star wars ( 0 / 3 )
will not be sympathetic to anyone who may have been injured during the event, including her own “family”. if you’re stupid and weak enough to get killed by a monster, you probably deserved it. she enjoyed herself, getting to let some of the pent up tension out and get back to her ... usual ways. no one blinks at a dead body during this, why not take advantage of that?
gale weathers ; scream ( 0 / 6 )
the curiosity has been piqued following this event, and considering she’s not stranger to getting down and dirty in order to get the story, she will absolutely not be above causing a scene to get some interviews and potentially writing some damning pieces on why the government is contributing to the murders of their own citizens. she’s a bitch and she knows it.
grantaire ; les miserables ( 0 / 3 )
a very big ‘what the fuck’ moment. considering the last moment he does remember was just chatting in a bar in france quite a while ago, this was certainly an eye opener. definitely was not drunk enough to deal with all of this, and absolutely wondering why enjolras was acting so weird.
luke skywalker ; star wars ( 0 / 3 )
oops, the surprise is out of the bag. after confirmation that the golden eyes were not indeed a fashion choice, but that something very big did occur, he’s just moving on from what happened. as long as the people he cares about are safe - that’s really all that matters. and if not? well, we’ll see what happens.
regulus black ; harry potter ( 0 / 6 )
was not in attendance for the gala, but probably would not have gone even if he was in the city by then. still adjusting to the whole being alive again part, and is mostly trying to avoid anyone that he knows, in turn avoiding any questions about what may have potentially happened along the way. unamused and uncaring.
venti ; genshin impact ( 0 / 3 )
very likely to play off that he doesn’t recall anything that happened throughout the night and blame it on the copious amounts of wine consumed. in reality, was likely very aware of everything going on and working to protect people without making any sort of a scene. also likely stole something from the white house. oops.
vision ; marvel ( 0 / 6 )
** newly unaware. well. if there’s one thing that vision is, it’s consistent. when other people are in danger, he will absolutely be prepared to take the brunt of it, even at the cost of his own life. however, we all know what happened to vision with no memories before so uh. sorry about that, but also not really.
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tell me about marius and cosettes children pls
HUZZAH I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS QUESTION
modern au because that's just where my head lives ok
so like i've said before i imagine that it's been a lifelong dream of cosette's to adopt when it came time for her to have children because it was such a lifesaver for her to be adopted by valjean and she wants to be able to save another kid from a bad home situation and give them all of the love and protection and good opportunities that she was given when she was taken away from the inn
and marius like never rlly thought about that?? like he wasn't against it it just wasn't something that particularly occurred to him but when cosette bring it up he falls head over heels for the idea and yeah like less than a year into dating they decide that that's what they're doing
(also offside but i hc marius and cosette as dating for like, a loooooong time before they get married and then waiting like 5+ years to adopt after the fact, mostly because they want to be really settled and stable before they start their family and they meet before either of their prefrontal cortexes have finished developing and cosette is very aware of this so she makes Marius wait like 5 years before they get married, tho he'd have married her on the spot the moment they met if he'd let her)
BUT ANYWAYS i hc they adopt a little girl and then when their daughter goes into school and they have a little more free time on their hands they become foster parents to twin boys who they eventually end up adopting. their daughter is named fantine eponine and she sort of looks a lot like musichetta which cosette loves and musichetta and fantine bond instantly and are close forever and ever
and the rest of the amis are so in love w her and protective of her from the moment marius and cosette bring her home they are the best aunts and uncles in the world courfeyrac reads her endless stories no matter how many times she asks him to repeat the same page over and over again and grantaire sings her lullabies and feuilly paints little birds on the wall above her cot and joly is on call 24/7 for all of the new parent's worries about every little cough and sneeze and too-long blink and enjolras buys baby books about historical figures who were amazing women and buys little plaques for her room with inspirational quotes and bossuet makes her little flower crowns and braids strands of costume-jewellry pearls into her hair when it gets long enough and lets her do makeovers on him and combeferre has a special butterfly pressed in glass for her and instills 'bring your niece to work day' so she can run around the museum and jehan knits her a blanket with her initials monogrammed and eponine is actually the best babysitter because she's quiet and sort of plaintive with the baby which puts the baby at ease so she can sleep and bahorel gets a tattoo of a little cursive 'f' on his hand and helps teach her how to ride a bike and whenever she has like an important day at school or a dance recital or sporting event or smth they ALL show up and cheer and bring flowers and cry over her and eventually they mellow out with their excitement but the first few years they are NON STOP
then when they bring home they boys, georges courfeyrac and jean enjolras, the whole ordeal starts up again
and marius and cosette are the best parents, they've both done a lot of work on themselves to overcome their trauma from their childhoods and marius is so overly cautious, especially when the kids are babies, that he'll drop them or rattle them or otherwise disturb them and he's sort of a helicopter parent like lourding over the kids taking their first steps or using a spoon for the first time or toddling around the house worried they'll get hurt but he's so unabashedly affectionate with all three of them, especially his sons, because it's important for him to let them know that their father loves them and will always be there for them and will never abandon them no matter what
and cosette is so naturally maternal it comes so easily and quickly to her that it almost makes marius panic like 'what am i doing wrong :(((((' like i imagine hime to be the type of dad whos baby starts crying as soon as he picks them up but it's just because he always picks them up right after they eat or after they've woken up from a nap so they have gas and need to be changed and he takes it sooooo personally but once cosette sort of teaches him how to know the baby's cues and when they need what he becomes so confident and like a super-dad basically
THIS WAS GREAT IL DEF COME BACK TO THIS BC I HAVE SOOOOOOOOO MUCH MORE TO SAY BUT PLS TALK TO ME MORE ABT THIS KIND OF STUFF IT WAS SORELY NEEDED
#hcs#les mierables#les mis#les amis#les miserables headcanon#les mis headcanons#les amis headcanons#cosette#marius pontmercy
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For the prompts post, if it's possible to choose two, how about Fluff number 3 and Misc number 4 for Enjoltaire? And if not, you can choose the one you want. Also, your writing is amazing ❤
"Have you seen my hoodie?" "Nooooo..." "You're wearing it, aren't you?"/"Sharing is caring, now give me the hoodie!"
I split up the first prompt part in different places, I hope that's okay?
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It started on a stormy day, hard rain and thunder crashing down upon the pavement, battering down on houses, the crack of lightning as if a whip across the sky, like Zeus's masterbolt, like how Grantaire had told him about, the--
Well, this much description was hardly necessary, really. But Enjolras supposed the thought was influenced by the constant poetic Jehan is constantly waxing. Forgive him for taking the time to listen to his friends.
But, for simplicity's sake, it started on a rainy day.
In foresight, it perhaps would have served better if Enjolras told Grantaire it would be raining on the day that he suggested they go out for a picnic, but the sparkle in his eyes had been too bright for Enjolras to break it to him. Besides, the weather forecast he listened to was wrong half the time (and honestly now that he considers it, he really should change which weather station he listens to.)
Unfortunately, this one time, the weather forecast had been correct, and right as they finished laying a blanket to sit upon, the first drops of rain that Enjolras had tried hard to ignore morphed into a battering of rain as the sky suddenly gave way to grey and thunder rumbled the ground.
From there it was a mad dash to the car, but even the little time spent in the car had them both soaked to the bone.
So much for a picnic.
And yet, as they got back to Grantaire's place and stumbled through the doorframe into his apartment, Grantaire was laughing brightly as the sun that they had hoped to see that day, and Enjolras simply couldn't find it in himself to be upset when hearing such a delightful sound. In the past, he had heard Grantaire chuckle bitterly or let out bursts of drunk laughs not appropriate for the moment, but this was one that warmed him from his chest down to the tips of his toes despite the chill of the rain soaking through to his skin.
Courfeyrac would likely say Enjolras' affections are blinding him. And they were, considering Grantaire's laughs were loud and gruff, hardly the stuff of dreamy sighs, but one in love remains impervious to such truths. Something Marius would likely say, but hey doesn't mean it's wrong. That Marius is a good fellow, Enjolras wondered if he can perhaps persuade Courfeyrac to bring him back to the Musain.
But at the current moment, he had just returned from a steaming shower and grimaced a little as he stared at the clothes a little. They would all dangle off of his lither, shorter form as compared to Grantaire's; it wasn't as if he wasn't used to it. Most of the clothes he's ever had to borrow in the past have been considerably bigger than him, but it was always just the slightest bit a hassle to have to roll up the sleeves and the legs of the pants so he doesn't go tripping and falling and breaking an arm (that last comment is a true story--just ask Combeferre. Or maybe not. He burned that pair of pants after he was distraught about Enjolras sustaining an injury from it. Courfeyrac was delighted. Not from Enjolras injuring himself of course, from the whole burning thing. It rather reminded him of that time he burned one of Charles de Gaulle's speeches in the fireplace.)
Whatever the case, he did have to roll up the sweatpants, but the shirt was short sleeved and fine, if but a bit baggy on himself.
But it was the hoodie that made things a lot better.
In truth, it wasn't even in the folded pile of clothes Grantaire gave him. It sat on the rack of clothing, but Grantaire never minded when he borrowed clothes, and how could he resist. It was his favourite. He never actually had the opportunity to wear it himself, of course, but he had seen it on Grantaire a number of times, and he allowed himself one indulgent inhale of its forest green fabric before he slipped it on and nearly laughed at the proportion of the hoodie to himself--it nearly reached knees, but if anything, he saw it as a good thing. The day was chilly, and the hoodie was warm and soft. Yes, this was definitely his favourite.
---------------------------------------------------
"Did you trip and break your arm again?" he heard Grantaire ask as he reentered the living room. He was searching through his collection of DVDs on the carpet, but at the sound of Enjolras going "Very funny," he looked up, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment and his mouth opening for a few seconds before closing. "That's my hoodie."
Enjolras raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Grantaire all of these clothes are yours."
Grantaire blinked. "Wait. Yes. Yes they are."
He laughed before plopping himself down beside him on the carpet, leaning against the back of the sofa until Grantaire draped an arm around his shoulders and drew him to lean against his broad chest.
"And where did you find the hoodie, huh?" he heard him mumble into his hair.
He hummed. "Your shelf."
"And who gave you permission?"
He froze. "Oh. I'm sorry, I thought you would be okay with it, I can give it back--" he moved to take the hoodie off, but the arm around his shoulders tightened.
"I was joking, Enjolras, I don't need you to take it off, God, I'm not a brute." He felt himself moved to lean more comfortably against Grantaire. "Besides, it looks nice on you."
He rolled his eyes. "You once said I would look good in a potato sack, but I'll chalk it up to you being drunk."
"Being drunk is exactly how you get every truth out--"
"Grantaire," he sighed exasperatedly, but not without a smile. He burrowed in deeper and contented himself to relishing in the warmth provided by both the hoodie and Grantaire himself, Grantaire's breath ruffling his hair.
As he sat there, watching Grantaire sift through all sorts of movies, he couldn't help but agree.
Yes. Yes, the hoodie did look good on him.
---------------------------------------------------
Grantaire was almost done packing, and as always, just like everyone else, he was scrambling around the apartment, throwing things into his bag that he thought of last minute.
He watched Grantaire threw open his closet for the fifteenth time in the last five minutes and silently wondered what he was searching for. Enjolras kicked his legs off from where they hung, too short to reach the ground where he sat on a high chair.
"Have you seen my hoodie?" he asked at last, reemerging from the depths of his closet.
Enjolras snorted. "You're going to have to be more specific than that. You own quite a few hoodies."
Grantaire ran a hand through his curls. "The dark green one."
Enjolras pursed his lips and hoped his admission of guilt didn't show in his eyes as he thinks about the aforementioned hoodie sitting back in his closet, hidden away from the prying eyes of Courfeyrac--something to hold onto before Grantaire leaves for four months on his art tour. "Um. Noooo..."
The way he trails off, however, is definitely enough to rouse the suspicions of anyone who has even the slightest bit of sense to know when something's off. And for a second, Enjolras thinks that Grantaire, clever as he is, has detected it too, for there's a strange look in his eyes when he stares at Enjolras, but ultimately, he shakes off whatever it was he was thinking about, shrugs, and says "okay," and heads back to packing frantically.
He doesn't resume looking for the hoodie, though.
---------------------------------------------------
It had been a few weeks, and they're no stranger to Skyping. With Grantaire's art having recently grown ever more popular, he's left before on tours and exhibitions.
He's never left for quite so long, however, and though they don't yet live together, Enjolras still misses his presence in Paris.
And it was time, eventually, that led to his slip.
