#Enjolras is about to become Insufferable

[kjack89]

1B+

Man, I don’t even know. Established E/R, modern AU. CW for COVID and vaccine discussions.

“It’s redlining!” 

Enjolras’s raised voice was the first thing anyone heard as soon as they got on the weekly Zoom call, and Combeferre winced, reaching to turn down the volume on his laptop. The chat was already blowing up with everyone asking everyone else – besides Enjolras and Grantaire, for obvious reasons – what was the source of the argument this week.

Combeferre sent various versions of ‘I have no idea’ to everyone as Enjolras and Grantaire glared at each other through their respective computer screens. “I understand that,” Grantaire started, sounding angrier than usual, since he had a tendency to sound like he was enjoying his weekly arguments with Enjolras, “but I don’t think—”

“Look at the zip code map for the city,” Enjolras interrupted, also unusually angry, as Combeferre suspected (but would never, ever vocalize) that he also enjoyed his verbal spars with Grantaire. “It matches up almost exactly with historical redlining!”

“And I’m not denying that,” Grantaire snapped. “But that doesn’t mean—”

Marius had the misfortune of logging on right then, and had the even greater misfortune of not knowing immediately that he stepped right into the middle of a fight as he cheerfully said, “How’s everyone’s day going?” He broke off as he apparently spotted the desperate hand gestures that Courfeyrac was making. “Oh, um, sorry. Did I interrupt?”

“No,” Grantaire said stiffly. “We’re done here.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but didn’t appear to want to argue further, and Combeferre waited for a beat before unmuting himself. “Do either of you want to catch us up to speed?” he asked carefully.

Grantaire shook his head as he stood, disappearing from his camera’s view, and Enjolras scowled. “We’re talking about the vaccine,” he said, a little sourly, hesitating before adding, “Grantaire got vaccinated today.”

Courfeyrac whooped. “R, you got your Fauci ouchie?” he asked, delighted.

“Which did you get?” Joly asked, more curious than elated. “Moderna? Pfizer? Johnson & Johnson?”

Bossuet nudged him. “Does it matter?” he asked, sounding amused.

“No, of course not, and I’ll take whatever they want to stick in me—”

“Yeah you will,” Courfeyrac snickered.

“—but I’m keeping track of anecdotal data about reactions to the various vaccines,” Joly continued, giving Courfeyrac the finger.

“It was the Pfizer vaccine, but I think you’re all missing the broader point,” Enjolras said stiffly.

Grantaire reappeared on screen, a drink in hand. “Pretty sure the only one missing the point is you,” he said. “And Joly, before you ask, thus far the only negative reaction I’ve had is from Enjolras.”

Joly frowned. “That’s not what—”

“Oh, I’m sorry that I’m less than ecstatic that you, a white man who lives in one of the most affluent zip codes in our city, was able to get vaccinated, while vaccine rates in low income and majority minority zips remain among the lowest in the nation,” Enjolras snapped, the impetus of his argument with Grantaire finally becoming clear for everyone else on the Zoom call. “Forgive me for not celebrating that Black and brown folks remain disproportionately at risk while you get to go back to wasting your life drinking in bars until all hours of the night.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes so hard that Combeferre was half-afraid he’d pulled a muscle. “Right, because I forgot, in addition to apparently being an alcoholic, I’m also so incredibly selfish that I would put low income workers at risk just so that I can sit by myself indoors at a bar during a pandemic.”

“Hey, not by yourself,” Bahorel interjected with the sort of threatening cheerfulness he used when he was aggressively trying to change the topic. “Don’t forget, Feuilly got poked a few weeks ago, so he could join you.”

Feuilly looked very much like he wanted to be left out of the conversation entirely. “Ah, yes, the perks of being essential to keeping capitalism running,” he muttered.

But Bahorel’s attempt at humor had seemingly only made Enjolras angrier. “Yes, Feuilly got his vaccine because he’s essential,” he said icily. “Not to mention because he’s been risking his life for over a year now while the rest of us got to stay home.”

“Not to pull a Taylor Swift but I would really like to be excluded from this narrative,” Feuilly said.

Enjolras and Grantaire both ignored him. “I’m sorry that I can’t be as ideal as Feuilly,” Grantaire all but spat, “but me taking the vaccine because I’m eligible and was able to has exactly zero impact on the failures of equitable rollout.”

“Right, one less vaccine going to someone who actually needs it has no impact on anything,” Enjolras shot back. “Of course, I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s not like you’ve ever been willing to sacrifice anything for someone else.”

There was a sudden intake of breath from the collective group at that, and even Enjolras looked a little shamefaced. Grantaire’s expression was stony. “You really want to talk about sacrifice?” he asked quietly. “After everything this past year?”

Enjolras winced. “I didn’t mean—”

“Because while you were working at home this past year, some of us lost our jobs.” Grantaire’s voice was sharp. “And some of us have since stepped up to more or less become the primary caretaker for someone who’s too fucking stubborn to get the damn vaccine for himself, even though he’s also eligible!” Enjolras looked like he wanted to refute at least part of that, but Grantaire didn’t give him a chance. “But you know what? I’m done with that now. You can get your own damn groceries, even though you don’t have a car and refuse to use instacart. Or you can have takeout delivered without using third party delivery apps. Hell, you can figure out how to get anything delivered to you without using Amazon! I’m sure you and your moral superiority and your goddamned heart defect will have a gay ol’ time waiting for some arbitrary measure of equity.”

With that, he left the Zoom, leaving absolute silence in his wake. Enjolras looked too stunned to talk, so Combeferre took over. “Alright, everyone,” he said, “let’s take a quick break. I’ll send a text when we’re ready to get back online.” Everyone else quickly left, most likely relieved to not have to sit there in the awkward silence. Combeferre cleared his throat. “Enjolras?” he asked.

Enjolras blinked. “What?”

“Are you ok?”

“Fine.”

Combeferre frowned. “I mean, with what Grantaire said…”

Enjolras suddenly seemed very engaged with scrolling through his phone and not making eye contact with Combeferre. “You know Grantaire as well as I do,” he said dismissively. “He’s a drama queen.”

“Sure, and known to exaggerate. But not generally to outright lie.” Enjolras made a face but didn’t argue and Combeferre sighed. “Look, you’re not obligated to share any personal medical information—”

“Tell that to Grantaire,” Enjolras muttered.

“—but if there is something you want to tell us about…”

He trailed off and Enjolras sighed. “It’s really nothing,” he said grudgingly. “I have a small, congenital heart defect. “

Combeferre’s eyes narrowed. “How small?”

“Just, a tiny little hole. In the wall of my heart.”

“Atrial septal defect?” Combeferre asked sharply.

Enjolras snorted a laugh. “You’re a freak, you know that, right?” he asked good-naturedly. “Yes, an atrial septal defect. So I’m at slightly higher risk for COVID complications than the average adult.” He made a face. “And because Grantaire knows about it, he’s been absolutely insufferable.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “Dare I ask how it is that Grantaire knows about this when you and I have been friends for years and this is the first I’m hearing of it?”

