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kjack89 · 1 year

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Clothes Make the Man

For my 10 year anniversary/4k giveaway, for @ionlyrunfromshame, who requested "modern au, established relationship, soft, fluffy", and well...you'll just have to wait and see.

“You’re here early,” Courfeyrac said in lieu of a greeting, standing back to let Enjolras into his apartment.

Enjolras managed a weak smile. “I brought coffee,” he said, handing one of the coffees he was holding to Courfeyrac. “And I have a somewhat time-sensitive favor to ask.”

Courfeyrac arched an eyebrow and gestured for Enjolras to sit down. “Well color me intrigued,” he said lightly, plopping down in the armchair as Enjolras perched on the couch. “So what can I do for you?”

Enjolras hesitated for only a moment before sighing and saying, almost as if he couldn’t believe the words he was about to say, “You know how you’ve always wanted to treat me like a life-size Ken doll and dress me up to suit your whims?”

“Barbie.”

Enjolras blinked. “Pardon?”

“I’ve always wanted to dress you up like a Barbie doll,” Courfeyrac said sweetly. “You’re too pretty to be Ken.” His smile sharpened into a smirk, and he leered at Enjolras as he added, “And besides, I know what you’re packing down there and it sure as shit ain’t plastic.”

Enjolras scowled. “If I could go back in time and undo one thing from my past, do you know what it would be?”

Courfeyrac considered it for a moment. “Getting frosted tips in the year of our lord 2006?” he suggested blithely.

“No, sleeping with you,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth.

Courfeyrac just smirked. “Liar.”

Enjolras flushed slightly. “Well, maybe if I could go back in time and undo two things,” he mumbled.

“Mmhmm,” Courfeyrac hummed, in a particularly self-satisfied way., and he leaned back against the chair to give Enjolras a measured look. “So you want me to dress you up, make it tight, you’re my dolly?”

“Under very narrow parameters only,” Enjolras said. “Specifically, I need your help buying one outfit.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes narrowed, and he took a sip of coffee. “Just one? What’s the occasion?”

Enjolras’s flush darkened. “I have a date.”

Courfeyrac gaped at him. “With a human male?” he managed.

Enjolras’s scowl returned in full force. “As opposed to who, your mom?”

“That’s a bit juvenile for you, don’t you think?” Courfeyrac asked with a snicker.

“Fuck off,” Enjolras said, without any real heat. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Well when you ask so nicely…”

He trailed off and Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Courf,” he said impatiently. “Answer the question.”

For a moment, it looked like Courfeyrac was actually going to, but then he hesitated. “Only if you answer this first: did you tell Grantaire?”

Enjolras just stared at him, confused. “Why would I tell Grantaire?”

Courfeyrac fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup for a moment before setting it down decisively on the end table and standing. “I’m afraid Courfeyrac’s modiste is closed for business, but I would be happy to refer you elsewhere.”

It took a moment for Enjolras to follow suit, scrambling to stand as he frowned at Courfeyrac, his confusion deepening. “You mean you’re not going to help me?” he asked, a little indignantly.

“Not so much, no,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully.

“Why the fuck not?” Enjolras demanded.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “My reasons are many, and complex, and you should ask Jehan.”

If Enjolras looked confused before, now he looked downright baffled. “For your reasons?”

“No,” Courfeyrac said patiently. “To help you.”

Enjolras’s confusion disappeared, but it was quickly replaced by hesitation. “Don’t you think Jehan’s taste in clothes is a little, uh…”

He trailed off, clearly searching for the nicest way to put whatever he was thinking, but Courfeyrac didn’t wait for him to find it. “Quite the contrary,” he said instead, his grin sharp. “I think he’s just what you need.”

— — — — —

Jehan drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, staring at Enjolras, who had the good sense to look uncomfortable. Not that Jehan was usually intimidating, but he could pull it off when he wanted to.

And at the moment, he very much wanted to.