For all his Skype convos with Grantaire, had had never once donned the hoodie that he now wore freely around the apartment, regardless of Courfeyrac's teasing and Combeferre's insistence that he would only end up giving himself a heat stroke. It was especially important that he wear it on those days when he felt especially lonely, when Combeferre had an extra long shift at the hospital, and Courfeyrac was made to stay longer on accounts that a lawyer had to "make their way up through hard work when they first start off" and Grantaire was miles away in Croatia and all Enjolras is left at home with is a stack of papers to mark and a wish that someone was there to maybe hold him and make him feel not quite so empty inside.
So the hoodie was of vital importance. But it never came on during their Skype sessions. Grantaire could never know. What would he say when he saw that Enjolras had lied to him that day, that he actually did know where the hoodie was, and that he took it? He could never know.
And Enjolras had been so careful. He thought he was doing well. But on this particular night he came home exhausted after a lengthy and quite frankly irritating meeting with the principle on advocating for more funding to the school's arts programs, and he was simply much too tired to realize that when he changed at home, he threw on the hoodie and sat in front of the screen, waiting, as always, for the call to come through.
And there it was, there was that face he had missed so dearly, with a grin that seemed to lift even the smallest bit of exhaustion from his shoulders and let him breathe a little easier, a grin that softened into something gentler at the sight of the way Enjolras seemed so tired this night.
At first, the conversation was as it always was; moments to share, repeated I miss yous, and of course, the bickering that stemmed from concern. Enjolras let his guard down. He hadn't been paying enough attention. Not, until, Grantaire had started again--
"By the way," Grantaire said abruptly. "I never did find my hoodie. And that one you have on right now looks kind of familiar, don't you-- shit Enj, are you okay?"
He asked because Enjolras had toppled off the chair quite unceremoniously in his haste to get off screen. The hoodie! He looked down in horror at what he was wearing. Of course Grantaire recognized it, that was his hoodie! The one Enjolras hid from him before he left!
"Enj?" he heard from the laptop screen.
Well how would he face him now?
"Enj, are you okay? I'm kind of getting worried here."
Well there was nothing to do now. Throwing off the hoodie would only cause more suspicion. So with a red face, he made his way back up on his chair and muttered, "I'm fine."
Grantaire looked flabbergasted. "What's wrong?"
He let his eyes flit briefly into his. "Nothing."
"Is this about the hoodie?" Grantaire asked, amused.
He bit his cheek.
"You're wearing it, aren't you?" he heard him say, voice smug.
He buried his head in his hands. "Yes."
Grantaire's laugh, loud and bold, rang through the screen, and Enjolras was quite confused to say the least. Why wasn't he pissed? "I fucking knew I didn't just lose it. Joly gave me hell when he heard I left without it, told me I was always losing stuff--"
"Aren't you mad?" he blurted out. Grantaire's face turned confused for a moment before he let out another burst of laughter.
"Why the fuck would I be mad?"
He waved his hands in a frenzy. "Because I took your hoodie! Because I lied to you when you asked me where your hoodie was! Now you're stuck without a hoodie in Zagreb--"
"Zagreb's pretty warm actually--"
"And you were left wondering all this time where it was when I knew all along! Why aren't you pissed?"
Grantaire looked both amused and bemused. "It's really not that big a deal, you know. Although, I mean you don't have to steal it, you could just ask to borrow it. Or to keep it if you're so fond of it."
He bit his lip. He still felt guilty. "Still..."
Through the screen, his boyfriend squinted and shook his head gingerly. "You're overthinking things again, Enj. I'm not mad just because you took a hoodie, though I'll admit it would be nice if you just asked next time. I think everyone knows I wouldn't say no to you for something like this." He paused for a second before cracking a grin. "Besides, I already knew the hoodie was with you before this. Courfeyrac sent me a picture of you sleeping in it."
Enjolras hoped the thought of his plan to eat all of Courfeyrac's baking chocolate chips in front of him while he stood helplesssly as revenge for this wasn't showing too clearly on his face. Which he probably didn't have to worry about considering even he could feel how heated and red his cheeks had blazed.
"Sorry," he muttered again with embarassment.
Grantaire quirked an eyebrow. "I just told you I'm not mad." His voice softened, "Besides, like I said before--it looks good on you." This last part, this at least, was able to wring a genuine smile from Enjolras.
He pulled the hoodie tighter around himself. "I miss you," he admitted softly.
Grantaire gave him a gentle smile. "I know, Enj. I miss you too."
They remained silent for a minute, soakihg up the bit of presence online meets allowee before Enjolras cleared his throat and asked, "So what are you wearing overtop at the hotels if not your hoodie?"
"Hm? Oh I bought a new hoodie. From a store when I was in Madrid."
A new hoodie he says? That detail... Well... it was quite interesting to Enjolras...
---------------------------------------------------
When Grantaire finally came back, after months of touring, Enjolras vowed to spend the entire night and then well into the next day, in his arms.
And he did. He allowed himself to burrow deep in his chest and take a greedy inhale of his clothing, lingering with his scent, and drift off to sleep peacefully, satisfied after having his fill of the news of the success of Grantaire's art.
It was the next day, that his mind cleared a little enough of the excitement and euphoria that had clouded it the previous day, enough for him now to be able to realize that he'd never seen the cloth that Grantaire now donned, where Enjolras was now watching him put away the last of his dishes in the sink from where he was sitting on the table. He beckoned him closer, Grantaire coming to stand in front of him, lightly skimming his fingers over Enjolras' hips.
"What's this?" he asked as he tugged a bit at the cloth of the new black hoodie Grantaire wore.
"It's just the new hoodie I bought."
He pondered for a minute. "Have you worn it yet?"
Grantaire frowned. "Well, yeah, when I was back at the hotels and done for the day I--"
"I want it."
Grantaire blinked. "What--"
"I want it. Your hoodie. I want it."
With a laugh, Grantaire shook his head. "You already stole one of my hoodies, Enj, this--"
"I want this one too."
Grantaire stared at him in amused disbelief. "Are you going to steal all my clothes?"
"Yes."
Raising an eyebrow, Grantaire smirked and said, "You can't have this one."
So, really, he brought it on himself when Enjolras climbed a chair and launched hinself through the air at him.
"What the fuck!"
They both crashed to the ground as Enjolras landed atop him and tugged at the cloth. "Sharing is caring, now give me the hoodie!"
"Enj, holy shit--"
They went rolling on the carpeted floor until Enjolras managed to rip the hoodie out of Grantaire's hands, jumping up and throwing it on himself.
On the ground, Grantaire groaned.
Enjolras pursed his lips. "I thank you for your valuable contribution," he said seriously, before cracking the smile he had been trying so hard to hold back.
Grantaire huffed. "Well, you stole my old hoodie. You stole my new hoodie--"
"That's because they smell like you!" Enjolras interjected distressedly, unable to figure out why Grantaire wasn't aware of this.
"--Do you think maybe you could at least give me a hand?"
Rolling up the dangling sleeves, he reached a hand to clasp Grantaire's own and made to tug, only to feel himself tugged down atop Grantaire's broad chest. He yelped as he fell, Grantaire laughing as he wrapped arms around his waist, holding him close.
This time, Enjolras huffed. "What's this for?"
Grantaire hummed. "Payment. If you're going to take my hoodies, you're going to pay for them."
He raised an eyebrow. "In injuries?"
He got an eyeroll in return. "In cuddles."
"Well don't you think that would maybe be a better idea if we weren't on the ground?"
"Yes, but consider this: I'm too comfortable to get up."
Enjolras huffed once more, but burrowed further into Grantaire's chest anyways.
All in all, not a terrible price to pay.
#I hope this was okay anon I'm sorry it took such an absurd amount of time to get done#in which there are gratuitous references to Enjolras being short and stealing Grantaire's clothes#les miserables#enjolras#grantaire#enjoltaire#ExR#les mis fic#annie writes stories#annie's answers#enjoltaire fic
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How do the amis react when R and Enj finally get their shit together and admit they love each other please please please tell me they like throw my dysfunctional sons a party
( Something Telling verse, takes place between chapters 8 and 9. thank u for the prompt xoxo... to everyone else... send me prompts/questions/thoughts. thank u.)
Combeferre hasn’t heard from Enjolras in a week, but it’s not like he’s worried, or anything. That would be ridiculous. They’ve totally gone a week without talking, before. Granted, that was a while ago--back before he got Enjolras a phone; back when Enjolras was still so cautious, so stiffly polite around him; back when Enjolras had only been in the 21st century for a couple of weeks and still had lingering bruises, places rubbed raw by centuries-old street. But still. He’s not worried. Only-
Only, of course, the last time he had seen Enjolras, he’d spent the day lying face-down on Combeferre’s couch, bemoaning his love life and totally not pouting. So. Like. Maybe he’s a little concerned. And he’d been trying to be cool about it, trying to, like, respect his agency, or whatever, but.
But it’s been a week, and Jehan hasn’t heard from him, either, and to make a long story short-- (Sometimes, Combeferre gets it into his head that Enjolras might just flicker out of their lives, just like he blinked into them--without warning, without spectacle; sometimes, Combeferre has nightmares pulled together out of the scraps of those of Enjolras himself--dreams of him not falling away quite fast enough from a bristle of muskets and bayonets, dreams of him being back there, there, in the instant of silence, and reaching backwards to find himself at a wall, not a window, dreams of him waking up, sudden and to the crack of grapeshot, and- ; sometimes, Combeferre worries, because- because Enjolras is his best friend, and he doesn’t really know what he would do if something else happened, if anything else besides the fucking horror he’s already known were to happen, so-) he finds himself taking the elevator up to Grantaire’s apartment. Because it’s been a week. Because he’s a little freaked out. Because he’s his best friend. Because he pouted at his place for hours, so now it’s Combeferre’s business how it all went, if he’s okay, if he needs to snap some sense into Grantaire for him.
He knocks.
It is… suspiciously quiet. (God, he hopes they aren’t in there ignoring their problems and, subsequently, each other. If he finds out Enjolras hasn’t talked to him in a week because he was busy pouting in his own bedroom, he’s going to be kind of pissed, if only on account of him not having the decency to pout over at Combeferre’s place so that they could finish watching that documentary on Napoleon III together.) He knocks again.
Nothing.
Maybe they’re just out. Maybe- (Maybe Enjolras is gone, maybe the next time Combeferre pulls up his Wikipedia he’ll see some kind of horrible line like died: 1832, maybe-) they’re grocery shopping, or something, but the light is on, through the crack at the bottom of the door, and Combeferre’s heart is beating a little too fast for his taste, and it doesn’t take much more waiting for him to reach up and feel around for the spare key at the top of the doorframe.
He opens the door slowly, quietly. “Enj?” he calls. The apartment is quiet, save for a strange noise that he can’t quite- can’t quite place. Hm. “Enj?” He rounds the corner to the sitting room, when nobody answers, when nobody moves. (He’s- He’s maybe a little bit worried.)
There’s a strange snorting noise. He turns, takes it slow to move a little further into the room, looks down, and-
Ah.
Enjolras and Grantaire lie, passed out cold, on the couch, their legs tangled together, outside arms dangling floor-bound. Enjolras is drooling into Grantaire’s chest. Grantaire is snoring like a fucking buzz-saw. Grantaire’s got an arm wrapped around Enjolras, holding him close, even in sleep.
Christ.
Huh.
Well. That’s one question answered.
Combeferre crouches down beside them. “Enjolras,” he whispers. “Hey, Enj.”
Nothing.
He prods him in the cheek. “Jolras. Hey.” He pokes him again.
Enjolras wakes with a snort. “Ghuh,” he mumbles, looking around blearily. “Hmng, gah, Combeferre, what-”
Combeferre refuses to be swayed by the sweetness of it all. “Have you seriously been ignoring me because you got a boyfriend?”
His brow furrows. His cheek is still all creased up from Grantaire’s t-shirt. “Ignoring you?”
He can’t help but to bite back a laugh. “Uh. Yeah? You haven’t texted me back in like a week?” he says, but his heart’s not really in it. It’s a lot harder to freak out about the whole Enjolras-might-be-gone situation when Enjolras is, in fact, indisputably not gone.
Enjolras runs the words over in his head--and Combeferre knows this, because what he really does is mouth through the whole sentence and stare off into space, for a few seconds, like he always does when he’s trying to parse something, and- “Texted you back in?” he asks. He also sits up, a little more, awkwardly poised around Grantaire’s limbs.
“On your phone. You haven’t texted me.” He tugs Enjolras to his feet, when he holds an arm out for it, looks him over. He looks… Good. Well-rested.