Enjolras squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, I sort of told him about it. But in my defense, I wasn’t exactly anticipating a pandemic at the time.”

“What were you anticipating?

Enjolras looked even more uncomfortable. “Um, more sex?”

Combeferre blinked. “I’m honestly afraid to ask.”

Enjolras rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not even a good story,” he mumbled. “It was back when we first got together…”

----------

Enjolras and Grantaire lay in silence next to each other, both of their chests still heaving. Grantaire was the first to break the silence, glancing over at him. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh,” Grantaire said skeptically, propping himself up on his elbow. “I can always tell when you’re thinking. You get that wrinkle between your eyebrows.”

Enjolras scowled, reaching up to rub his forehead. “Playing to my vanity?” he asked.

Grantaire grinned, brushing Enjolras’s hand aside and leaning in to kiss Enjolras’s forehead. “I’ll take whatever advantage I can get,” he said. “So what are you thinking about? Other than the best orgasm of your life, courtesy of me?”

“In fairness, the bar for that was pretty low,” Enjolras said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth before it faded. “Just...shouldn’t we talk about this? About what we’re doing here?”

Making a face, Grantaire flopped over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. “Normally I require at least a half hour after sex before we do the ‘what are we’ conversation,” he said, his voice muffled before he turned his head to look over at Enjolras. “It’s like how you’re not supposed to swim for a half hour after you eat.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s an old wives tale.”

Grantaire shifted in what might have been an attempt at a shrug. “Maybe, but I’m not willing to take that risk.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and sat up. “Fine, then what do you want to talk about?”

“Who says we need to talk about anything?”

“Isn’t that normally what you do after having sex with someone?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire smirked. “I mean, I’m hardly an expert but normally around this time I’m fishing around for my boxers so I can do the walk of shame home.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Keep it up and you will be.”

Grantaire laughed. “Look, this isn’t exactly normal for either of us. I mean, at least I don’t have to worry about forgetting your name, so that’s a step up.”

“You are, as always, classy.”

Enjolras made as if to stand up but Grantaire reached out and caught his hand, keeping him in place. “Well, I mean, c’mon, we’ve known each other for years. This isn’t like a regular hookup. I don’t have to pretend to care about learning what you do for a living or what familial issues you brought with you into adulthood, mainly because I already know.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “You think you know everything about me?”

“I know I know everything about you,” Grantaire said, a little smugly. “I mean, besides your social security number and family medical history, but we can save those for the second date.”

“I don’t know, I think my congenital heart defect makes for fascinating post-coital conversation,” Enjolras said with a grin. But Grantaire just stared at him, eyes wide, and his smile disappeared. “I was kidding.”

“So you don’t have a heart defect?”

Grantaire’s voice was even but Enjolras winced. “Well, I didn’t say that.”

“What’s wrong with your heart?” Grantaire asked quietly.

“A great many things, as I’m sure any of my few exes could attest,” Enjolras joked, but when Grantaire’s expression didn’t change, he sighed and elaborated, “I was born with a small hole in the wall of my heart. It’s called an atrial septal defect. Quite possibly caused by the cocaine habit my mother likes to pretend she didn’t have in the 80s.”

Grantaire didn’t laugh. “Is it serious?”

“No. Not really.” Enjolras shrugged. “I’m at higher risk for some heart and lung complications, but mostly it’s just something for my cardiologist to keep an eye on.”

For one long moment, Grantaire was silent, as if he was struggling with something to say. Then he managed a small smile of his own. “Well, at least it’s proof that you have a heart,” he said lightly.

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “An Iron Man reference? Really?”

“Of course, I forgot that you hate the MCU.”

Enjolras made a face. “That’s a bit of a stretch. But Tony Stark is a war criminal so I’m not exactly thrilled with the comparison.”

Grantaire laughed. “Fair enough,” he said.

“Besides,” Enjolras said, his smirk returning as he moved closer to Grantaire, “wasn’t this enough proof that I have a heart?”

“Mm,” Grantaire said, his eyes half-closed as Enjolras traced his fingers down his back, “I’d say it’s more proof that you like sex. Which was also in doubt, for what it’s worth.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Then what about this?” he asked, closing the space between them and kissing Grantaire, a slow, heady kiss that had Grantaire tugging him down onto the bed with him.

When they broke apart, it wasn’t to go far, their noses brushing against each other as they lay tangled up in each other. “That’s closer at least,” Grantaire murmured, his expression soft. “But I’ll keep the heart defect in mind, just in case you give me reason to doubt that you have a heart in the future.”

“I don’t plan to,” Enjolras told him.

Grantaire half-smiled. “I’m not sure this is the kind of thing that ever really is planned.”

“I know. But I want you to know that I’m…” Enjolras trailed off, looking for the right words. “I’m not going into this with the expectation that it’s a one and done kind of thing.”

Grantaire looked taken aback for a moment before his expression evened out. “Why, Monsieur, what sweet words for one such as me,” he said with a fake accent, fluttering his eyelashes at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes.

“Be serious,” he scoffed, adding warningly, “And don’t even say it.”

“Say what?” Grantaire asked innocently, not able to stop his grin.

“You know what.”

Grantaire’s grin widened. “Even if it’s true?”

Enjolras just gave him a look. “You’re less wild than you think.”

Grantaire laughed and stretched. “Yeah, well, I blame my 30s for that.” He waggled his eyebrows at Enjolras. “Besides, if we want to talk about wild, I want to hear more about your mother’s suspected cocaine habit.”

Enjolras shook his head, his eyes darkening as he looked at Grantaire. “How about we do something that doesn’t require any talking?”

“Oh, do you have a ball gag hidden somewhere that I don’t know about?”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras sighed exasperatedly.

Grantaire grinned, running his hands down Enjolras’s sides. “I’m just saying, you’re a pretty mouthy lay.”

Enjolras pressed a hand against his chest “As opposed to you, who is known for his ability to be silent.”

“Exactly.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

Grantaire leaned in to kiss him but paused, his lips barely brushing Enjolras’s. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “Is your heart healthy enough for sex?”

“It’s healthier than you’ll be if you don’t kiss me,” Enjolras said warningly.

“God, you’re bossy,” Grantaire sighed, but he was grinning again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate before kissing Enjolras once more.

----------

“And then about three weeks later, the world went to hell and all of a sudden, what I had told Grantaire mostly as a joke was somewhat more relevant,” Enjolras finished.

Combeferre nodded slowly. “Because COVID could cause problems?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Possibly.”

“But enough to put you in the 1B+ priority group.”

Combeferre didn’t pitch it as a question and Enjolras scowled. “Theoretically, yes, but these phases are bullshit, and besides, I’m not getting vaccinated until—”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre interrupted, exasperated and wishing for not the first time that he could reach through the computer screen to knock some sense into his best friend. “Get the damn shot.”

Enjolras looked taken aback. “What?”

“The rollout is never going to be perfect, but this is the dumbest hill that I’ve ever seen you choose to die on.” Combeferre gave him a look. “And that’s saying something because I remember the time you took a stand in favor of school uniforms in junior high.”

“They can be an equalizer for students who can’t afford expensive clothes,” Enjolras muttered. 