“So you want my help,” he said, finally breaking the silence, and Enjolras jerked a nod.

“Yes.”

“Picking out an outfit.”

Again Enjolras nodded. “That is correct.”

It was hardly the most bizarre request Jehan had ever received, but the combination of the request and requester that was giving him pause. He was half-wondering if he was on some kind of Les Amis version of Punk’d. “Why do you need a new outfit?”

Enjolras sighed before telling him reluctantly, “I have a date.”

Now Jehan was certain that he was being Punk’d. “You know, I don’t think you’ve ever asked for my help before,” he said with a note of something like warning, which he figured would at least do the job of letting Enjolras know he was on to him.

But Enjolras just made a face. “I’m not exactly known to be the asking for help type.”

That was a true statement if ever there was one. Still, Jehan couldn’t quite resist. “The words ‘toxic masculinity’ are flashing in my mind right now,” he said sweetly.

Enjolras scowled. “Because I’m definitely known for being a paragon of masculinity.”

Jehan’s smile widened. “And now I’m seeing that Garfield meme, only instead of propaganda, it says, ‘You are not immune to toxic masculinity’.”

“Well, something more to discuss with my therapist, I guess,” Enjolras said, with just a touch of impatience. “But in case you missed what I said earlier, this is somewhat time-sensitive, so if you’re willing to help me, I kind of need an answer sooner rather than later.”

Jehan arched an eyebrow. “Never thought you’d find a date more important than dismantling the patriarchy.”

Enjolras just shrugged, looking almost a little embarrassed. “Honestly, neither did I,” he muttered, in a fond but rueful sort of way.

Something about this whole situation wasn’t quite adding up, and while under normal circumstances, Jehan probably would’ve agreed almost immediately to Enjolras’s request for help, he felt like there was a piece of the puzzle he was missing. He narrowed his eyes. “Why exactly do you want my help?” he asked, and Enjolras just raised both eyebrows before looking pointedly down at himself.

“I feel like this really speaks for itself,” he said, deadpan, but Jehan wasn’t deterred.

“No, I mean, why my help specifically.”

Enjolras flushed. “You’re…fashionable,” he said, the pause between his words speaking volumes.

“Uh-huh,” Jehan said skeptically, and Enjolras’s flush deepened.

“You’re more fashionable than I am,” he said defensively, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Jehan gave him an almost pitying look. “So are most fourth graders.” Enjolras scowled but didn’t refute it, and Jehan decided it was time to rescue him. “So who else did you ask before you asked me?”

Enjolras’s flush had darkened to a somewhat mottled shade of fuschia. “No one,” he mumbled, though he didn’t even wait for Jehan to tell him he didn’t believe him before adding, “Just Bahorel. And Joly. And Courfeyrac.”

Jehan really should’ve guessed as much. “And all of them said no?”

“Bahorel said he’s busy,” Enjolras huffed, clearly put out, “but he oh-so magnanimously offered to pay one thousand dollars to whomever does if they take video. Joly is out of town. And Courfeyrac told me to ask you.”

And there it was – the missing piece of the puzzle. Jehan nodded slowly, knowing that if Courfeyrac had suggested Enjolras ask him, there was a good reason for it. “I see,” he said slowly, cocking his head slightly before asking, “And you didn’t ask Grantaire for his help?”

Enjolras’s scowl came back even darker than before. “Why does everybody keep asking me if I asked Grantaire?” he said, not waiting for an answer before telling Jehan, “No, I didn’t ask him to help me pick out an outfit.”

And there was Courfeyrac’s reason. “So Courfeyrac told you to ask me,” Jehan said, trying and likely failing to tamp down his smile. “Well, I think he made a good call, and I will be more than happy to help you.”

Enjolras blinked, clearly confused by this sudden change of tenor in the conversation. “Really?” he said, somewhat skeptically.

“Of course,” Jehan assured him. “Anything for our fearless leader.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Why do I not believe you?”