“My-” The bleary look makes way for something a little more sure. “Oh, heavens, I’ve completely forgotten about it. I haven’t the slightest idea where it’s gone.” He bites his lip. “Ah. Apologies?”
Combeferre rolls his eyes. “So I guess things worked out?”
On the couch, Grantaire snorts a snore and turns over. When Combeferre looks back over to Enjolras, he’s looking at Grantaire with such soft eyes that all the stress of the past week was almost, almost worth it.
Enjolras nods. He doesn’t quite succeed in holding back the hints of a smile.
God, Combeferre loves him. “Oh, come on, then,” he says, and he lets Enjolras tug him out to the balcony and close the shutters behind them. “So?”
Enjolras shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, leans back on the railing. He’s quiet, for a while. “He… loves me,” he says, finally, and he can’t help but smile, then, crooked and sheepish and hopeful, too.
Oh, man. Combeferre can’t help but smile, too, can’t help but nudge his shoulder gently. “‘Course he does, man,” he says.
He smiles a little broader, jostles Combeferre back. “Oh?” he prompts. And-
Yeah, okay, Combeferre can’t take it--he feels like his heart is going to fucking pop, with how much he fucking loves his best friend, right now. “Just-” He pulls Enjolras into a hug, broad and tight and warm against the hints of autumn chill in the air. Enjolras squeezes him back, buries his face in Combeferre’s shoulder and lets Combeferre pick him up for a few seconds, all embarrassing-like. “‘Course he fucking loves you, Enj,” he mumbles into Enjolras’s hair, once his feet are back on the concrete of the balcony. “God, I’m so happy for you.”
Enjolras laughs, bright and easy. “Why, thank you, sir,” he says, and the effect is only a little bit ruined by the fact that they haven’t quite managed to let each other go, yet. Combeferre’s fucking missed him, honest, he-
Oh, speaking of, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you got together for a week!” Combeferre lets him go, to tell him, if only to impress the severity of the situation onto him. (He’s still beaming, so, like… it doesn’t work very well.)
“I was otherwise occupied!” He’s laughing. This is serious. (If only Combeferre could believe that, himself.)
“A week, Enj! You didn’t tell me for a week!” He grasps after Enjolras, makes to ruffle his hair where it’s already sleep-mussed, but he dodges, steps out of the way, damn his good reflexes, damn all that secret revolutionary training.
“I was occupied!” Enjolras dodges again, and Combeferre is laughing too, now, and Enjolras makes to escape back into the apartment, and-
There is a loud thud.
They both stop. Combeferre draws in a deep breath, wills himself not to start laughing, again. Enjolras hazards a look inside.
“Grantaire has fallen from the sofa,” he announces, all serious, and then they’re both laughing, gasping for breath as Grantaire grumbles his way to consciousness in the other room.
“God,” Combeferre says, when he can breathe, again. “God, Enj, that one? You’re sure?”
Enjolras shrugs. “Yes, well, it seems-” he chances another glance inside. He flushes pink. “It seems that I love him as well. So.”
And, oh, man, Combeferre just needs to haul him in to another hug, there, and so he does.
#enjoltaire#enjoltaire fanfiction#exr#exr fanfic#les miserables#something telling#les miserables fanfiction#les mis#writing#Anonymous
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Okay but what if one day Enjolras breaks his arm and they’re driving home from the emergency room and he’s all drugged up in pain meds and is super loopy. He keeps trying to climb into Grantaire’s lap as he’s driving or trying to unlock the car door as it’s moving and the whole time Grantaire has to be like “baby no, you’ll hurt your arm” or “Enjolras, stop, we can’t cuddle right now.” He ends up having to hold a pouty Enjolras down with one arm for the rest of the ride home, but gives him plenty of cuddles at home to make up for it.
Enjolras's not looking at him when they finally get back home, and Grantaire fears he'll have to work extra hard to earn his forgiveness.
He helps him up the stairs and smiles at him, but Enjolras's pushes him away as soon as he can. It's not violent, he's still under his meds, and he sways more than Grantaire does.
"You didn't want me"
Grantaire was about to laugh because, c'mon, In what universe he wouldn't want Enjolras?
But he looks at him and Enjolras's eyes are wet and his lip is trembling, and he still looks out of it and he's tired and his hair are ruffled.
Suddenly, Grantaire doesn't want to laugh anymore. Because his boyfriend is totally out of it, and he's convinced Grantaire doesn't want him, and he's also about to cry and Grantaire would gladly give up one hand not to see him cry.
"Enjolras, love, no. Of course I wanted you, of course I want you", he tells him, and slowly walks up to him, to tilt that chin up, and look down into those eyes, filled with tears.
"Oh, Love"
Enjolras starts crying.
He starts crying, and gets as close to Grantaire as his cast allows him too.
"You do?"
"Of course angel", he drops a kiss on his head, "You're my love. You'll always be my love. Who would scream at me to use a coaster if not you, mh?"
Flaming cheeks turns toward him, and Grantaire dries them with his thumbs, "smile at me?"
He gets a giggle instead, that quickly turns into a yawn, and Enjolras burrows his face between Grantaire's shoulder and neck, rubbing his nose on Grantaire's shirt, "I'm tired".
"Why don't we sit on the couch then? We can cuddle until you fall asleep".
Enjolras firmly shakes his head, Grantaire blinks at him.
"You don't want to?"
"I want to cuddle until I wake up".
#Anon I love you#I don't really like what I added#But I love what you sent me#So lovely#He's so cute#Enjoltaire#Thank you dear ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
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coffee & tv.
Gabriel Enjolras never necessarily believed in miracles, no, but what else could explain what would eventually lead him to her? Perhaps he had let Jehan's preachings of "no coincidences" force itself within the boundaries of his well established skepticism, like an invasive thought, intruding into the high walls of his crumbling kingdom. Whatever the case - miracle, fate, coincidence; Éponine had come into Enjolras' life when he had needed it most, and for that, he was grateful, grateful to whatever had crossed their paths.
Seated towards the back of the tiny yet comfortable and cozy club that was neatly hidden away in its obscurity from the public, Enjolras dragged a hand over his face, tired, looking over the documents on his laptop. Prouvaire hollered loudly next to him as they welcomed the next musician to the little stage, causing the exhausted golden boy to look up towards the commotion. A woman with an acoustic guitar was approaching the mic-stand, a sheepish dimpled smile growing on her face. She coughed, brushed a stray hair out of her face before introducing herself and looked out toward the crowd. "Thanks for that." There was a laugh in her voice. Something probably to do with nerves, Enjolras thought to himself. He'd definitely be nervous if someone were to place him front of a crowd where they most definitely expected you to have the voice of a god or goddess, or anything in-between. Lecturing to hundreds of students? Sure, he was capable. Singing? He'd rather opt out of that one, only the trusty shower knew how he sounded in that regard.
"Name's Éponine, hope you're all enjoying your night. Here's a little something I wrote." With that, the woman with the dimpled smile filled the club with her music; a voice escaping her that made even Enjolras blink to himself, she sounded professional, the likes of which you'd hear on the radio. What was someone with a talent such as that doing in a club that was hidden, known to only hipsters like Jehan? He shook his head and focused back on his work, letting the girl's voice become a lullaby of sorts; it was definitely relaxing, he'd be lying if he were to say it wasn't, his shoulders weren't so tense as they'd been before, and the wrinkled lines on his forehead probably had calmed some. When the song had finished, he looked up toward her again, a half-smile unknowingly pulling at his lips. Éponine smiled at the patrons, looking specifically toward her - he noticed - at a bug eyed blonde who whistled for the singer, and a brunette, small, clapping with the glee of someone who looked as if they still held a childlike view of the world, he was good at picking up these things. He clapped along with them, looking directly at the musician again, she awkwardly stood there for a moment before grabbing her guitar case and rushing off stage, making way for the next.
Little did Enjolras know, that this would become a new routine - get a coffee after work, sit with Jehan at the back of the club, and listen to her whenever she came in. This was solely for finishing work with a clear mind, obviously, there was absolutely no other reasons whatsoever, you'd be mad to even suggest as much. Two weeks into the routine, Éponine looked toward him and Jehan after her song was over, a sort of glint in her eye, and for someone such as Enjolras, who mastered at reading others like a book; he couldn't discern that look in her eye. With a cough, he had broken the stare, looking over the finished exams of his students. Jehan coughed back at him, earning a roll of the eyes from Enjolras. "Would you mind?" Enjolras quipped at the poet, which gave him a nudge of Jehan's arm to his own. "What're you doing right now, Prouvaire? I'm trying to work. I come here with you to work, I could do this at home just as easily." Jehan was now the one to roll his eyes at him, gesturing over to the three women; Éponine and her two friends. Enjolras feigned clueless for a moment, putting on a portrayal as if he had no idea as to why Jehan was not so subtly looking over at the three with the giddiness akin to a schoolboy.
"Don't play dumb with me, Enjolras. You like when that woman sings. You clap! You look to her in awe! It's almost like something out of a play. Romantic, no?" Enjolras simply deadpanned at him in response, letting out a sigh. "Ah, who am I kidding, hm? You know nothing of romance." A grin played out on Jehan's face as he took another sip from his latte, and Enjolras merely furrowed his brows at the man, not wanting a moment of this. Nothing could have prepared him for what was about to unfold, however, as Jehan rose from his seat, walking over to the three women in question. That smug asshole. The entire world could probably see the pure look of horror on Enjolras' face. "Enjolras!" Jehan called out, "Come over, say hi!" He sat with the ladies as if he knew them, and the realisation of the fact he most likely did crashed over him in waves. With the looks aimed toward him, he swallowed up his pride and quickly zipped up his laptop inside the case with a force that was a tad bit too strong, making his way other to the table - a routine that was comfortable for him had suddenly become a nightmare. "Here he is. This my friend with the stick up his arse that I've all been telling you about. 'Ponine, Cosette, Azelma - meet Gabriel Enjolras, he doesn't interact with women all that much; so apologies on his behalf." The small brunette barked with laughter at Jehan's remark, Éponine looking over to her with raised brows and a smile whereas the blonde greeted him with a quiet 'hello', much appreciated over roaring laughter.
Éponine looked away from the small one and directly toward him instead, "Azelma can be a bit loud, sorry about that." No kidding, but for the sake of politeness, Enjolras simply brushed it off and told her that it was okay before he formally introduced himself, noticing now that Jehan was chattering away with Azelma and Cosette, leaving him to speak to the singer alone. He clung to his laptop almost as if for dear life. "You've been here a lot these past few weeks with Jehan and never once stopped by to say hi, you always leave early. Now what's up with that?" There was that glint in her eyes that he didn't know how to place again, he felt heat building up in his throat - that was one way to be confrontational, he thought, and not to mention more observing than he had originally thought her to be. He had no clue that she had even retained knowledge of his existence outside of this little hole in the wall coffee club, in a rare turn of events he supposed he had now become the oblivious one. What two weeks could do to someone. Éponine rested her head against her hand, elbow propped up against the table, doe eyes staring up at him.
She reminded him of both a kitten and pup, mixed into one person, how was that even remotely possible? He had never made that distinction about a person before, new experiences seemed to be happening all around; what a world. He couldn't help but groan quietly to himself, his thumb unconsciously rubbing at a tear-duct before clinging to his laptop again, he suddenly had no idea what to do his hands nor himself. "I don't know if one could count the early morning hours as early, per se. I think of anything after midnight as 'it's time to go to bed', but that has definitely not stopped me before from working until five in the morning." A perfect brow perked up at him, a cheeky sort of smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. At the back of his mind, deep down in there (you'd need to go very deep before coming back with this fleeting thought) he couldn't help but think of her many facial expressions to be cute and, well, attractive. It would be a blatant lie to not admit to himself that Éponine was attractive, that much was very obvious to anyone who was blessed with vision.
"Five in the morning! Far out. How do you cope? I mean yeah, I've absolutely stayed up past my schedule once or twice playing The Sims because, c'mon, that's honest work when you've got a whole family who works to earn that bread and butter, and the hours just fly by and then what d'ya know? It's accidentally almost six, not PM, but AM." She had him laughing, genuinely laughing, and it's so foreign that it surprises him before he'd caught himself. Jehan was in too deep with the two girls to even notice what had just transpired. Enjolras couldn't remember the last time he had let himself unwind like this, to properly relax and take his seemingly always busy mind away from his work - to laugh, to smile, to integrate himself with new people. It was a good, welcoming feeling - warm, rather.