“Enjolras.”

“I’m just saying,” Enjolras said stubbornly. “Besides, I don’t think this is a dumb hill to die on, considering the affluent folks who are exploiting every trick in the book to cut in line!”

Combeferre shook his head. “But you’re not cutting in line. You’re eligible.”

“Sure, but I also have excellent health insurance, and can take time off work if I get sick, so even if I were to catch it—”

Combeferre gave him a look. “And if you don’t eat your vegetables, there are poor, starving children in Africa…”

Enjolras matched his look with one of his own. “I’m more concerned about the poor starving children in our own neighborhood,” he snapped.

But Combeferre was undeterred. “And you refusing to get vaccinated helps them how, exactly?” Enjolras said nothing, just crossing his arms in front of his chest, and Combeferre managed a small, grim smile. “That’s what I thought.”

“It’s a matter of principle,” Enjolras said, just a little petulantly.

“So is getting vaccinated so that you can keep doing the important work that you do.” Combeferre sighed. “Look, I can’t make you get vaccinated any more than Grantaire can. But you being mad at Grantaire just because you feel guilty—”

“That’s not—” Combeferre raised both eyebrows and Enjolras winced. “I guess that is sort of what happened.”

Combeferre tactfully chose not to pile on to that. “Getting the vaccine keeps people safe,” he said instead. “And while Grantaire may claim not to care about anything, we both know he would do anything to keep you safe.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that he got the vaccine to keep you safe. And because he was eligible to.” Combeferre paused before adding, “And you owe him an apology.”

“And to schedule a vaccine appointment for myself?” Enjolras asked.

Combeferre shrugged. “Again, that’s your decision. But yes.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly, but he no longer looked angry. Instead, something contemplative stole across his expression. “Did you ever imagine, a year ago, that we’d be talking about this?”

“About you and Grantaire getting into some asinine fight and me talking you down from being a stubborn asshole?”

“Ok, well, when you put it like that…” Combeferre laughed and Enjolras managed a smile as well. “Thank you.”

Combeferre gave him a look. “The best way to thank me is to never make me play referee again.”

“Yes, but that’s just unrealistic, so…”

Combeferre laughed again and shook his head. “Talk to Grantaire,” he ordered. “In the meantime, I’ll get the meeting started again. You two can join us after you’ve talked.”

Enjolras sighed. “Yes sir,” he muttered sourly. “But there’s just one thing I need to do first.”

“Use an exploitative third party delivery app to send a bottle of whiskey to Grantaire as an apology?” Combeferre guessed.

Enjolras made a face. “Ok, two things.”

Combeferre grinned. “You’re making your vaccine appointment, aren’t you.”

Enjolras shrugged. “What can I say, you made some good points.”

“So did Grantaire,” Combeferre said pointedly. “And I suspect he’d much rather hear you say that than I.”

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “Go,” he ordered. “We’ll be back on the zoom shortly.”

Combeferre hesitated. “Just one more thing.”

“Now what?” Enjolras asked, exasperated.

“Make sure to tell Grantaire that you understand.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “Understand what?”

“That he got the vaccine because he loves you.” He leveled a look at Enjolras. “Enough for him to forgive you for accusing him of cutting the line just so he can drink at a bar.”

Enjolras winced. “Not my finest moment,” he admitted.

“Not so much,” Combeferre agreed.

“Think he’ll forgive me?”

Combeferre didn’t even have to pretend to think about it. “I know he will.” 

[courfeywrecked]

“You’re the Anarchist.”

It’s a statement, not a question. Enjolras is standing in his living room, hand hovering at the light switch that he’d just thrown as Grantaire tumbled in through the window. There’s no room for denial, hoodie zipped up but only partially hiding the suit underneath. That, and he’d just climbed into a 5th floor window. So all Grantaire does is nod, mutely, pulling the hood back from his face.

“Why haven’t you told us?” Enjolras asks, brow furrowing slightly in an odd expression. It’s hurt, Grantaire realizes distantly.

“It’s called a secret identity.” Grantaire replies. “Can’t exactly be a secret if all my friends know, can it?”

“But we could help you-“ Enjolras starts, but it’s an argument Grantaire can’t take right now, not when he’s bone-tired and nursing an arm injury that he can feel bruising as he stands.

“How? By fighting who I fight? By getting yourselves killed?” He snaps back. Enjolras’s mouth shuts abruptly. “None of you can take the punches I can. You’re busy saving the world already, Enjolras. With words.” He smiles bitterly. “Let me do my part the way I can- with my fists.”

Enjolras rakes a hand through his curls.

“All this time, you’ve fought me on everything, you can be such an insufferable cynic... you’re the most idealistic of all of us.”

Grantaire snorts.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“What would you say then? You’re out there fighting for justice, what we want-“

That’s all the argument that Grantaire has in him, and he half-stumbles forward from where he’d frozen by the window. His shoulder brushes Enjolras, who trails off as Grantaire drags himself forward to drop onto the couch and lets his eyes fall closed.

Half a minute later, he feels a body settle next to him on the couch. A hand touches his arm, and he winces slightly as he opens his eyes.

Enjolras has a different expression on his face now. Softer- pleading.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise- but let me help. Somehow, I want to help.”

It's so painfully earnest. Grantaire doesn’t know he’ll say the words until he’s saying them, didn’t know the feeling until he was vocalizing it.

“Just let me talk to you about it- that will help more than anything. I- it’s lonely. Nobody knowing. Not being able to talk about it.”

Enjolras nods. Grantaire closes his eyes again. “And honestly, a big help would be if you’d leave. No offense, but I’d very much like to pass out now.”

He doesn’t open his eyes again, but feels Enjolras’s nod, the weight lift from the couch. He’s nearly asleep in seconds, the comforting oblivion pulling at his senses, but he thinks he feels a blanket settle on his shoulders.

***

After that, Enjolras is around more. Evidence of his presence is all around Grantaire’s apartment, a fact which he tries valiantly not to read too much into. Enjolras’s magazines litter the coffee table, he buys a coffee creamer and stashes it in Grantaire’s fridge. Grantaire notices his medicine cabinet is refilled more quickly, more bandages and iodine and Tylenol crowding the shelves.

“Oh my god.” Enjolras says one day, from what’s become his spot on the couch. Grantaire hums a question from the table, a bite of toast in his mouth. “The Anarchist. The An-R-chist. It’s a pun.”

Grantaire swallows and grins.

“I wondered how long it would take for that to hit you.”

“I always thought it was a bit of a stupid name.” Enjolras admits, looking back down at his newspaper. “But I like it much better now.”

“It’s a little joke I made with myself.” Grantaire says, gesturing with his toast. “It’s obvious enough that I can laugh about it, but not noticeable to anyone who doesn’t know my nickname. To them it’s just a kind of stupid, pretentious superhero name.”

Enjolras smiles at the newspaper in his hands.

keep reading on ao3

[cherryjuicegf]

Wraith

A/N: So i guess im gonna post this here cause im insecure and i need attention. Anyway, have some angst in first place with 6 more chapters coming if you like this one. I'm bad at descriptions, guess the theme from the title. Hope you enjoy (?), I would really appreciate an opinion to go on!