“Probably because you’re paranoid,” Jehan said cheerfully. He stood, brushing a non-existent crumb off of his shirt. “Now if memory serves, you said this is time sensitive, so we might as well get going.”

For one moment, it looked like Enjolras might argue, but then he made the wise choice to just shrug before also standing. “Alright. Let’s go.”

— — — — —

Roughly thirty minutes later, he looked very much like he regretted that decision. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, clutching the handle in Jehan’s car with both hands.

Jehan glanced over at him, amused. “You sound like you’re being kidnapped, not driven to a store.”

“At this point I’m beginning to feel like I’m being kidnapped,” Enjolras muttered.

“Who would have thought the man who has stared down the police in full riot gear would be scared of shopping,” Jehan said with a grin.

Enjolras glowered at him. “I’m not scared of it,” he snapped. “I just hate it and avoid it whenever possible. And you’re not answering my question about where you’re taking me, which is not helping me feel better.”

Jehan rolled his eyes. “I’m taking you to the thrift store,” he informed him.

Enjolras stared at him. “To the – why?”

“Because I wanted to get the Macklemore song stuck in your head all day,” Jehan said dryly. “Because I thought you would appreciate a more sustainable approach to shopping.”

For a moment, Enjolras did in fact look mollified, but then his expression shifted. “As long as it’s not run by the Salvation Army or Goodwill—”

“Locally owned and operated, don’t worry,” Jehan interrupted, having already seen this argument coming from a mile away. “Haven’t you ever shopped at a thrift store?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time I set foot in a clothing store,” he admitted, “what with sweatshops and non-union labor and God only knows what else.” He gestured again at his own clothing. “I mean, why do you think I basically wear seven variations of the same outfit each week?”

“I will perfectly honest with you, I don’t normally give that much thought to what you wear,” Jehan muttered, though at Enjolras’s somewhat affronted look, he quickly added, “Up until today, at least.” Thankfully, he was saved by the appearance of the thrift store, and he had never been more relieved to announce, “And here we are.”

He parked and together they walked up to the store, Enjolras eyeing it with increasing trepidation. “I feel like I’m walking to my execution.”

Jehan was deeply tempted to roll his eyes but settled for opening the door for Enjolras. “Be intrepid,” he encouraged. “I have faith in you.”

Enjolras gave him a withering look but didn’t say anything, just staring balefully at the racks of clothing stretched in front of them. “Alright,” he said resignedly, “so where do we start?”

“At the very beginning, a very good place to start,” Jehan quipped.

Enjolras scowled at him. “Getting Macklemore stuck in my head wasn’t enough for you? You had to resort to Rodgers and Hammerstein?”

Jehan just winked. “It got you to relax, right?”

For a moment it looked like Enjolras might deny it, but then he shook his head. “I hate that it worked,” he said sourly. “But seriously, where, uh, where should we start?”

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about what you were thinking for tonight?” Jehan suggested, eyeing the clothes thoughtfully. “I mean, are you looking for a suit, or just shirt and tie, or…”

“Um,” Enjolras managed, and Jehan arched an eyebrow at him.

“Eloquent.”

Again Enjolras scowled. “How about a button down and pants of some sort?” he said through clenched teeth.

Jehan nodded approvingly. “See, and you were worried,” he teased, grabbing Enjolras’s arm and all but dragging him in the direction of the racks that seemed to boast the most amount of button-down shirts. “If we had time, I’d get your measurements so that we could do this properly, but we’ll have to resort to trial and error.” He nodded towards the far end of the rack. “Why don’t you start at that end, and see if there’s anything that catches your eye.”

Enjolras obediently shuffled to the end, starting to sort through the hangers. Jehan did the same on his end, though he didn’t pay much attention to what he was sorting through since he would know what he was looking for when he saw it. Instead, he decided now was as good a time as any to press for information. “So you didn’t ask Grantaire for help.”