The pair who had been left alone to their own devices had ended up speaking to one another for a long while; Enjolras had learned rather quickly that Éponine would die of embarrassment if she were to busk; she already had a day job, there was no need for anything else - in her own words, busking reminded her too much of her father, and that was that, she wouldn't delve too deep into that topic, and Enjolras was understanding, the last thing he wanted was to prod into places where he had absolutely no business in the first place. He learned that the small brunette, Azelma, was her younger sister, who currently lived with her in her apartment temporarily until Azelma could get back onto her feet and land a new job. It was apparent that she and her family were not well off, which saddened him some, but she was a woman of determination, and stern, at that, he didn't need to ask her to know that she didn't want help from anyone that was well off. It wasn't as if Enjolras was a billionaire himself, though he had a steady income and a roof over his head that he could pay the rent for, and that was more than you could say for the less fortunate. At fifteen minutes past two, the group said goodbye to one another, and Éponine forced his phone into her hands, putting her details into his contacts. "Don't be a stranger."
And he would prove to her that he certainly wouldn't be. He couldn't help but message her during the week days, asking her how she was, what she was up to, the early pleasantries. Three months had gone by, and during those three months, there was a point where Éponine, as Jehan would say 'ghosted' him for a week because of a disagreement they had over a phone call; it had been over something minuscule, yet she would not double down, and it had infuriated him to no end. She was sarcastic, stubborn (just as much as he was) and loved to correct him whenever he was "wrong" about something, and yet, there was something about her that had him coming back. He had been genuinely upset when he had been 'ghosted', and reacted by not showing up to the coffee club that weekend, which had been a stupid move on his part. After work that following day, he would go see her at her day job, working at a clothing retail store, with a bag of her favourite things - a very specific brand of chocolate and a bottle of cheap rosé (which she would constantly say outshone any other type). She had almost choked upon seeing him walk into the store, that dimpled smile he had missed gracing her face upon digging into the bag. "Wow, what's this? My birthday?" She had scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head. "But in all seriousness, thank you, Gabriel. You didn't need to do this for me, you know how I get sometimes. I was gonna say something, reach out and say sorry for how bratty I was being but, hey, I s'pose I'll just take this instead." With another smile, she had thrown her arms around him in an embrace for the very first time, and he went home thinking about it until he had went to sleep that night.
He had no interest in any sort of romantic relationship, always deeming himself too busy for them, much to the dismay of his family. No one had caught his eye nor interested him, and he had been fine with that up until Éponine had become this force in his life to reckoned with. It was pathetic how long he thought about that hug for, about how nice it was to be entangled with her in such a manner, about how comfortable it was, about how warm she felt, about how much she smiled afterward. It was thought after thought after thought, and they were definitely not going to let up. Five months now of knowing Éponine and she had him completely wrapped around her finger, he would go so far as to even message her during his breaks after lectures, it was becoming a bit too much to the point where he knew she ought to have realised something. Everyone that knew Enjolras prior to meeting Éponine knew, he was perfectly aware, and they chose to say nothing, because they knew he knew, even the loudmouth Grantaire, of all people, had not harassed him about this. This was suffocating, suffocating up until that six month point where he was there with her at the club after her performance, he completely broke and had blurted out to her, "Do you want to have dinner with me on Friday evening?" She let out a breath in return, deep dimples with that beautiful, breathtaking smile.
"Who do you take me for, Gabriel Enjolras?"
That Friday evening, they enjoyed a night in his apartment with Chinese takeaway and movies; sure, it wasn't anything fancy, but Éponine had wanted this, and who was he to refuse her? At some point in the night, she had rested her temple against his shoulder, getting comfortable, and he was suddenly very hyper-aware of the fact that Éponine Thénardier was in a close proximity to him, leaning on him, his heart almost skipping a beat when her hand began to rest atop his knee. He seemed to be frozen in that moment, he knew what she was doing; she was making the first move, and yet he sat there like a marble statue, unsure of what to do with the beautiful woman that was currently getting comfortable on his couch. His palms surely sweating, he reached out to place his hand over hers, locking their fingers together. He swallowed harshly, heart racing. This was it, he had to admit to himself how he felt, that he was absolutely head over heels for Éponine in the most uncharacteristic fashion. In response to their entwined fingers, she only got more comfortable, a dreamlike sigh escaping her.
Without thinking, he kissed the top of her head, heat engulfing his whole form, his face burning. Éponine broke their hold, and just like that, her lips were pressed against his, the coldness of her palm resting against his cheek greatly appreciated in that moment. Embarrassingly enough, he had no recollection of the last time he had kissed someone, but hopefully for her sake, he had not become an awful kisser in the time he had for the lack of a better word, abstained from the act of doing so, though he did return her kiss with the same sort of vigor, an arm wrapping around her waist. He was nervous, probably messy - but she didn't seem to care, smiling and giggling to herself more times than he could count on one hand during their shared moment of passion. When they finally parted, Éponine merely looked up at him with that cheeky catlike grin on her face that he couldn't help but adore. "God, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that."
He could most definitely say the same.
#enjonine#enjolras x eponine#you are my revolution#les mis#lizzie writes#it's been ... so long guys ... i haven't written for e/e since i think 2015??? 2016??? but i'm so happy to be back :')#text
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Hi! I’m really enjoying the fics based on the spotify songs! Can I request your #1 song with Enjoltaire?
Ok, so, what I listened to most on Spotify wasn't a song, it was actually...
1. "Grandfather Clock Ticking (For Deep Sleep)"
Which has a whole story behind why it was what I listened to most, but I figured in lieu of telling it, it'd be so much more fun to turn it into a fic.
E/R, modern AU.
BONG.
Enjolras sat bolt upright, not seeming to notice that he had dislodged Grantaire from where he had been busily working somewhere further south.
BONG.
“What the fuck is that?” Enjolras demanded.
BONG.
Grantaire rocked back on his heels, looking equal parts amused and irritated by the rather dramatic shift in nighttime activities, and he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
BONG.
“It’s my clock,” he said, like it was obvious.
BONG.
Probably because it was obvious, so much so that Enjolras even looked a little embarrassed for having asked.
BONG.
“Did you steal it from a church steeple?” Enjolras asked stupidly.
BONG.
Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Does it sound like church bells to you?”
BONG.
“It’s certainly loud enough to be,” Enjolras shot back.
BONG.
Again Grantaire rolled his eyes, though this time with no small amount of affection. “I think you need your hearing examined,” he told Enjolras.
BONG.
The final chime of the clock faded into silence and Grantaire arched an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Now,” he said, leaning in to kiss him, “should I get back to, ah, examining what I was before?”
Enjolras’s eyes darkened. “Yeah,” he murmured before biting down lightly on Grantaire’s bottom lip. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”
Six hours later, Enjolras lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling and severely regretting taking Grantaire up on his sleepy offer to spend the night. He should have insisted on leaving, not because he didn’t want to spend the night with Grantaire – though if he had known how loudly the man snored, he might also have reconsidered it – but because the clock went off every single hour.
Grantaire let out a snuffling noise before snuggling in closer against Enjolras, blinking blearily up at him. “Hey,” he said, his voice scratchy with sleep.
“Hey,” Enjolras returned, grateful for the opportunity to extract his arm from underneath Grantaire without waking him.
Grantaire yawned widely. “What are you doing up?”
Enjolras shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Though Grantaire nodded, he also gave Enjolras a calculating look. “Here I thought I wore you out pretty good last night.”
He said it casually, but Enjolras knew Grantaire well enough to know when he was fishing for a compliment. “You did,” he informed him dryly. “But your damned clock woke me up every hour.”
Grantaire groaned, flopping back down against his pillow. “Oh, Jesus, are you still on about that?”
Enjolras rolled over onto his side to frown at him. “I’m sorry that it’s the loudest clock in the world,” he said. “How the hell are you able to sleep through it?”
“Talent, I guess,” Grantaire said with another yawn. “I don’t know, I don’t really hear it.”
Enjolras just shook his head. “Maybe you’re the one who needs your hearing checked.”
“Maybe,” Grantaire agreed, skimming a hand up Enjolras’s side. “But I can think of a few better things we could do instead.”
Enjolras grinned as Grantaire pulled him close, and had just tilted his head down to kiss Grantaire when the clock chimed again, and he groaned. “Seriously?” he sighed, pulling away, and Grantaire groaned as well.
“Seriously?” he said, echoing Enjolras’s gripe, and he watched Enjolras stand up with pleading eyes. “You’re really gonna leave me here like this?”
“Mood’s ruined now,” Enjolras informed him, grabbing his underwear from where he had tossed them the night before. “You can take care of that yourself while I go make us coffee.”
But on his way to the kitchen to make coffee, Enjolras was waylaid by the loud ticking from the clock hanging on the wall. The ticking was loud enough that he was almost surprised he hadn’t noticed it the night before, but then again, he had been a little distracted by finally doing with Grantaire all the things they’d spent the better part of the last three years pretending they didn’t want to do to each other.
Speaking of Grantaire, he felt Grantaire’s stubble scratch across his bare shoulder as he rested his chin on his shoulder. “Still with the clock?” he asked, kissing Enjolras’s shoulder before brushing past him to the kitchen.
“What can I say, you didn’t seem like the kind of person who would have a clock in your apartment,” Enjolras said.
Grantaire laughed and shook his head, rummaging in the cabinet before emerging with a bag of coffee. “Just because I’m not known for being punctual doesn’t mean that I can’t own a clock,” he reasoned, measuring coffee into the coffee maker. “Besides, it has sentimental value. It’s a family heirloom.”
Enjolras raised both eyebrows at that, crossing over to take a closer look at the clock.
For as much noise as it made, it was a relatively small thing. Enjolras had been expecting some huge grandfather clock, all carved wood with gold accents. Instead, the wall clock was about a foot and a half long, its clock face and pendulum hidden behind unadorned glass, the word ‘REGULATOR’ printed on it in fading gold paint.
It didn’t look much like a family heirloom to him.
“I’m sure it doesn’t compare to whatever gilded monstrosities you probably inherited from your grandparents,” Grantaire said, shifting uncomfortably as he held a cup of coffee out to Enjolras, “but my grandparents had it for as long as I can remember, and I’ve always loved it.”
“I’m sure it’s a very nice clock,” Enjolras assured him as he took the outstretched mug, though he wasn’t really sure of that. “But, uh, is it always so…” He trailed off, trying to find the polite way of putting it. “Disruptive?”
“Pretty much,” Grantaire told him. “It doesn’t exactly have different settings, it’s either on or off.” Enjolras made a face and Grantaire hesitated before added, deliberately casual, “Of course, you’re probably never going to have to deal with it again, so…”
He trailed off and Enjolras glanced over at him. “Is that your attempt at a segue into the ‘are we going to do this again sometime’ conversation?” he asked.
Grantaire shrugged. “Maybe,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. “Depends on your answer.”
Enjolras shrugged as well. “Maybe,” he said, half-smiling before glancing critically at the clock. “But next time, we’re doing this at my place.”
Grantaire grinned, leaning in to kiss him. “Well,” he said, “I think I can handle that.”
- - - - - - - - - -
Six months later, Enjolras all but collapsed on his sofa, Grantaire following shortly after. “How do you have this much shit?” Enjolras asked with a groan.
Grantaire laughed tiredly, resting his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “I think the better question is, where the hell are we going to put all my shit,” he said with a yawn.
“Can we make that a tomorrow problem?” Enjolras asked.
“As if I’ve ever said no to procrastinating.”
Enjolras laughed and kissed the top of Grantaire’s head before standing, groaning as he did. Grantaire groaned as well. “Where are you going?” he demanded, pouting up at him.
Enjolras wove through the boxes stacked in his living room to the kitchen. “To get this,” he told Grantaire, pulling a bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator. “To celebrate moving in together.” He paused. “Of course, if you’re too tired—”
“Did I say that?” Grantaire asked, sitting up. “I am never too tired for champagne.”
“I thought that’s what you’d say,” Enjolras said sweetly, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet before starting to make his way back to Grantaire. “Of course, maybe we should save this until you unpack—”
He tripped over a box and swore. Grantaire yelped and jumped up, rushing to his side. “Are you ok?” he asked, and Enjolras smiled at him before realizing he was talking to the bottle of champagne.
“I’m fine,” he said sourly. “Though whatever I tripped over may not be. What the hell is in this box, anyway? Bricks?”
Grantaire glanced down at the box in question, his expression shifting. “Oh, probably just books,” he said, taking the champagne and glasses from Enjolras. “Nothing to worry about—”
But Enjolras had already bent to open the box, and his scowl deepened when he saw what was inside. “What the hell is this thing doing here?” he asked, glaring up at Grantaire, who had the good grace to at least look slightly ashamed.
“Um, well, see—”
“What was my one condition of you moving in here?” Enjolras interrupted.