Chapter 1st

Aftershocks

Silence. Strange as it is, silence can be so quiet, so calm and peaceful, yet so insufferably loud and overwhelming at the same time. Silence can either fondle tenderly one's skin to sleep or violently grab their head and mercilessly smash it on the wall, until egoism gives its place to begging, and the love of death is stronger than the love of life. Silence may fill the busy mind with gentleness, offering rest, a soft pillow for one to bury their head and close their eyes, silence feeling like an old friend. Adversely, silence can be like an enemy to an empty mind, full of sorrow and darkness, a sea of despair that deepens and deepens along with silence, bonging the ears with doom and denial, slowly creating a new world of illusions, the world of the crazy, the world where everything remains the same, a speculation of what could have been, a private reality where the dead and the living cannot be told apart neither by the mad nor by the sober who watches the collapsing from the distance. Either way, silence is always there, either for comfort or pain, either to empty or to fill instantly one's world with dear people or twirling shadows of the ones who were, the ones who are and the ones that will never be.

No one wants to be alone, not even with himself. And that is where inhuman illusions take the place of the empty air, phantoms, ghosts of the past, a desperate attempt for company and compassion from the ones that are gone and remain alive in memory and only. Those are the immortals, the ones that leave their mark like a scar on the hearts of the ones they leave behind, on the words of an inked sheet of paper, on the floor of a bedroom, on the pavement of the street, on the walls of a café. Those are the ones that come back. Not in the mind. Nothing remains in the mind. They're all real, as real as a shadow can be. They come back to caress, to help, to torture or to help by torturing or to torture by helping. It always depends on the amount of pain and guilt and denial the one left behind carries on their shoulders. The visited are the ones who live on in acceptance. The haunted are the ones who go on in sorrow and denial, without even knowing if they are alive anymore. No one remains alone, either they see them or not. We think we can control them, we say. Everything is in the mind. They can go away whenever we tell them. Oh, no. No. They control us. And as soon as a life gets haunted, the light of the sun becomes a hard thing to acquire, a blessing and sometimes something never seen although shining in the eyes. As soon as a life gets haunted, it is not a life anymore.

"Jehan?"

The young man slightly flounced at the sound of his name and turned his head to glance behind him, closing the old book he was holding, using his thumb as a bookmark. He looked at his friend who had now approached him near the couch and smiled, slightly tilting his head.

"Hey..."

He faked a smile and nodded passively, sitting beside him with a snort. Jehan shook his head compassionately.

"Grantaire..."

A deep sigh escaped Grantaire's lips and he squeezed Jehan's hand in his, grinning timidly.

"Are you okay?"

Jehan raised his eyebrows and chuckled softly.

"Physically?", he tried to hide his sarcasm in a nod, "Yes, I've been okay for a week now."

Rarely did he express himself with sarcasm, he wasn't used to it anyway. It had been a while that he discerned it appearing swiftly in his everyday speech. Maybe that way he could add a little life in the air that made them suffocate with open windows. He had changed. They both had.

Grantaire shook his head snorting.

"Right...", he muttered abstractly as if trying to bring himself back to reality. "Your wound is healed so..."

Jehan sighed. His wound was healed, yes. He didn't suffer the pain of the bullet anymore. The pain of the loss was stronger anyway. You can't stop the bleeding of the heart.

"I'm alright, Grantaire...", he said as if forcibly and looked him in the eyes. "I can't say the same about you though."

Grantaire didn't answer. He just stared at him absently for some seconds that felt like a century to him. He had lost track of time. He couldn't say what day it was. Every minute seemed like a day, every day like a year. He couldn't see the sun though it being reflected in his eyes. The stars were no more than candles lighting the sky. He remembered the sunset after night had fallen. And when he looked out the window to see it, a vain attempt to lighten his face, it was not there. It was lost. It was always lost.

He bowed his head, awkwardly folding the fabric of the blanket. He couldn't face him, he knew it was too much for him. Jehan swallowed worryingly.

"How many today?"

Grantaire felt his hands sweating. His heartbeat fastened for a moment. Why lie? It wouldn't serve anything anyway.

"Three...", he mumbled and bit his lip. "For now."

"Grantaire, look at me."

Jehan's voice, though gentle, sounded more demanding than usual. He raised his head and stared at him anxiously.

"You must stop doing this to yourself, Grantaire", he said emphasizing each word and shook his head. "You have been drinking too much, I...", he snorted with a sad chuckle, "That insane, Grantaire."

Grantaire smiled bitterly and raised his eyebrow.

"If it has to do with sanity, then mine is lost anyway."

Jehan didn't answer. He just fixed his eyes upon him dejectedly, feeling another part of his heart breaking in pieces. He watched him every day, drinking more and more, trying vainly to put an end to his pain, as if wine would drown his sorrows away. Oh, he was losing him. He was losing him too.

"I can't watch you suffer everyday because of this..."

"Because of what?", Grantaire interrupted him ironically and nodded. "Because everything has gone to hell? Because all of our friends are dead? Because all your dreams vanished? Because I lost the only person that has ever shed a bit of light in my life? Because of all these?", he almost laughed trying to dry the tears that had flooded his eyes ready to fall and his voice became low and sharp. "Well in my view, Jehan, it's my duty to suffer because of these."

Jehan felt shudders passing through him. He was right. He was always right. Oh, God who was he trying to deceive? Everything was lost. He still couldn't believe it, he didn't want to believe it. His whole life was built on hope, his dreams pictured a future so joyfull and bright and filled with ambitions. And now suddenly everything had turned to ashes, while he worshiped the fire burning them as the flame of hope.

And yet, he didn't want to admit it. Not in front of Grantaire. Because he knew he suffered much more than him, because he knew how much he loved Enjolras and what his death had cost him. And he shouldn't represent another bottle of wine that pulled him down to his knees. He tried to light him up, he knew it was vain but he tried. Because he owed it to him.

Grantaire stood up abruptly and made to turn his back but his friend's voice behind him stopped him.

"Wait, Grantaire...", Jehan snorted and took his hand looking at him in the eyes. "I miss them too, alright? And it hurts way more than a wound once did. But...", he tried to fake an encouraging smile, "We're still alive. And there's still hope."

He knew he wouldn't achieve anything with his words. He could almost predict the answer. Grantaire pulled his hand with a cold look and shook his head.

"I hate hope", he stated and fixed his look on Jehan, his eyes sparkling as though with rage. "This crazy hope took everyone I loved away. And I'd rather be dead and with them than alive and damning my fate."

Jehan didn't answer. His eyes clouded over. Grantaire felt hot tears wetting his cheeks. Jehan understood. He knew he did. But his sorrow was so blinding that he had no time to show compassion for anyone. He wasn't like him anyway. He never had hope by his side.

"You have to try, Grantaire, I know it's hard...", Jehan didn't manage to finish as Grantaire's look made him freeze.

"I have tried", he snapped. "I have tried too hard. But it's vain once more...", he made a pause as he stared at his friend and then chuckled sarcastically. "Why do you care anyway?"