“Is there a question in there?” Enjolras asked, not looking away from the clothes he was rummaging through.

Jehan just shrugged. “I mean, if you wanted someone who’s at least somewhat fashionable, I would have included him in your desperate pleas.”

“It’s not really something I wanted to admit to him,” Enjolras muttered, the tips of his ears burning red. “Admitting it to Courfeyrac and knowing that he will hold it over my head for the rest of my God-given life was bad enough. Grantaire would never let me live it down.”

Jehan nodded slowly. “I thought there might have been another reason.”

He said it casually, but Enjolras glanced at him, frowning. “Like what?”

“Because then you’d have to talk with Grantaire about your date.”

To his surprise, Enjolras just rolled his eyes. “Please,” he scoffed. “As if Grantaire, of all people, would care enough to talk about it.”

Jehan frowned. “He cares a lot more than you give him credit for.”

“I know that, I just meant—”

“What are you doing with that?” Jehan interrupted, and Enjolras jerked his hand back from the rack, startled.

“You told me to grab anything that caught my eye,” he said defensively.

Jehan had, but he also hadn’t thought Enjolras would actually do so. “Yes, but that’s so…”

He trailed off, trying to find the correct words, and Enjolras frowned down at the shirt in his hand. “I thought I’d look good in blue.”

Despite himself, Jehan grinned. “Who told you that?”

Enjolras flushed. “No one.”

“The same no one you’ll be seeing tonight?” Jehan guessed.

Judging by the way Enjolras’s flush darkened, he had guessed correctly. “He said blue brings out my eyes,” he mumbled.

Jehan hummed noncommittally. “Sounds like a man trying to get laid,” he said with a smirk. “Or like someone who’s watched a few too many episodes of Queer Eye.”

“Or both,” Enjolras muttered. He frowned, looking down at the shirt again. “So no blue?”

Jehan hesitated. “Maybe just not that shade of blue,” he hedged. “Besides, that shirt looks like it’s way too small for you.”

“Really?” Enjolras asked doubtfully, holding it up to himself.

“Yeah, you’re probably looking for more of a large, or an extra large,” Jehan told him.

Enjolras brow furrowed. “But I normally wear a small or medium.”

“Vintage clothes run small,” Jehan assured him.

For one long moment, Enjolras just stared at him, and Jehan held his breath. Then he shrugged and put the shirt back on the rack. “Ok,” he said, and Jehan exhaled. “So what do you suggest?”

Timing was on his side, as Jehan spotted the absolute perfect shirt right as Enjolras asked. He tried, and failed, to stop his grin. “You know, prints are really in right now,” he said casually, edging towards the shirt in question.

“Prints?” Enjolras repeated skeptically. “What, like a check? “

“I was thinking more of a polka-dot,” Jehan said, picking the shirt in question up and holding it out to Enjolras. “What do you think of this?”

Enjolras stared doubtfully at it. “I think it’s, um, yellow.”

“I’d describe it more as goldenrod,” Jehan said brightly.

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “And are the polka dots purple?”

Jehan glanced at the shirt. “I think they’re magenta.”

Despite his clear misgivings, Enjolras took the shirt from Jehan, looking at it without anything remotely approaching enthusiasm. “And you think this will look good on me?”

“I think the only way to truly tell is for you to try it on,” Jehan told him. “But we should find you a pair of pants to accompany them.”

Enjolras looked even less enthused by that prospect. “Can’t I just wear my jeans?”

“You could, but you were the one who said button down and pants,” Jehan reminded him, before really deciding to twist the knife. “And I hate to break it to you, because I know how deeply your love for them runs, but skinny pants are out.”

Enjolras now looked something closer to despondent. “So what are my options, then?”

Jehan tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well, there’s always khaki cargo shorts.”

Enjolras looked horrified by the prospect. “It’s a little cold for shorts, don’t you think?”