Grantaire sighed. “That the clock doesn’t come with me.” Enjolras looked pointedly down at the clock in question, and Grantaire made a face. “Come on, it wasn’t exactly a realistic request. You know I love that clock.”
“More than you love me?” Enjolras asked.
“That’s not fair, and you know it.” Grantaire said evenly, setting the champagne and the glasses down on the coffee table. “Especially since that clock is part of what allows me to love you as much as I do.”
Enjolras’s eye narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’re gone. A lot.” Grantaire’s voice was still even, and without accusation, but Enjolras still flinched. “It means that I spend a lot of time by myself. And that’s ok, because I knew what I was getting into when we started this, and I knew what I was agreeing to when I agreed to move in with you. But part of the reason why I can be ok with being by myself so much is because I have things that keep me sane, and keep me grounded, and the clock is one of those things. It stops me from losing my mind completely.”
“I get that,” Enjolras said, sitting down on the couch next to him. “But I really think the sound of it might make me lose my mind completely.”
Grantaire frowned. “And I get that. But we agreed when we decided to move in together that we would both have to compromise.”
Enjolras took a deep breath. “This is something that I don’t think I can compromise on,” he told Grantaire. “There’s a reason I never spent the night at your place after that one time.”
“And here I thought it was because my place wasn’t up to your standards. “
Enjolras rolled his eyes. “They’re not my standards, they’re the health department’s standards, and, yes, that’s also true, but the clock didn’t hurt matters.” He made a face. “Or help them, however you want to look at it.”
Grantaire half-smiled. “Fair enough. So here’s my proposal for a compromise: clock stays.” Enjolras opened his mouth to argue but Grantaire didn’t let him. “But it only stays on when you’re gone. When you get home, we turn it off, and I get to waste five minutes everyday correcting the time.”
As far as compromises went, it wasn’t a bad one. Still, Enjolras couldn’t help but ask, “And what if you forget? “
“Then I’m sure the first time it chimes when you get home after work, you’ll take a baseball bat to it and solve the problem for us,” Grantaire said dryly.
Enjolras snorted. “Don’t think I’m not tempted.”
Grantaire ignored him. “So what do you say? Compromise?”
“Compromise,” Enjolras agreed. “The clock can stay. For now.”
Grantaire grinned. “Good. Now let’s actually open this champagne.” He grabbed the champagne and opened it deftly so that none of it spilled, and he poured them both a glass before lifting his in a toast. “To compromise.”
“To the first of many compromises, I’m sure,” Enjolras said.
Grantaire laughed. “To understatements.”
Enjolras leaned in to kiss Grantaire. “To us,” he said softly.
Grantaire’s answering grin was enough to make the whole clock situation worth it. “To us.”
- - - - - - - - - -
“Hey,” Grantaire said from where he leaned against the doorjamb. “Whatcha working on?”
“Ostensibly securing permits for Les Amis’ next rally, which is proving more difficult than usual given that City Hall is all remote at the moment, and they’re not sure when the permit office will reopen.” Enjolras sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “I realize most people would enjoy a temporary work from home situation, but this is more or less my nightmare.”
Grantaire nodded slowly as he stepped into the second bedroom of their apartment that was currently functioning as Enjolras’s office. “Well, speaking of working from home…We need to talk.”
Enjolras frowned up at him. “That’s never an auspicious way to start a conversation.”
Grantaire didn’t smile. “Wait until you hear what the topic of the conversation is.”
“What?” Enjolras asked warily.
Grantaire sighed, perching on the edge of Enjolras’s desk. “We need to talk about the clock.”
“No,” Enjolras said immediately. “Absolutely not. We settled that matter two years ago.”
“Yes, but some things have changed,” Grantaire said evenly. “Namely, there’s a global pandemic that’s forced everyone who can, including and especially you, to work from home for the foreseeable future. And while I love having you home during the day and have only wanted to throttle you a few times over the past couple weeks, this is turning out to be more permanent than either of us were expecting.”
“Only because half of this country is determined to kill everyone,” Enjolras muttered. “But what does that have to do with the clock?”
Grantaire gave him a look. “Our compromise doesn’t really work with you working from home.”
Enjolras sighed. “I know, but it’s only for a little longer—”
“Do you honestly believe that?” Grantaire asked.
Enjolras made a face. “Not really,” he admitted.
Grantaire nodded, looking only a little self-satisfied. “Which is why we need to revisit the compromise,” he said. “So even though I know the clock drives you nuts, I would like you to at least try. Just for a few days. Because I need the noise or I can’t get any work done.” Enjolras shook his head but Grantaire didn’t let him interrupt. “And before you tell me that your work is more important—”
“I wasn’t going to,” Enjolras said, a little sullenly, even though an argument in that vein had been formulating in his head.
“—I just want to remind you that at the moment, my graphic design work is our only active source of income,” Grantaire said. “And with the hit the market has been taking, your trust fund may have seen better days.”
Enjolras just made a disparaging noise in the back of his throat. “Believe me, my trust fund will be fine,” he said dismissively. “If there’s one area of the economy we can trust the government to actually bail out…”
Grantaire barked a laugh. “Well, you’re not wrong.” He hesitated. “But still. Can we please try? Just for a few days.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” Enjolras asked. “If I can’t get used to it?”
Grantaire sighed. “Then we’ll have to figure something else out.”
Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You’re asking an awful lot from me.”
He meant it as a joke, but Grantaire’s expression darkened. “Need I remind you that I gave up my office so that you could work out of it? That even though you’re now home just as much as me, I haven’t asked you to take over any of the laundry or cooking or cleaning that I also do while doing my job that remains our only source of active income? Or—”
Enjolras held his hands up defensively. “I’m sorry, it was a joke,” he said quietly. “And clearly not a good one.” He sighed. “Fine, we can try it.”
Grantaire instantly brightened. “Really?”
“Really,” Enjolras said firmly. “Compromise, remember?” He hesitated before adding, “And speaking of, I am more than happy to take over some of the cooking and cleaning and laundry and whatever else you need me to.”
“And you will,” Grantaire assured him, leaning in to kiss him. “But I have to train you first, so let’s not run before we can walk.”
He patted Enjolras’s cheek, and Enjolras scowled. “You need to train me?” he repeated.
“Enjolras, you managed to break the dishwasher the first and only time you ever loaded it,” Grantaire said patiently. “Yeah, you need some training.”
There wasn’t really any argument that Enjolras could make to counter that, so he settled for huffing a sigh and turning back to his desk. “Just go start the damn clock up before I change my mind.”
Grantaire laughed “I love you,” he said, kissing the top of Enjolras’s head.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Enjolras grumbled, even though he couldn’t quite stop his smile.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Morning,” Grantaire said, tipping his head back so that Enjolras could kiss him as he walked by the kitchen table. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a rock,” Enjolras told him with a yawn. “I didn’t hear you get up.”
Grantaire made a face. “I had a deadline. They wanted my design for New Year’s Eve 2021 even though it’s still a month away—” He broke off when Enjolras stopped in his tracks in the middle of the kitchen. “ What’s wrong?”
“The clock,” Enjolras said blankly, and Grantaire frowned.
“What about the clock?” he asked. “It’s been almost two years, you can’t tell me that the thing’s still driving you nuts.”
Enjolras turned to frown at him. “No, it’s stopped ticking.”
Grantaire listened for a moment before his eyes widened. “Oh, shit, you’re right,” he said. “Maybe it needs to be wound.”
Enjolras shook his head, his brow furrowing. “I just wound it yesterday.”
Grantaire’s face fell. “Maybe it needs to be leveled?” he suggested.
“Maybe,” Enjolras said, somewhat doubtfully, though he quickly added when he saw the look on Grantaire’s face, “I’ll play around with it today, see if I can get it ticking again.”
Grantaire tried to smile. “Well look at you, caring about the clock. I knew it would grow on you.”
“Yeah, like cancer,” Enjolras muttered.
“Hilarious,” Grantaire said, standing up. “I’m going to go take a shower.”
“Ok,” Enjolras said, finally going to pour himself a cup of coffee.
Grantaire lingered for a moment. “In case you were curious, that was an invitation.”
Enjolras took a sip of coffee, a slow smile crossing his face. “Well, no need to twist my arm,” he said, setting his coffee on the counter before following Grantaire to the bathroom.
But while a very satisfied Grantaire took a post-shower nap, Enjolras returned to the clock. Despite his best efforts, despite several DIY YouTube videos and carefully removing the clock’s back to adjust the gears and mechanism, the clock would still only tick for a few minutes and then stop.
When Grantaire emerged for lunch, he gave Enjolras a confused look. “Are you still working on that?” he asked, opening the refrigerator and glancing inside. “I figured you’d be relieved the thing had finally stopped.”
“Honestly, I thought I would be, too, but…” Enjolras shrugged, sitting back in his chair. “Not that it matters, because we’ve hit a wall in what I can do. At least, without me accidentally breaking it.”
“Good thing I’m not into you for how handy you are,” Grantaire teased, kissing the top of Enjolras’s head before sitting down next to him. “But that’s ok. I love this clock, you know that, but it’s old.” He said it bracingly, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Enjolras. “I’ll look up some white noise on YouTube or something. It won’t be the same but it’ll get the job done.”
“Yeah, ok,” Enjolras said vaguely, still absorbed in the article he had pulled up on Google about mechanical clocks.
Grantaire rolled his eyes affectionately and stood. “I’ll let you keep working,” he told him, heading back into the bedroom.
Enjolras waited until he heard the door close before he pulled out his phone and dialed the number he had just Googled. “Hi, my name is Enjolras,” he said. “I’m hoping you can help me with something.”
- - - - - - - - - -
Enjolras felt Grantaire shift against him as he woke up, and he groaned. “Is it morning already?” he asked.
Grantaire laughed softly. “It’s not just morning,” he told him, tilting his head up to kiss him. “It’s Christmas morning.”
Enjolras smiled down at him. “In that case, Merry Christmas, Grantaire.”
“Merry Christmas, Enjolras.”
Grantaire sat up in bed and stretched. “So I know we’re going to Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s for dinner, but I was thinking—”
BONG.
Grantaire’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute, is that—”
He was out of bed like a child that had realized Santa had come, and Enjolras grinned, even as he took his time in following.
“The clock!” Grantaire shouted from the living room.
Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s waist from behind and kissed his cheek. “Merry Christmas,” he repeated, resting his chin on Grantaire’s shoulder as they both looked at the clock, back in its place on the wall but this time with a red gift bow stuck on top.
Grantaire turned around to kiss him properly. “But how—”
“I took it to a clock repairman,” Enjolras told him. “You would not believe how few of those there are these days, but I managed to track one down, this old German man who, thankfully, said it wasn’t broken. Just needed to be cleaned and oiled.”
Grantaire shook his head slowly. “But why?” he asked. “You hate that thing.”
“I used to,” Enjolras said honestly. “But then – I don’t know. I guess I realized that sometimes it’s not about compromise. Sometimes it’s about learning to live with someone exactly as they are, and realizing that they’ve changed your life so much that you can’t live without them.”
Grantaire grinned up at him. “That would be incredibly romantic if you were saying it about me and not the clock.”
Enjolras leaned in to kiss him before saying, his voice low, “Who says it can’t be about both?”
Grantaire returned his kiss, wrapping his arms around Enjolras’s neck. “I love you.” he told him.
“I love you, too,” Enjolras said.
“Are you saying that to me or the clock?”
Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Grantaire,” he sighed.
Grantaire laughed. “Kidding,” he assured him. “Mostly, anyway.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes and Grantaire kissed him once more before heading into the kitchen to make coffee. Enjolras glanced at the clock, unable to stop his smile at the familiar sound that he hadn’t even realized he would miss until it was gone.
Then he followed Grantaire into the kitchen for another piece of familiarity with the man he had never expected to have built a life with, but just like the damned clock, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
#exr#enjolras x grantaire#enjoltaire#enjolras#grantaire#fanfiction#les miserables#modern au#ask#answered#lenathesingingcat#spotify wrapped meme
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Halloween prompt: Politically themed costumes, Les Mis.
Rating: G
1,043 words
Gen
AO3
“I thought we agreed that we weren’t doing Halloween this year?” Enjolras half grumbled, half called up the steps. “In light of the fact that there is a global pandemic and we’ve been responsibly quarantining and social distancing this whole time.” Despite his complaints, he still fixed the ridiculous headband he wore as part of his costume. The halved wiffle ball glued onto it made pretty decent looking fly eyes, but the weight was weird and the whole thing kept slipping as a result.