Jehan's eyes suddenly flashed and he flounced up abruptly leaning on the couch, stubbornly ignoring the pain whipping his leg. His words suddenly became loud and sharp.

"Because you are my friend, Grantaire", his voice almost cracked. "And because you saved my life... I have to care about you, why can't you understand?"

"You have to stop!", Grantaire growled and wiped a tear that prevented his vision without taking his eyes off Jehan. "And believe me, you would have been happier if I had let you die."

Maybe he would regret those words later. But now his heart was too sharpened to think. Of course he would be happier. He had barely gained anything by surviving. A wound that would never heal, a fake hope and a friend that was already dead.

He turned and headed to his room anxiously, his steps heavy and unstable.

"Then why?"

He stopped. He didn't want to turn. He didn't want to face him. He bit his lips trying to prevent more tears from flowing down his face and put his hand on the door as if he searched for somewhere to lean his body. He bowed his head.

"Because I had to save someone."

He disappeared in the dark. But Jehan didn't move. He stood still staring at the door, his fists clenched in an attempt to hold back the sobs choking him harrowingly. He closed his eyes. Oh, God. He was afraid. He was so afraid he could hide himself in his friend's hug and stay there forever only to prevent him from going away. But he couldn't. Because his friend was lost long ago. He was lost there in the barricade, among the others that fell. And now he was nothing more than a ghost trapped among the living.

Grantaire came out the room putting on his coat and without aversing his eyes from his feet, he made to leave, heading to the door. Jehan swallowed, his eyes following his movements.

"Where are you going?"

He felt his heart fluttering, his breath became shaking. Grantaire looked at him as though ashamed and clenched his fist.

"I...", he howed and raised his head with a look full of guilt. "I don't know..."

Jehan didn't answer immediately. Oh, he knew. And if he actually didn't, the road would always lead him there, as if the place was attached to him, refusing to let go, as if his soul had become one with this place. Home. He was going home

He snorted, feeling tears wetting his eyes.

"It's raining...", he mumbled hesitantly and touched awkwardly his long hair falling on his shoulders. Grantaire nodded indifferently and shrugged.

"It's okay..."

They remained staring at each other for some minutes, feeling the despair mercilessly devouring them as angst was ripping their heart out of their chest. Grantaire felt the rain pulling him even more to get out. And yet, as if a hand was gripping him, he didn't move. Maybe it was Jehan's look fixed on him that stirred in him so much guilt for abandoning his friend after he was the one who took care of him after the barricades. Maybe it was his love for this man, the memories that hit him like waves and made him want to turn back in time, then when everyone was happy and hopefull. Maybe it was that. Or maybe it was the fact he almost knew that after he stepped out of that door, he might not see his dear friend ever again.

But was that not what he wanted anyway? He turned his back and his fingers touched trembling the door handle.

"Grantaire!!!"

He turned his head at the desperate cry filling the room to face Jehan with rivers of tears coming down his face, his eyes stabbing him like blades of accusition, innocent and mourning at the same time, looking at him probably for the last time. He felt his knees bending. Yet he didn't move. Jehan shook his head and let a sob escape his lips along with his words, his tone low and soft as it had always been but weak, reminding him of that day, when he found him covered in blood, groaning and begging for help, even if this meant death. He shivered.

"I don't want you to go..."

And his voice cracked, drown among his sobs as he sat on the couch, resting his head in his hands and crying comfortlessly. Grantaire sighed and approached his friend with trembling hands, sitting beside him and embracing him gently as Jehan hid his face in his shoulder wrapping his arms around him and letting the tears wet his shirt, his fingers gripping the coat, refusing to let go. Grantaire swallowed and held his head tenderly, caressing his soft hair with love.

"It's okay, Jehan, I'm here..."

He was there now. But he couldn't tell if he would be there when he needed him again. And this moment wouldn't last long. Jehan's body was shaking in his hug as his voice was heard among his tears hoarse and whining, like that of a little child lost alone in the dark.

"Please don't...", he stuttered breathlessly and his embrace became tighter, "Don't leave me alone..."

Grantaire didn't answer. He didn't want to leave. Staying with him seemed like a duty though much he actually wanted it. But he couldn't take this anymore. Nights sinking in misery, days drowning in sorrow. If it was to end, why couldn't it end earlier?

He glanced outside for a moment, eavesdropping the raindrops hitting the window and a thought crossed his mind. He didn't want to condemn Jehan to the same fate as him. But they were not the same anyway. It might be better for him or it might not. He had to risk it. Neither he nor their dearest friends up in heaven would ever want him to end up alone. And this was the only way.

chapter 2

[vermontparnasse]

les miserables review - u.s. tour (hartford) 10/7/17

ok, here we go.  sorry this took so long but i have never been less enthused to write a les mis review..... i hate to say it guys but this was probably the worst collective cast i have ever seen.  half of them were playing the wrong role and almost none of them had any chemistry with one another... i realize it's still very early on in the tour and they didn't have a very long rehearsal period but that's no excuse for the national tour to come across as amateur community theatre, which is tragically what i felt like i was watching  for most of those two and a half hours.  i do have a couple of positive things to say and there were a few standout performances, but mostly..... yikes.

nick cartell as valjean: i guess he did the best he could given that he was very, very, very, very badly miscast.  when your valjean would probably be a better fit for marius, you know you've got a problem.  he was too young by at least fifteen years, and the way he sang the score was an insufferable series of riffs - he was basically ramin without the ego and without the shirt ripping.  he was just very badly out of his depth.  i was prepared to be kinder to him in the second act - his bring him home was quite good and he aged better than i'd thought he was going to - but then at the moment of valjean's death when he sang 'forgive me all my trespasses' he literally SPRANG out of the chair, like dying had rejuvenated him.  it was bad guys.

josh davis as javert: does hayden tee have a brother........... anyway, the way he was singing the score i think he was trying to emulate earl by making his notes precise and crisp, but everything just came out really staccato and it was not pleasant to listen to.  he also jutted out his jaw every time he wanted to look menacing which achieved a comedic disney villain effect, a la hayden.  stars was definitely the highlight - he sang and acted it much better than anything else... otherwise, it was just a mess.  he literally came across as drunk during his suicide - like he wasn't killing himself because of his inability to reconcile valjean's mercy with his personal view of the world, he was killing himself because he'd stayed at the bar too late and had one too many.  i have no idea what sort of journey he thought his character was on, but it just wasn't javert.

melissa mitchell as fantine: i'm sorry but this woman cannot act to save her life...... the way she carried herself was so modern, i don't know how to explain it but the way she moved was just so off and it was really distracting?  and her whole performance was just going through the motions, like "and still i dream he'll come to me... time to run to the left of the stage!" "life has killed the dream i dreamed.... time to glance over my shoulder dramatically!"  it was just all so artificial and inauthentic, you could practically see the stage directions in front of her eyes.  and don't get me started on the dying moment where she reaches her arm out and then collapses......... lord.  bad.