But Jehan was not so easily deterred. “How about cargo pants, then?”

Enjolras made a face. “I don’t think I’ve worn cargo pants since junior high.”

“Fashion is cyclical,” Jehan assured him. “Everything once in fashion comes in again.” Enjolras didn’t look even remotely convinced but Jehan resolutely steered him towards the pants. “C’mon, let’s see if we can find something.”

A few minutes later and they were following the same routine as with the shirt, though with a noted lack of enthusiasm from either party. Jehan cleared his throat. “So…tell me about your date.”

For the first time, Enjolras actually looked something like excited. “He wants it to be a surprise, so he won’t tell me where we’re going,” he told him. “Because clearly he doesn’t care that some of us like to be able to adequately prepare for these things.”

Despite his words, Enjolras’s tone was fond, and Jehan almost felt bad for what he was about to do to him.

Emphasis on the word almost.

“So what made you decide that now was the time?” Jehan asked, and when Enjolras threw him a sharp look, he amended, “For dating, I mean. I just know you’ve never been particularly interested in it, so it seems to have come a little out of left field.”

Enjolras’s expression turned contemplative. “I don’t know,” he admitted, but a small, half-smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he thought about it. “I didn’t go looking for it, obviously, but sometimes something just – you know, clicks. And once you realize it…” He shrugged, still smiling. “I mean, yeah, the world is ending and everything’s falling to shit, so no time like the present, right?”

“Sure,” Jehan agreed, trying to curb his own skepticism since the world had been falling apart since Reagan. “And you like him?”

Enjolras’s smile softened and he nodded. “I do. I really, really do.” He gave Jehan a measured look. “And while I normally loathe prying, I do appreciate you asking.”

Jehan jerked a nod. “Right,” he said, his tone turning brisk. “Well. These looks they’re about your size.”

He grabbed a pair of cargo pants from the rack, which looked like they were straight out of 2001. Enjolras eyed them warily, showing somehow even less enthusiasm than he had for the shirt. “Those are green.”

“I’d call them olive.”

Enjolras stared flatly at him. “You want me to wear green pants with a yellow shirt?”

As a poet, Jehan knew how to finesse a phrase, but this was a whole new level of diplomacy and tact, and for not the first time that day, Jehan wished Combeferre had a better sense of style than he did. He would be perfect to handle this. “Generally speaking, it’s good to keep things in the same section of the color spectrum,” Jehan said carefully. “That way you don’t have to worry about opposite ends of the spectrum clashing.”

This time, Enjolras didn’t bother hesitating, just shrugged in a slightly defeated way before grabbing the pants from Jehan. “Well, I trust you.”

“Great,” Jehan said cheerfully. “So go try it on, and then I want to see.”

Enjolras heaved a sigh before slumping in the direction of the fitting room. Jehan watched him go, holding his breath as if waiting for Enjolras to change his mind, to turn back around and tell him that this was a stupid idea, and these clothes were absolutely horrendous.

But he didn’t, and when the door closed after Enjolras, Jehan let out a relieved breath. He allowed himself a small, triumphant grin, and pulled out his phone to text Courfeyrac. Probably too soon to make this call but I’m gonna pull a George W. Bush and say…Mission Accomplished.

Only a moment later and his phone dinged with a text from Courfeyrac. Hero, Courfeyrac said, followed almost immediately by, Do you think you can get a pic?

Jehan’s grin sharpened. I’ll sure as shit try.

— — — — —

That night, Jehan and Courfeyrac sat together at the bar the Musain, enjoying a well-earned drink. “I still think you should’ve tried to get him to buy the plaid pants,” Courfeyrac said, clinking his beer bottle against Jehan’s.

Jehan laughed. “I think even Enjolras knew those were hideous,” he said. “Besides, the puke yellow shirt and green cargo pant combo is enough to scare off any self-respecting gay.”