The thud of footfalls preceded Enjolras’s view of Courfeyrac as he loped down the stairs. “Yes,” Courf sighed, “we agreed not to host a party this year and not to hand out candy but that does not a cancelled holiday make!”
Triumphantly, Courf jumped the last two steps to land in front of Enjolras. This forced Enj to step back and the space gave him a full view of the sparkly corset, booty shorts, and fishnet stockings that Courfeyrac managed to work into a costume every Halloween. This year with a clear plastic raincoat over top. He raised an eyebrow as Courf kept talking.
“Besides, we already decorated and there’s enough people living here that we can have an inhouse house party. And enough alcohol.” Courf nodded sagely before eyeing Enjolras. He smirked and leant against the banister, “For someone who is seemingly against this you put a lot of effort into your costume. I was wondering what the red paint in the grass was from.”
Enjolras felt his ears heat. “I spray painted the wiffle ball. And the pipe cleaners and plastic wrap to make the wings wasn’t that much work.”
Impossibly, Courfeyrac’s eyebrow crept higher into his poof of curls. “Right.”
“But what are you supposed to be anyway?” Enjolras deflected in a huff.
Courf’s grin brightened and a spark of mischief lit in his eyes. He shouldered past Enj towards the living room. Enjolras followed as Courf picked the sheet of paper off the top of the printer and the roll of tape from the table beside it. He’d heard the whir of the printer earlier but hadn’t bothered to question it, he should’ve known it’d have something to do with Courfeyrac.
Paper suitably taped to the front of the raincoat, Courf spun with a flourish. Enjolras leaned forward slightly to read it. He crossed his arms with a frown when he saw the “Purell” logo.
Smile widening, Courfeyrac proudly said, “I’m sexy hand sanitizer!”
“I’d say your costume is in bad taste except you clearly have no taste,” Enj told him drolly.
“Boooooo,” Courf stretched it out into a couple syllables and playfully batted at Enjolras’s shoulder. “It’s funny. And this rain jacket was an investment! Now I can keep my outfits dry and still show them off.”
Having no suitable response to that, Enjolras rolled his eyes. A crash sounded from above them and saved him from having to respond further. They shared a look and rushed back to the steps. Courf beat him there and started up as Combeferre called out “Everything’s fine!”
“Are you sure?” Enjolras wasn’t one to question Ferre’s judgement but that hadn’t sounded good.
“Yes!” This time Ferre’s voice was joined by Grantaire’s. Enjolras exchanged a meaningful look with Courf but they both backed off.
Heading into the kitchen, Enj settled on a stool at the island and pulled his phone out to text Eponine. The Thenardier siblings had gone out to pick up extra snacks earlier despite the House’s other occupants’ protests. She’d silenced them with that steady gaze of hers and said that it was to be considered their contribution and thanks for the past eight months of hospitality and generosity. That prevented further protests and prompted Enjolras to hand her the keys to his Jetta. He was starting to get nervous that they hadn’t returned yet.
His phone beeped with her response but an odd sound coming down the hall distracted Enj from reading the text. He turned to see Grantaire in a ridiculously large cowboy hat sitting in the rolling office chair from his studio. The sound came from the fact R was seated in the chair and scooting down the hall in short bursts. He managed to make it the last stretch into the kitchen with an eager smile. Too eager. It was bordering on smug.
Enjolras blinked as R spun to face him and Courf fully. “Are you zipped tied?” Enj’s voice lilted upwards in shock and incredulity.
“They’re loose.” To prove it, Grantaire slipped his hands out of the loops of plastic that had attached his wrists to the arms of the chair.
R’s smile had crossed over to land firmly in the territory of smug but whatever face Enjolras was currently making had it inching steadily toward manic delight.
Then it hit Enjolras. He closed his eyes and kneading at his temples, making his fly eyes slip further back on his head in the process. “I cannot believe you,” he muttered.
“What?” Courf asked, still confused. For his part, Grantaire just cackled.
“He’s that guy from Idaho who was protesting having to wear a mask and strapped himself to a chair in the state capitol. They had to take the chair with them when they removed him,” Enjolras explained. He opened his eyes in time to see R wink at him.
“I thought it was funny,” Ferre’s voice floated down the hallway. “Though we dropped the chair when trying to adjust our grip.”
Enjolras froze when he saw Combeferre standing in the doorway. Ferre’s surprised expression mirrored his own. Grantaire chuckled lowly as Courf said, “Well one of you are going to have to change. Despite SNL’s sketch, Pence only had one fly on him during the debate. That we could see.”
Combeferre began laughing, hands pressing against his mouth but not quite covering his smile. Enj bit his lip but couldn’t stop his own grin. He and Ferre were indeed both wearing – fairly well done in his opinion – homemade fly costumes.
“Great minds think alike?” Enjolras offered. Ferre nodded and walked over to sling his arm around his friend’s shoulder. Careful of both their wings.
“And you didn’t want to do Halloween this year,” Courfeyrac tsked and shook his head.
#les mis#les miserables#les miz#enjolras#courfeyrac#combeferre#grantaire#fanfic#fanfiction#my fic#own writing#writing#crooked politician au#kinda but not really#radioactivepigeons
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And it's My Whole Heart Deemed and Delivered a Crime-Part 1- Thursday, November 12, 2020
MiniPara: And it's My Whole Heart Deemed and Delivered a Crime-Part 1
Rating: PG.
Pairing: Seblaine.
Hunter: @orderofhunter
Blaine: @andersoncharm
Sebastian: @smythesm
When: Thursday, November 12, 2020- Early morning.
Location: Sebastian’s Apartment- Boston, MA
Notes: Hunter and Tony bring warnings to Blaine and Sebastian. (Mostly between Blaine and Hunter, Sebastian has a small part.)
Warnings: This rp includes; Mentions of death. Parental Death (Blaine’s Mom), Mentions of toxic past relationships. Mentions of brief past Klaine.
Extra Warnings: (This hasn’t been brought up for a bit but, this RP is not Kurt Hummel friendly. You’ve all been warned.)
Blaine’s POV:
Sleep hadn’t come to Blaine Wednesday night, it hadn’t come easy to him since Sam had dropped it on him that Kurt, his spiteful ex boyfriend accidentally knew about his forbidden relationship with Sebastian. He’d been tossing and turning only to make himself get out of bed so that he could recheck the boundaries of Sebastian’s apartment building. He’d reinforce all of his protection and deflection spells every single night. He found himself sitting close by and glancing over at Sebastian as he slept, studying the shape angles of his perfect face, more often than sleeping himself and his body was starting to feel it. He was exhausted yet terrified to make a sleeping draught for himself, what he was to wake up only to find that they’d taken Seb from him? It wouldn’t happen that way, he was sure of it. He had to tell himself that the Council and Order didn’t just harm humans, that they’d only tamper with his memory and only after a fair- hopefully fair, trial for the Witch in question.
Freya and his own father had been basically MIA for the last three weeks and Blaine was trying not to take it as a bad sign, he knew better than that though. When he did see Freya, she came with warnings and Blaine would ignore her, tell her that he’d manage it and they’d all be okay to which she’d disappear all over again and he wouldn’t see her for days. He’d been dismissed from his work with his father and had only seen him twice since Sam had dropped the news on him and each time Will looked murderous and stressed, and if Blaine were honest with himself, a little like he might burst into tears at any second. Ras, even though he was only a companion for humans, could still sense Blaine’s raw energy and he’d stay up with him sometimes, his chin on Blaine’s knee as Seb slept. Blaine would idly stroke the dog's golden fur to comfort himself just as much as Enjolras and whisper how he’d make sure to keep his papa safe for him.
Needless to say Blaine was prepared when he heard the sharp knocking on the door at 4:46 am on Thursday morning. He knew it was Hunter, he knew the man now and had become his friend and had learned his energy so he could feel Hunter’s annoyance, anger and fear before he even stood up from the bed. He made his way over to the other side to press a kiss against Seb’s temple telling him it was just Hunter and that he should just stay in bed. He’d take care of it. Blaine knew better, Sebastian would come padding down the little hall after him shortly regardless of what he’d said and Blaine actually wanted him to, wanted to keep him close but didn’t want to disturb him. Just behind Hunter’s energy Blaine could feel Tony, her energy feeling just as angry and fearful but with a side of determination that always followed the woman that his mother had given his life for. His friend and sister that he’d accepted without second thought.
He gave Ras one last pat and made his way to the front door, his bare feet hitting the cold hardwood as he took deep breaths to prepare himself for the news he was sure to come. The fact that Hunter didn’t just use his key was proof of that. This was formal, this was real. And as he opened the door to their faces he wondered if Hunter would take him now, he wondered if he should have kissed Sebastian harder last night, if he should have held him closer and told him he loved him an extra time… He swallowed hard and stepped aside for the two of them, forcing his voice to steady.
“So... they know, don’t they?”
Hunter’s POV:
Hunter had been called in to an emergency meeting with the High Order. His stomach twisted in knots and his hands would have shook if he didn’t have expert control over his nervous ticks. He knew what this was about and he had been dreading this moment for a long time. Hunter rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and drank a Red Bull in two swigs, pulled on his best suit and made sure his blade was tucked away discreetly at his side. Tony was already awake and ready strapped into her tall black boots and braids pulled back high on her head.They barely spoke as a sober cloud followed them to the headquarters. They were in silent agreement that Hunter would volunteer to go retrieve Blaine if he wasn’t selected and Tony would protect Sebastian.
From the moment he crashed into Seb’s place and met Blaine, he knew this was inevitable. He could cry if he hadn’t been trained so well, because he had worked so hard to protect the two of them. Hunter had risked his legacy and his reputation to delay this process for as long as he could. He and Tony had ignored their better judgement so that they could all pretend to exist in their tiny bubble of friendship and love and laughter. To dance until their legs ache and fall into a pile of limbs on Sebastian’s living room floor, to see his best friend finally smile a smile he had never seen, to see Tony and Blaine finally breathe a sigh of relief.
The meeting went exactly how Hunter had expected. His father had handpicked Hunter for a mission and announced that The Council had requested a witch be brought in in 24 hours.
“This is a sensitive case. The witch involved is the Son of Headmaster and East Coast High Council leader Willem Anders, under the guise of Anderson now, and there is also...a human.” Hunter’s father made a point of looking into his eyes. His friendship with Sebastian obviously wasn’t a secret, his father knew the Smythes. His mind had finally (a little too late) made the connection that his father had figured out he was in the middle of everything. Why would Sebastian Smythe, Harvard law student and son of Thomas and Sabine be involved in something the very opposite of himself? Hunter could only imagine all of the things his father was thinking. “The human is not to be harmed. We’ll have agents watching his residence.” And Tony will be stealth on the roof for extra protection, he thought to himself.
Hunter’s father pulled him aside and made sure to let him know how disappointed he was and to threaten him into making sure this expedition went off without any inconveniences. He had begged for more time but wasn’t allowed. “The Council is agitated,Hunter. Their idol being brought in for a trial? Their leader persecuting his own child? One of our family friends involved? I’ve had to pull a lot of strings. Twenty Four hours. Do not fuck this up.”
Hunter headed over to the apartment by himself and couldn’t help but shew on his fingernails as the radio growled in the background of his busy thoughts. Tony had already taken off, he was sure she’d be there waiting after doing recon of the neighborhood. If the witches were agitated, who knew what meddling could be happening. Obviously the wrong witch had found out about Sebastian. Blaine had been so careful, though. Hunter’s mind was running in circles. His phone had pinged. No hunters or witches. They needed to get in and out.
Hunter stood in the living room and made sure that his breathing was even and his hands were steady. He was about to speak when Seb padded out into the living room. His sleepy features looked confused and then scared.Hunter thought to himself that he had never seen him look like that before.
“They do.” He kept his eyes on Blaine because he couldn’t stand to see what would happen to his best friend’s face.
“I’m going to go off book here. You have 24 hours, after that I have to officially tell you that you’ve been summoned and bring you in for trial, Blaine. I tried to get more time.”
Blaine’s POV:
It didn’t matter that Blaine had already known this was coming, it didn’t matter that he’d spent almost every waking hour since he’d met Sebastian trying to keep him and their relationship safe or that he’d done his best to ignore the warnings that something was coming from him and just focus on what he needed to do. However, hearing Hunter say those words and seeing his face and Tony’s face was like a gut punch and it took all of Blaine’s dwindling energy not to sway on his feet. He blinked once, his eyes finding Sebastian’s for a moment for strength, and he wanted to go to him. Wanted to hold his hand and wipe the scared look off of his face. His boyfriend looked so small and childlike for a moment. Confusion and fear evading his normally collected features and there wasn’t a single thing Blaine could do right now to take it away.