jillian butler as cosette: she was good!!  i mean... idk, i don't have a whole lot to say about her.  after seeing sam hill and alex finke in the role repeatedly, both of whom are absolutely superb, it's kinda hard to live up to that... jillian didn't take it to the next level or expand on their performances in any way - it was a very basic, pared down, 'hi i'm sweet and lonely' cosette, but there's nothing wrong with that?  she was solid and i have no complaints with her, but it wasn't a particularly memorable performance.

joshua grosso as marius: the best performance of the night, thank fuckin god!!!!!!!!  it has been so long since i have seen an adequate marius!!!!!!!!  i didn't agree with 100% of his choices (e.g., in AHFOL rather than singing "dear mademoiselle" he sort of squeaks it in a high pitched voice which is cute and appropriately awkward but i didn't totally connect w/ that decision because i love hearing that line sung) BUT he really understood the character and he didn't have too many moments like that of derailing the score.  i loved how awkward and genuine he was with cosette, and i loved how serious his reaction was to valjean's confession.  it was an all-around solid performance that was filled with the appropriate level of sincerity.  my biggest complaint is the mientus-esque crocodile tears after eponine's death, but i'm tentatively blaming that on direction.

phoenix best as eponine: she was terrible.  maybe she hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, because the whole time she looked like she'd rather be in bed.  dead eyes, no expression, dead on her feet, fake punches looking incredibly weak and stagey, having to be dragged around the stage by the other actors.  there was no fight to her, she was just resigned and dull.  her voice is tinny and not terribly pleasant to listen to, but i'd have forgiven that for a solid performance... which unfortunately we did not get.  though i WILL give her credit for on my own - there was some weird hammering or some shit going on backstage throughout that song but she pushed through admirably.  but otherwise, she was a pretty big disappointment.

matt shingledecker as enjolras: chelsea said after the show "enjolras was a literal frat boy, was he leading them to a revolution or to the club?" and i can't really beat that.  his enjolras basically was a rich young boy playing a game.

j. anthony crane as thenardier: he was rly fantastic!!!!  god after cliff saunders and whoever tf else we had to suffer through on bway, i would have welcomed just about anyone.... i mean, i have long ago reconciled myself to the fact that i will never see this character played the way i'd like to in an ideal world, because he's just become OTT comic relief, and j. anthony crane certainly has those OTT moments (notably in dog eats dog) BUT compared to the sort of nonsense that we are used to, it is such a toned down performance and there's actually a hint of something sinister lurking beneath the comedy.  i only hope he doesn't try to play up the laughs too much as the tour goes on.

allison guinn as mme. thenardier: meanwhile............ the most hammy performance i have EVER seen in this role.  it's a rare day that i just try to ignore mme. t and focus on thenardier when they're on stage together, but here we are.  god, she was insufferable, and she gave that kind of 'i'm so clever and above all of you' performance on top of the OTT humor that i absolutely loathe.

let's see, what else is there to say.

- 'give way, javert' is back after the sewers.  not sure why but i'm into it.

- SO MANY actors were singing on the beat...... i think the foreman was the worst offender ('YOU. PLAY. A. VIR. GIN. IN. THE. LIGHT. BUT. NEED. NO. UR. GING. IN. THE. NIGHT.') but it was honestly so many cast members and it was distracting af???

- but otherwise, a rly promising ensemble!!!!  i liked almost everyone who didn't have a main role lmao.  

- though they RLY need to work on their blocking....... again, i know it's early in the tour so i'm rly hoping this improves, but this production was just messy.  stage punches look fake, characters who are meant to interact at certain moments barely look at each other, just a lot of inauthentic movement that can only improve with more rehearsals.

- omg this is such a minor thing that i liked....... ok so you know how in the bway production they had fantine's first customer be the foreman?  i never saw any particular reason for that, but in this production when fantine is being offered to the foreman she has her back turned, and when she's handed to him she turns around and he sees her face and he laughs when he recognizes her, and the irony of the moment is so sad that i found myself rly moved by it.

- andrew love is a fuckin gift.  will someone make him principal javert already.

bottom line: what can i say....... i was mostly just rly let down.  of the nine main roles i mentioned here, i really enjoyed two (one of which was thenardier lmfao like who even cares about thenardier???), i didn’t mind one, and the rest were just bad.  that’s 2/3 of the main cast i thought were either playing the wrong role or had no business playing any role in les mis at all.  i can only hope they get stronger as a group as the tour goes on, because maybe if i’d felt more camaraderie between them the whole thing wouldn’t have left me so cold?  that was one of les mis bway’s strengths imo - the entire cast just worked so well together.  the tour cast did not.  unless i hear that they get better in upcoming months, i will not be making any more pilgrimages to see this cast.

[grantairelibere]

DO AN ENJOLTAIRE AS MERTHUR AU. GO.

I FORGOT I HAD THIS ASK HOW COULD I IT’S SO GOOD (Okay let me first say AUs in which any of les amis are royalty weird me out since, yknow, monarchy, so let’s assume Enjolras happened to be born the crown prince of Camelot and absolutely hates it and is determined to dissolve the whole notion of a kingdom when he’s supposed to ascend to the throne or something like that)Anyway: 

We all know how the story goes: everyone hates the current king for his ban on magic throughout Camelot. Enter Grantaire, a powerful (though he doesn’t realize it) wizard new to the kingdom who hates the king for the exact same reason, and his son by extension. 

A vengeful witch tries to kill Enjolras. Grantaire saves his life, though he doesn’t understand why at the time. The king makes Grantaire Enjolras’ manservant as a ‘reward’.

They can’t stand each other at first. Grantaire’s never been that well-off, and he’s uncomfortable in a ridiculously lavish place like the castle. He throws snark at Enjolras every time he’s forced to dress him or pull his bath water or whatever. Enjolras, for his part, hates Grantaire’s attitude and snaps back every time he prods, saying things like ‘the size of my bed/stable/army is beyond my control’.

The Great Dragon tells him it’s his destiny to protect Enjolras and stay by his side. ‘Two sides of the same coin’, the Dragon calls them. Grantaire wants to serve Enjolras even less, after that.

Then he starts to notice things. The sparseness of Enjolras’ chambers compared to the other rooms in the castle. Enjolras paying the merchants for far more than their goods cost, then distributing it to the children of the town. His camaraderie with many of Camelot’s knights, yet his disdain towards the ones who talk down on the poor. Arguments that happen between Enjolras and his father behind closed doors while Grantaire stands outside (”No one person should be allowed to decide who lives or dies!” “It’s the way we’ve lived for centuries.” “Then the way we live must be changed. When I become king…”).

Grantaire sees a glimmer of hope through Enjolras. Maybe, just maybe, he’s someone who could change Camelot for the better.

Grantaire stops complaining about having to prepare Enjolras’ breakfast or polish his armour, even after Enjolras says he doesn’t have to. Grantaire tells himself he’s only doing it because it takes no effort with his magic. 

If it were up to Enjolras, he wouldn’t have a manservant, but he can’t bring himself to tell Grantaire to leave. He doesn’t understand why–Grantaire is loud, insufferable, pessimistic, and often shows up late in the morning reeking of the town’s tavern. 