Courfeyrac nodded before pausing, something contemplative in his expression. “Of course, that means we’re banking awfully hard on someone both being into Enjolras and having self-respect.”

Jehan snorted into his beer. “That is true,” he said with a chuckle, taking a swig of beer before his smile faded slightly. “I do almost feel a little bad.”

Courfeyrac glanced at him. “For the guy?” he asked. “For making him see that outfit with his own two eyes? Because I know it’s an image I’m not going to get out of my head anytime soon.”

The thought of the picture Jehan had managed to surreptitiously snap of Enjolras in his date night outfit was enough to bring his smile back, even as he told Courfeyrac, “For ruining Enjolras’s date with the world’s ugliest outfit. Obviously I know we all want him and Grantaire to end up together, but he seems to actually like this guy. And we should probably try to support him in that.”

“And not try to sabotage things?” Courfeyrac asked wryly.

“Yeah.”

Courfeyrac sighed. “Well now I feel bad,” he said, though he didn’t particularly sound it. “On the other hand, if it means Enjolras ends things with this guy before Grantaire finds out…”

Jehan shook his head. “The ends justify the means?”

“Something like that,” Courfeyrac said.

Jehan shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I asked Grantaire if he wanted to grab a drink with us tonight but he said he had plans,” he said bracingly. “So maybe he’s moving on, too.”

Courfeyrac didn’t look even remotely convinced. “Yeah, maybe.”

Jehan’s phone buzzed on the bar and he glanced down at it, brightening. “Oh, speak of the devil…Hey Grantaire.”

“What the fuck?” he squawked, borderline hysterical in Jehan’s ear, and Jehan’s smile froze.

“Grantaire, what—”

Grantaire made a sound that Jehan pretty sure was a sob, and Jehan’s heart plummeted to his knees. “Jehan, I cannot – this is – oh my God—”

“Grantaire, are you ok?” Jehan asked worriedly, trying desperately to flag down the bartender. “I don’t understand—”

“Enjolras’s outfit,” Grantaire wailed, and for the first time, Jehan realized that what he had interpreted as sobs were in facts gales of hysterical laughter. “I didn’t think it was possible to make a man this gorgeous look this ugly but holy fucking shit—”

Jehan’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “But how did you…” He trailed off as realization hit him like a ton of bricks, as did Enjolras’s perpetual confusion about why he would ask or tell Grantaire anything about his date.

His date, assumedly, with Grantaire.

“Oh my God, I didn’t even think—”

Courfeyrac looked like he was about to yank the phone out his hand and ask him what was going on, but Jehan waved him away as Grantaire hiccuped, “This is the best thing to ever happen to me,” while in the background, he could just hear Enjolras growl, “Prouvaire, the next time I see you, I swear to fucking God—”

“Leave him alone, it’s hilarious,” Grantaire said with a chortle.

“To you!”

“Grantaire, I had no idea,” Jehan told him, a little weakly, feeling his face flush. “I thought Enjolras was going on a date with some rando, so…”

“So you decided to sabotage it,” Grantaire said, and Jehan could hear the grin in his voice. “I appreciate it, I really do, though we’ll have to revisit at some point the fact than none of you thought I might actually have scored a date with him.” Jehan winced, but Grantaire added, a little softer, “Besides, I was a bit nervous, and now I am emphatically not. In fact, for the first time, I’m beginning to believe this might just work.”

“Then it was almost worth the ass-kicking Enjolras is going to try to give me later,” Jehan said solemnly.

Grantaire just laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him,” he assured him.

“Enjoy your night,” Jehan said, hanging up.

Courfeyrac waved his arms. “So what the actual fuck?” he demanded. “What the fuck is going on?”

Jehan couldn’t help himself – he laughed. “So remember what you said about the end justifying the means?” he asked. “Well, funny story about that…”

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #jehan #jean prouvaire #courfeyrac #grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #hijinks and shenanigans #clothes shopping #first dates

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