He took another steadying breath as Freya sauntered into the apartment and sat down next to Ras, her energy keeping the nervous pup at bay. She looked at Hunter with momentary disdain, like she was going to do something about him taking her person away. She knew better though. Hunter and Tony were friends. They wouldn't hurt him. Hunter was doing Blaine and Sebastian a service by coming to them first. He could have just waited until 4:30 am tomorrow to come and take him in. He nodded once and looked up at the two of them, pulling his eyes away from Freya and Ras.
“I know you did, Hunter. And I am grateful for the both of you. You’ve already done us a solid by telling us as early as you did. Thank you.” He paused, his brain kicking into overdrive. “I- my dad…?”
He didn’t know what he was asking but Hunter’s subtle nod told him all he needed to know. It suddenly made sense why he hadn’t seen much of his father for a bit. He was being prepared to head a trial. His stomach dropped and if it weren’t for the fact that he knew Sam had been the one to spill it he would have thought maybe it had been his dad. Did his dad hate him now? Of course he’d know that Blaine was with someone he wasn’t supposed to be with, how could he not know? He’d all but said it outloud. Would he try to help him? Would he turn him away and send him the fire for ashes? It all sounded so very dramatic but it was the way of Witches. He took another deep breath and stepped towards the two of them before pulling Tony into a tight hug. She’d been standing strong but her energy was sadness now and Blaine wanted to take it away.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. Yeah?” She nodded at him, but didn’t look convinced as she reluctantly let go. He then reached out and shook Hunter’s hand, another thank you, this one silent and for his last day with Sebastian. He kept his voice low so only Hunter could really hear him. “Sebastian first, okay? Keep him safe first...” The thought of Seb’s memories being stolen from him was too much for Blaine. He let his voice trail off and let his hand drop and moved towards Seb, finally allowing his fingers to link tightly with his soulmates. “I know I shouldn’t be asking the two of you for anything more… but do you think you could not tell me what’s happening with the trial? The less I know the better. A-and maybe if you could give us until the very last minute tomorrow?” He was trying to keep his shit together. Trying to keep calm for everyone else in the room. “I’ll be ready at 4:30 in the morning, not a minute later. I’ll come willingly, but I understand the need for restraint. Especially if we need to save face.” He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening on Seb’s as he struggled to come to terms with the fact that he might only have one day left with Sebastian. Probably forever.
Sebastian’s POV:
Sebastian’s head was buzzing and he felt like he could throw up. Blaine had warned him about this day. Hunter had chastised them about being careful.They had been in limbo for a few weeks and spending as much time as they possibly could together and yet, it felt too sudden. He held onto Blaine’s hand and squeezed. Sebastian shook his head and mouthed no but of course everybody would be worried about the average, powerless human.
His eyes welled up with tears and his knees trembled. Seb hated this feeling, hated feeling useless, hated the thought of Blaine being restrained and pulled out of his apartment into an uncertain fate. How was he supposed to not spend the whole night not dwelling on the fact he might lose the love of his life? That his best friend had to be involved in all of this bullshit?
Seb wrapped an arm around Blaine’s waist and kept him close as Hunter spoke. He gave a weak smile when he touched his shoulder and promised the two of them he’d stay put in the apartment even though it was going to drive him insane.
Hunter’s POV:
Hunter shook Blaine’s hand and nodded, “Of course, Blaine. We have to do the next part for the show of it. I’m risking a lot being here right now but this is the plan. I’m going to come here at approximately 4:30 am. I’ll be in my official garb and I’ll summon you. I have to restrain you. My dad knows that I know you and to protect as many of us involved as possible, we have to go by the book. That doesn’t mean that we don’t have some...tricks up our sleeves. Tony will start watch tonight and I’m going to do some behind the scenes work.”
He took a step towards his friends. Sebastian’s eyes were watery and it made him hate the situation that much more. “Blaine, we’re doing everything we can to help you. Bas…” He reached out and gave his friend’s shoulder squeeze, He couldn’t find the words to comfort him. Not because he didn’t want to, he just knew that there weren’t any. Hunter looked the two of them over one more time before stepping away. Fuck, he hoped he could fix this. All he wanted to do was wrap Blaine in a hug and tease him again.
He cleared his throat and stepped back, he needed to be in business mode. “Sebastian, you’re to stay in this apartment tomorrow. Blaine, make him some droughts to stay calm.” Hunter turned to head towards the door where Tony waited to start her stake out. “4:30 am sharp.” He stepped out into the hallway and exhaled. Tony held on to his hand for a moment before bounding up the stairs. They didn’t need to speak, they both knew what lay ahead and that words were no use at this point.
Blaine’s POV:
Blaine wracked his brain for an idea, anything that would help his friends help him and Sebastian. All he had was his fierce and sure knowledge that Sebastian was his soulmate, his red string, meant for him and written in the stars. It didn't matter that the rules said a human couldn’t be that. Just like it hadn’t mattered that he’d be sent to the pyre if it were found out. Blaine knew that other witches had been burned for breaking this rule. But, those witches had been only playing with the human in question, and those humans had gone on to live lives and had been made to forget what the sinister Witch had done to their minds. But, Blaine and Sebastian were different. They were real, this wasn’t make believe. And as he watched Sebastian’s green eyes well up with tears he wanted to curse the gods once again. How cruel were they to do this to them? Let him meet this man that he wanted nothing more than to spend his forever with just to rip him away… It was in that moment that he knew- given the choice between Sebastian and keeping his magic he’d give up every wonder he’d ever known from his craft just to be able to grow old with him. Of course it didn’t work like that, they could drain him almost all the way down, weaken him, or completely snuff him out. But, they could never just take away his magic. It was his gift and his curse.
He could feel it, the swell of rage and magic combining in his body over the absolute unfairness of it all. For the first time since his mother had died he felt dangerous. Like he could do something awful, something truly worthy of getting him sent to ashes. He felt the tingle of darkness in his fingertips and for a split second Blaine wanted to fight, wanted to tell the world to fuck off, to hex the elders and runaway with Seb. But, that would mean Sebastian would have to give up his career, and he was so close. It would mean losing Hunter and Tony and his dad and Sam. It would mean giving up the kind, loving nature he was known for. It would mean throwing away his healing powers. He never thought he might have it in him to hurt someone, but right now, just this second, he felt a tiny semblance of why some Witches went bad. He closed his eyes and focused on Sebastian’s hand in his and his mom’s clear quartz that pressed heavy and lovingly against his chest and took a deep breath. Slowly he felt the rage start to subside, he felt it go from his heart and down his legs and into the floor, leaving him feeling sad yet determined. He’d do the right thing, but he’d make damn sure he went down making sure that they knew they were wrong. That he and Sebastian were the real thing. He only wished he knew a way to prove it.
He looked to Hunter and Tony and gave them a sincere smile, trying to show them how grateful for them he was. It tugged at his heart as he watched Hunter squeeze Seb’s shoulder in goodbye, knowing that the next time he saw him he’d be taking Blaine away from him. He stood there for a moment, Sebastian’s arm around him, heavy and comforting as he listened to the door close and heard the click of Hunter’s key locking the door. Not that it mattered, Blaine would be putting up even more protection charms before the next morning. Charms that only allowed Freya, Hunter and Seb and him into this home. He stood there, letting the built up feelings wash over him for a moment. He now had less than twenty four hours to spend with Sebastian and Ras and Freya, he needed to keep his head level. He turned then and looked up at Seb, his arms wrapping around him tightly and his face pressing into his chest.
“It’s going to be okay…” His words were a murmur and he repeated them twice before pulling back and giving Seb a tired smile. “I’m gonna make breakfast for us, yeah? A big one with twice the bacon and strawberries. Since we’ve got to stay in anyway, might as well go all out” He tiptoed up and pressed a lingering kiss on Seb’s lips before turning away to head into the kitchen making sure to pull Seb along behind him, not daring to be away from him even that much.
...to be continued in part 2 within the next couple of weeks.
/fin.
#para#mini para#seblaine#smythesm#seblaine witch rp#and it's my whole heart#sebpara#seb#hunter clarington#hunter and seblaine#hunterpara
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Getting Fresh, ExR
Writuary 2020, Day 1: Fresh
Enjolras has seen him in the market before, mostly from a distance. He's heard him, too—he has a laugh that resonates somehow, between the brick wall of the community center and the broken asphalt of the parking lot. It's not like he's watching the guy or anything. He doesn't even make it to the market every week, even though he and his friends helped fight for its creation. When he does get there, it's usually to help babysit Jehan's succulents at his booth, or to support Cosette and her pottery stall.
And every single time, there's this guy with his beanie and his flannel and his scruff and his laugh, greeting every person who passes him like he's known them all his life. They’ve never spoken--he stays on one side of the market, Enjolras stays on the other, and that’s fine with him.
But there's a saying about the best-laid plans, and nobody is as good at wrecking unspoken plans as Courfeyrac is.
He's not even doing it on purpose, as far as Enjolras knows. He's having some argument with Combeferre about whose pasta sauce is superior, and Enjolras had unwisely taken his side. Now he's standing at the edge of the farmers’ market with Courfeyrac, who is looking out over the stalls and stands like Wellington surveying the field at Waterloo.
"Okay. I'll get the basil, oregano, and garlic. Can you get me the tomatoes? Heirlooms—that's the key. I need like...eight of them. Grantaire usually has a bunch at his booth."
"Who's Grantaire?" Enjolras asks, a sinking feeling of doom or destiny falling over him.
He knows who Courfeyrac is going to point at before he even raises his hand.
"Okay," he hears himself say. "Sure. I'll...be right back."
There's no reason to be nervous about this. He's buying tomatoes at a farmers' market, just like hundreds of other people do every week. But he can feel the tension in the back of his neck as he crosses the lot and approaches Grantaire's stall.
It's not just tomatoes that he sells. There are paper packets of local wildflower seeds, bushel baskets full of potatoes and radishes, and bags of hand-roasted sunflower seeds. Enjolras wonders where he lives, if he has a courtyard garden or a whole farm somewhere outside the city.
But there are the tomatoes, piled high on a folding table with a delicately hand-lettered sign behind them.
"Hey. What can I do for you?"
Enjolras looks up and immediately looks down again. He's just discovered that Grantaire's eyes are blue, and it drives every other thought out of his head. "I...need some tomatoes."
"Yeah? Well, you've come to the right place. Take your pick."
Enjolras' hand ghosts over a little basket of bright red tomatoes, searching desperately for something to say. "Are they fresh?" is what he says, like an idiot. It's a farmers' market, everything here is fresh.
"Are they fresh?" Grantaire echoes. "They're so fresh they'll feel you up on a first date."
Enjolras blinks at him, feeling his face go hot.
Grantaire wrinkles his nose, something that really shouldn't be attractive. "Sorry, was that inappropriate? Has my poor sense of humor lost you as a customer?"
"No, I...um, I just need eight tomatoes. Heirlooms."
"Right. Sure." Grantaire opens a paper bag and starts carefully loading tomatoes into it. His hands are deft and gentle and tanned from working in the sun. When he folds over the top of the bag, the sound is startlingly loud.
"Four-fifty," he says.
Their hands brush as Enjolras hands over the money, and there's a sudden flare of pink in Grantaire's cheeks. He drops one of the quarters and has to duck under the table to fish it back out.
"Here you go." Grantaire hands the bag of tomatoes to him. “I’m Grantaire, by the way.”
“I know. I mean--I’m Enjolras.”
“Enjolras. Nice to meet you.”
“You too. Um, can I ask you something?" he asks, emboldened by Grantaire's blush.
"Sure, anything."
Enjolras dares a smile. "Are you fresh?"
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All Through the Night
A/N: Fic for @my-mirror-years-ago, I’m SO sorry this took so long
“For the love of god, please rest!” Combeferre groaned as he followed Enjolras into the kitchen. The leader in red was limping slightly and trying to ignore the pain.
“No! I’m fine, there is no reason I have to rest or that I can’t go tomorrow,” he argued as he poured a cup of coffee with his non-casted hand.
“You got hit by a truck and got hypothermia!” Combeferre practically shouted at him. “And I think you traumatized those poor kids.”
“It wasn’t that bad-”
“You almost bled out on their snowman!”
“Okay, fine! But I’m okay now. I don’t need to rest,” he argued. Combeferre crossed his arms and glared at him until Enjolras folded. He sighed and dropped his head.
“Fine. Whatever. I’ll stay here,” he grumbled, going over to the couch and sitting down with a wince.
“Okay, we’re probably going to be out the rest of the night and obviously all tomorrow so I’m going to appoint a babysitter-”
“I’m sorry, what?” Enjolras asked indignantly, cutting him off. “A babysitter? Who?”