But sometimes Enjolras catches a glimmer in Grantaire’s eyes. When he’s reading, or caring for Enjolras’ horse, or when he’s laughing with the knights on the training grounds. The grass seems to stand up taller where Grantaire walks through it. Enjolras knows that’s a ridiculous notion. 

One day, Camelot is swept up in a mysterious drought that left it with barely any water and food (hint: it was magic). Enjolras steals the food that the king has been hoarding away in the castle stores and distributes it to the people. 

It’s the same day Grantaire realizes he now has two secrets to keep: that he’s a sorcerer, and that he loves Enjolras.

Another day, a great beast which seems impervious to Enjolras and his knights’ attacks (hint: it was magical) knocks Enjolras unconscious on his back. When he comes to, it’s only to see an armourless, weaponless Grantaire standing alone in front of the slain beast. Grantaire’s eyes are golden when he turns around and fixes them on Enjolras. 

It’s strange. He could swear on the life of every citizen in Camelot that Grantaire’s eyes are a deep brown.

“Do you permit it?” Grantaire keeps asking Enjolras. He asks when he wants to leave the castle, or assist one of the knights, or borrow a book. Enjolras tells him he doesn’t need to ask for permission to do anything. Grantaire is his own person, after all. Not that Enjolras could refuse him anyway. Still, Grantaire keeps asking. 

“Do you permit it?” he asks, with a roll of his eyes, when Enjolras asks where he’s going. He’s only going back to his own chambers. Enjolras reddens. 

“Do you permit it?” he asks, shyly, holding a tunic that Enjolras has gifted him for his birthday (which Enjolras went through a lot of trouble to discover). 

“Do you permit it?” he asks, with thinly veiled panic behind his eyes as he holds a letter from his mother with shaking hands. He needs to return to his hometown for a while. Enjolras never wants to see that look on him again.

“Do you permit it?” he asks one day, when he stands beside Enjolras as a dozen archers aim their arrows at him. Enjolras takes his hand and smiles. He wishes they had more time together.

They aren’t shot. As if propelled by an invisible force, all the archers are knocked off their feet and their bows broken. Grantaire holds his free hand towards them. His eyes are golden. It’s all the confession Enjolras needs.

“Do you permit it?” he asks, wanting permission to leave Enjolras’ service. They avoided each other for a week after the incident. Grantaire’s use of magic broke Camelot’s highest law, which Enjolras hates. He doesn’t understand why Grantaire wants to leave. The thought makes his heart clench. 

Enjolras permits it, on the condition that Grantaire stay by his side. It’s not an order, but a plea. No one should be forced to live in the servitude of another, after all, least of all someone like Grantaire.

Grantaire wants the reason for his condition. Enjolras gives it to him in a rush of breath. Grantaire’s eyes go wide.

“Do you permit it?” Grantaire asks, laying a tentative hand on Enjolras’ cheek. 

“Yes,” Enjolras says. Grantaire’s eyes close. Maybe they’re golden. Somehow, when Grantaire’s lips touch his, he can’t bring himself to care.

Grantaire never asks for permission again.

[kjack89]

City of Stars (2500 Follower Giveaway Fic #15)

For @asterhythm, who requested an E/R fic involving singing or music. So...sorta.

The La La Land AU no one asked for, because as much as I wanted to hate that movie, damn if I didn’t love it. Based roughly on the first 30 minutes of the film, so spoilers for that portion, but nothing beyond. 

E/R, developing relationship. Enjolras is an actor, Grantaire is a jazz pianist.

Enjolras slowly pushed his way through the crowd, a tepid and strained smile on his face as he avoided making eye contact in any way that would invite conversation. He hated parties like this, insipid industry bashes where everyone pretended they were so much more important and interesting than they really were. If it weren’t for the fact that playing the game was the only way to get to where he wanted to be, Enjolras would be far from here, his black shirt and red tie exchanged for his favorite red hoodie.

He meandered without meaning to towards the band, which was just wrapping up a cover of a rather generic eighties hit. Enjolras paused in his step, his eyebrows raising when he saw the ridiculous outfits that the band was raising, and he stifled a laugh.

His laugh died in his throat, though, when he saw who was standing in front of they keyboard, his long fingers resting lightly against the keys, his slicked black hair looking completely out of place with his neon green tracksuit. For a moment, Enjolras just stared at him, almost daring him to look up and meet his eyes, but then the singer of the band leaned towards the microphone and asked, “Any other requests?”

Without even thinking, Enjolras called out, “Piano Man”, and the keyboardist’s eyes flew up to his, a startled look on his face that morphed first to a look of recognition, followed almost instantly by a glare that could’ve melted lead.

Enjolras just smirked at him before walking away, well aware that the keyboardist’s eyes were on his ass as he walked away.

As soon as the song was over, the keyboardist stalked away from the band, weaving through the crowd to find Enjolras and glower at him. “I remember you,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And I’ll admit, I was a little...curt that night.”

“Curt?” Enjolras repeated. “Funny, that’s not how I remember it.”

The keyboardist narrowed his eyes at him, but Enjolras met his gaze evenly, because he remembered that night well...

Another night, another Hollywood party, this time exacerbated by the fact that his ride had left him and his cellphone had died, leaving him without a way to call a ride to get home. He had set off walking, hoping to stumble on a bar or late-night café in hopes they’d have a phone he could use.

He was almost tempted to skip the first bar that he came upon, since it looked a little shady and Enjolras was no idiot. He knew what L.A. was like after 1 a.m.

But then he heard the music, and it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

Enjolras was not hugely into music beyond dancing along to the radio, but the soft, almost longing notes of the piano moved him, rather literally, as he changed direction to head into the bar. He froze as soon as he walked through the door, because the pianist looked up and locked eyes with him.

It was one of those moments that lasted only mere seconds yet seemed to linger for hours, blue eyes meeting blue eyes as the music swelled and ebbed between them. Enjolras felt his heart beating an almost painful rhythm against his chest, and he never wanted the song to end.

The pianist tore his eyes away, dropping them to the keys as the song crescendoed to its finale, the last notes hanging in the air, and only when they had fully faded did the pianist drop his fingers from the keys. Enjolras expected raucous applause, sure that he was not the only one moved so deeply by the music.

Instead, the dull roar of late night bar talk resumed as if it had never been interrupted.

Enjolras shook his head as if to clear it, but it was still as if in a daze that he slowly picked his way across the bar, his eyes on the pianist, who slowly stood, confronted almost instantly but what Enjolras assumed was the bar owner, who started a heated conversation with the pianist that Enjolras only caught bits of--

“--promised you’d stick to the set list--”

“--last straw--”

“--fired--”

The pianist turned away from his boss, something like defiance on his face as he took the tips out of the tip jar prominently displayed on the edge of his piano, and Enjolras took a step towards him, clearing his throat. “I just heard you play,” he offered, unsure how to even put into words everything he had heard and felt, “and I wanted to--”

Without a word, the pianist brushed past him, heading out the door.

Enjolras stood there for a moment, stung. Then he swallowed, hard, and headed to the bar to ask to use their telephone, the numb slap of rejection still stinging in his chest.