“Well since you’re so immature and would probably do something stupid if I left you home alone, I asked someone to watch you. They’ll be over soon,” Combeferre explained nonchalantly.
“I can’t believe you! I planned this whole thing- I organized all the paperwork and people and posters and signs and where everyone’s staying tonight and you’re just going to cut me out? I-”
“If you organized everything then you should be confident knowing that you did the best you can and have everything planned out. All we need to do is follow your plan and we’ll be okay,” Combeferre countered comfortingly. Enjolras sighed and glared at him. How dare he use the reasonable tone that makes it impossible to argue with?
“Fine, you have a point,” he grumbled under his breath. Combeferre smiled and nodded as he got up.
“I know I do.” Enjolras just grumbled as Combeferre went to another room.
A few hours later, Enjolras was still moping on the couch as Combeferre got ready to leave.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he told Enjolras as he gathered the three boxes of notes and posters Enjolras made the week earlier. “Don’t spend the whole weekend pouting, alright?”
“Haha,” Enjolras replied humorlessly. “Be careful.”
“Of course, E,” Combeferre sighed. “Your ‘babysitter’ will be here in like an hour.” Enjolras huffed and nodded as Combeferre left.
Just as his friend said, Enjolras’ moping was interrupted by a knock on the door about an hour later. He sighed as he got up and opened the door.
“What?” he asked dejectedly and saw Grantaire, smiling with an overnight bag in hand.
“No.” Grantaire just laughed and walked in past Enjolras who was still standing in shock. “No. Not you.”
“Yep, it’s me,” Grantaire replied with a grin, dropping his bag and spreading his arms. “The one and only. Ferre asked if I wanted to watch you and I couldn’t turn it down. Especially since we both know what happened last time you were hurt.”
“It was not that bad,” Enjolras protested as he limped back over to his spot on the couch.
“Enj, you climbed a tree with a dislocated shoulder. Don’t give me that shit.” Enjolras just huffed and rolled his eyes. Grantaire laughed softly and sat next to him, pulling out a deck of Uno cards.
“C’mon, I’m fun. You could’ve gotten Joly who would’ve made you sit in your room all weekend. I did my research and have a lot of fun stuff we can do,” Grantaire promised, nudging Enjolras’ shoulder. The leader in red looked over at him and dropped his shoulders, smiling faintly.
“Fine. Maybe this weekend won’t be horrible,” he teased half heartedly and Grantaire laughed brightly.
“Exactly! Now before I get to distracting you, I’ve got to tease you for this. Just a bit?” he asked with a grin. Enjolras sighed and nodded.
“Go ahead.”
“You’ve got a boot!” Grantaire crowed, pointing to the boot on his ankle. “And a wrist cast and a few gauze pads and I think a whole box of bandaids! You’re tiny, like 90% of you is damaged,” he teased goodnaturedly. “It’s almost impressive.”
Enjolras sighed and smiled faintly. “Okay, you done?” he asked with a small smirk.
“Yes, thank you,” Grantaire replied with a grin. “Okay, here, you start,” he said, handing him seven uno cards. Enjolras smiled a bit and started the game
~~~
After several games and excessive swearing, the two moved on from uno. Grantaire was digging through his bag as Enjolras just stared at him.
“What are you looking for?” he asked finally.
“Well I spent a while putting this together and I know I have this… aha!” he exclaimed triumphantly as he pulled out a small container of conditioner and a box of red kool aid.
“I’m very scared about what those two things have in common,” he sighed.
“Well you’re probably not going to be doing much until your broken… everything heals and Courf sent me this link on how to dye hair with kool aid….”
“No, absolutely not,” Enjolras said instantly.
“C’mon, Apollo,” Grantaire whined. “Please? I mean I can always just do it when you’re asleep or I can hold you down. You can’t exactly fight me. Or run.”
“Watch me,” Enjolras replied determinedly and tried to run off but immediately tripped on the boot and fell flat.
“Very impressive,” Grantaire smirked.
This is how, an hour later, Enjolras was angrily sitting with his back against the kitchen sink while Grantaire cleaned up the kool aid.
“C’mon, Apollo, this’ll look good,” he promised as he walked over to him and turned on the sink.
“You just put the bottom half of my hair in boiling kool aid. How could that go well?” he asked glumly. Grantaire smirked and booped his nose, making Enjolras blink owlishly.
“You are so mopey right now, you know that? I mean this is going to look amazing but you just have to trust me,” he said as he started to run his fingers through Enjolras’ hair, making the other student tense.
“I have to wash the sugar out, okay?” Enjolras sighed softly and nodded, relaxing again as Grantaire poured out a bit of shampoo. He started to wash his hair out and added some conditioner to hopefully help the color. Once he was done, he gave Enjolras a quizzical look.
“Oh no, what?” Enjolras asked.
“Oh nothing. Can I braid it?” he asked as Enjolras used a towel to dry hair. Enjolras gave him The Enjolras Look ™ but before he could argue, Grantaire held his hands up quickly.
“I did bring Oreos to bribe you with,” he told him and Enjolras considered it for a moment.
“Fine.”
~~~
A few minutes later, Grantaire had braided Enjolras’ hair into two twin french braids (“See, french. Are you happy?” “.... never”) and Enjolras had eaten almost a sleeve of Oreos (“Enj, how? You practically ate your weight in oreos.” “Well, as you said, I’m “tiny” and I’ve been avoiding Ferre for the past few days and he’s been in the kitchen so I’ve lived off of a granola bar.” “What the fuck, Enj? Just… what the fuck?) Grantaire had stolen Enjolras’ phone and put a playlist on shuffle. A little while after Grantaire finished his hair, ‘All Through the Night’ came on.
“Get up,” Grantaire said, pulling Enjolras to his feet before he could reply.
“What? Why?” Enjolras asked curiously. Grantaire just smiled and pulled him close, making Enjolras blush brightly. The artist started swaying them and Enjolras put his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders.
“R, I can’t dance and I have a broken ankle,” Enjolras protested.
“I’ve got you,” he promised softly. “Just trust me and lean left and right.” The two stayed like that for a few minutes, swaying to the music as Enjolras slowly got the rhythm and leaned against Grantaire’s chest. Grantaire sighed in content, leaning his head against Enjolras’.
“Hey, you’re still single right?” Grantaire asked softly and Enjolras looked up at him with wide eyes.
“I am,” he replied slowly. “Why do y-”
“Can I kiss you?” Grantaire asked quickly and Enjolras froze, nodding faintly. Grantaire smiled a bit and cupped his cheek before leaning in and kissing him softly. It took a minute but Enjolras leaned into it. Then the song changed and they broke apart. Enjolras and Grantaire just looked at each other until they heard a squeal and groan from the doorway.
“Oh my god I knew it!” Courfeyrac shrieked. “Ferre! You owe me $10!” Combeferre groaned again and nodded.
“Why are you here?” Enjolras asked, blushing brightly.
“I forgot my phone,” Combeferre said with a grin.
“I’m going to strangle you two,” Enjolras growled.
“I’ll help,” Grantaire offered with a grin. “If you permit it?”. Enjolras pressed his hand with a smile. This smile was not ended when Courfeyrac took a picture of the two of them and Enjolras started yelling at him.
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You want to know how Grantaire is at Lamarque's funeral but arrives much before the others at the barricades? Even before than Marius who is Riding A Fuckign Horse? Well buckle up it's headcanon time: once, Joly and Bossuet had promised to Musichetta they would be back home before midnight. It was a quarter to midnight and they were still in the Musain, drunk off their minds, listening to Grantaire ramble about something or other - to this day they're not sure exactly what it was, except for the fact that it must have involved Enjolras at some point for sure - when Joly had extracted his pocket watch from his waistcoat and had paled. Like, whiter than a sheet, had he seen himself he'd have diagnosed himself with severe blood loss or something despite being maybe the healthiest citoyen in the whole city of Paris. He tugged on Bossuet's sleeve and hissed "we have to hurry!" pointing to the clock.
"But Grantaire!" Bossuet had protested, gesturing to their friend who was still rambling and was steadily approaching a state of drunkness. And this time Floreal wasn't around to take him home to sleep. Joly blinked slowly, trying to find a solution. And then it came to him: Grantaire would come home with them! After all, Musichetta had a soft spot for the cynic and wouldn't be opposed to putting him up for the night.
Joly ushered both Bossuet and Grantaire towards the door and the three started walking along the dark labyrinth of streets, corners and alleys Paris became at night. They arrived at Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta's flat at the opposite side of the city in ten minutes without even having to run. Even in his drunken state, Grantaire was impressed to say the least, and the following morning, after properly thanking Musichetta, he asked the three friends to show him the shortcuts they'd used the night before. Over time he then went on discovering even more shortcuts, leading him from one part of the city to another faster than anyone else except maybe for Gavroche who already knew Paris like the back of his hand, though out of necessity rather than to amuse himself.
After participating in Lamarque's funeral, Grantaire goes back to the point where the Amis had agreed they'd build the barricade and waits. He only spares a minute to convince Floreal to sit on his lap and feign having been with him for much longer. When they arrive twenty minutes after him he's sure to intercept Enjolras's confused look and grin maddeningly. After all, he can't very well show him outright that he's not at all disinterested in the Cause, even if only because it's important to his blonde angel. So he drinks, unaffected by the chaos which surrounds him, and only when it's impossible not to go rushing to his friends' help he bids adieu to Floreal and goes on to steal a chair. He makes a scene, conscious of Enjolras's eyes on him even if nobody has quite noticed that detail yet, and then he sprints over to the barricade, winking at a very very baffled - and is that red on his cheeks? - Enjolras in the process. After all, they do say to keep 'em on their toes.
TL; DR: Grantaire discovers by chance a way of moving across Paris far faster than any other Amis and uses it to arrive at the barricades from Lamarque's funeral much before anyone else and show Carefully Feigned Disinterest to a Very Confused Enjolras who's wondering if Grantaire moves at the speed of light or if he's allucinated the cynic's presence at the funeral
#e x r#enjoltaire#les amis de l'abc#jbm#bossuet#joly#musichetta#floreal#les mis#les memes#probably very incorrect but do i care? absolutely not
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For the prompt thing #72, 82 for j/b/m or just j/b whichever you prefer!!
#72 “You need sleep.”
#82 “Just breathe, okay?”
Musichetta isn’t sure what woke her up, but as soon as she notices that Joly is not in bed, she knows she won’t be able to fall back asleep.
She is careful not to wake Bossuet as she crawls out of bed, opening the bedroom door silently. She blinks against the light in the living room as she walks forward, unsurprised to see one of her boyfriends sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at the laptop on the coffee table in front of him. The table has been taken over by Joly the last few weeks, littered with flashcards, old exams, textbooks, and molecular models. Joly is quietly reading aloud something on the screen, his mutters impossible for Musichetta to understand.
“Hey,” Musichetta says softly, and Joly pauses, looking up at her. Her heart aches as she notices the bags under his eyes and the state of his hair. He’s been running his hands through it again, he does that when he’s stressed. “You’ll end up as bald as me if you keep that up,” Bossuet likes to tell him.
“Hey,” he says back, taking a moment to chug some water out of a glass. She notices his hands are shaking slightly.
Musichetta takes a seat next to him and he leans into her immediately. “You need sleep,” she whispers.
Their absence didn’t go unnoticed, and Bossuet tiptoes into the living room, sitting down on the other side of Joly.
“I know,” Joly says, closing his eyes tightly. “I know, but it’s so hard. The MCAT is in three days. I can’t...I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Bossuet gives her a sad smile, wrapping one arm around Joly’s waist and moving closer. Joly takes another deep breath, his whole body shaking as he begins to cry into Musichetta’s shirt.
“Hey,” Bossuet says softly, rubbing his back. “It’s alright. We know you’re stressed, and you have every right to be, but it’s going to be okay. You’re going to do great. Just breathe, okay?”
Joly nods, taking deep breaths, his sobs slowly disappearing.
“Now, what do you always tell Enjolras?” Musichetta asks.
Joly sniffs. “He should try leave-in conditioner to prevent frizz in the winter time?”
“Not that,” Bossuet grins, stifling his laughter.
Joly sighs. “That you’re only as productive as you are well-rested?”
“That’s it!” Musichetta grins. “You have worked so hard for this, and you still have a few more days to study. But for now, the best thing is to get some beauty sleep, alright my love?”
Joly nods, taking their hands and letting them guide him back to bed. He’s afraid his mind will keep him up, repeating the names of the amino acids over and over, but as soon as he’s nestled between them under the covers, his eyes shut and he’s passed out.
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