“Ok, I was an asshole,” the keyboardist admitted, something flickering across his face. “I can admit that. But I had just been fired, for what it’s worth. And requesting ‘Piano Man’ from a serious musician is just too cruel.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him. “Serious musician?”

The keyboardist had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t say that,” he muttered, but Enjolras’s lips curved into a smirk.

“Can I borrow what you’re wearing?”

The keyboardist glanced down at his outfit and back up at Enjolras. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

Enjolras fluttered his eyelashes at him. “Because I have an audition next week. I’m playing a serious doctor.”

The keyboardist looked affronted for a moment, but then he lifted his chin slightly. “So you’re an actor,” he pronounced, saying the word like it was dirty. “I thought you looked familiar. Have I see you in anything?”

It was the worst thing anyone could say to an actor or actress, especially one who hadn’t had their big break, but Enjolras took it well. “Maybe in the coffeeshop on the Universal Studios’ lot.”

“Oh, so you’re a barista,” the keyboardist said with understanding. “So I can see how easy it is for you to look down at me from all the way up there.”

Enjolras looked pointedly over the keyboardist’s shoulder. “Your band leader is calling you,” he said, saccharine sweet, and the keyboardist tossed a look over his shoulder, his expression souring. “You wouldn’t want to leave him waiting.

The keyboardist’s scowl deepened. “He doesn’t tell me what to do.”

“He just did,” Enjolras pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I know, I let him,” the keyboardist said, scuffing his shoe against the ground as he narrowed his eyes at Enjolras. “What’s your name?”

Enjolras was tempted to not tell him, but decided not to be overly cruel. “Enjolras.”

“Enjolras,” the keyboardist repeated, shoving his hands in his pockets and slowly backing away. “My name’s Grantaire.” Enjolras just looked at him, not sure what to do with that information, and Grantaire shrugged. “I guess I’ll see you in the movies.”

He didn’t say it as a compliment, and Enjolras glared as Grantaire turned and walked away.

Three insufferable hours later, Enjolras was waiting in the valet line to get his car keys back, trying his best to ignore the guy next to him who seemed insistent on talking his ear off. “I wrote an entire play based on just one glance,” he was saying, a wistful look on his face. “She was so beautiful, but almost like a ghost. So that’s what I wrote, a story about a guy who fell in love with a ghost.”

“Mm,” Enjolras hummed noncommittally, craning his head to see over the line. His eyes narrowed as he watched Grantaire, who had changed out of his tracksuit and into ripped skinny jeans and a slouchy t-shirt, cut the line with a winning smile at the valet. “Did you ever talk to the girl?”

“Well, not yet…” the guy hedged, and Enjolras rolled his eyes and stretched on his tiptoes to wave an arm at Grantaire.

“Hey, Grantaire!” Grantaire stopped and turned to scowl at Enjolras, who offered an apologetic smile to the guy next to him. “Sorry, I know him,” he said, and looked back at Grantaire. “Will you grab my keys?”

Grantaire made no attempt to move. “No.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Please?”

“There we go,” Grantaire said, shuffling back to the valet stand and staring at the keys. “What kind am I looking for?”

“A Prius.”

“Of course you drive a Prius,” Grantaire grumbled, though Enjolras could still hear him over the crowd and scowled. “This is L.A., that doesn’t really help me any. These are all Prius keys.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “It has a guillotine keychain on it.” The guy next to him shot him a startled look and Enjolras smiled tightly. “Vive la révolution.”

Grantaire held up the car keys and Enjolras squeezed his way out of the line and headed over to Grantaire, who held the keys out silently. Together, they headed down the street away from the party, Enjolras relaxing for the first time all evening. He glanced over at Grantaire. “So, uh, thanks for saving the day back there.”

Shrugging, Grantaire crossed his arms in front of his chest as he walked next to Enjolras. “Well, you didn’t really give me much of a choice.” He glanced sideways at Enjolras. “Strange that we keep running into each other.”

“Is it?” Enjolras asked lightly. “Small town like this. You’d expect it, don’t you think?”

“Cute,” Grantaire said dryly. “You know, they say sarcasm is the lowest form of humor, so I’m imagining you don’t do a lot of comedic acting.”

Enjolras’s lips pursed slightly. “Actually, the quote is ‘puns are the lowest form of humor’, and I do plenty of comedic acting, thank you very much.” Grantaire smirked at him and Enjolras scowled, his shoulders hunching slightly. “At least, I’ve auditioned for plenty of comedic roles.”

“So what made you decide to become an actor?” Grantaire asked as they strolled slowly down the street, assumedly in the direction of their cards. “Because, no offense, but you don’t exactly strike me as the type. Not self-serving or vain enough.” He shot Enjolras a furtive glance. “Hot enough, though.”

Enjolras smiled slightly and looked down. “Thanks, I think,” he said. “But my story’s really no different than most. I’ve always loved movies and used to spend hours at the library across the street in their old movie section. But…” He trailed off, his tone turning thoughtful. “I mean, I’ve always loved being in front of people, because once I could get them listening to me, I could get them to believe things. And when you couple that with how film can change the world…” He shrugged. “That’s what I really want to do, I guess. Change the world.”

Grantaire made a small noise of understanding. “And that seems much more like you.”

Shrugging again, Enjolras mimicked Grantaire’s posture, crossing his arms tightly in front of his chest. “I realize that sounds stupid, especially if you consider that my last audition was for a TV show pitched as Beverly Hills 90210 meets the O.C.”

“Aren’t those basically the same show?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras snorted. “Yeah. Pretty much.” He shrugged. “Should’ve been a lawyer.”

Grantaire glanced over at him, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, cuz the world needs more lawyers.”

“Well, it doesn’t need more actors,” Enjolras said dismissively, eager to change the subject. “So what brought you to L.A.?”

Grantaire shrugged and waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I was born here. Product of the Los Angeles Unified School District.” He shrugged again. “I don’t know, half of me has always wanted nothing more than to get far away from this bullshit, but…”

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah, I know. L.A. is…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “Pretty much the worst.”

“Got it in one,” Grantaire said with an easy grin.

Shaking his head slightly, Enjolras told him, “Still, I love being near this stuff. Not the industry bullshit--” He waved a hand behind him in the direction of the party. “--but the films and the history, and…” He trailed off at the look on Grantaire’s face. “And you think I’m an idiot.”

“A romantic, maybe,” Grantaire said.

“And what does that make you?” Enjolras shot back. “A cynic?”

Grantaire considered it. “More of a capital-R Romantic. But cynic works too.”

“So why do you stay in L.A., if you hate it so much?”

Grantaire shrugged, his expression falling slightly. “It’ll be your turn to tell me you think I’m an idiot,” he muttered. “There’s this jazz club...the Musain. It’s incredible. All of the big swing bands used to play there. And I...I always wanted to play there.”

“So what’s stopping you?” Enjolras asked. “I’ve heard you play, you’re definitely good enough.”

Grantaire looked surprised at the praise, and shook his head. “Well, um, thanks. But unfortunately, it’s a samba tapas place now.”

Enjolras looked at him blankly. “What’s a samba tapas place?”

“You know, a samba place where they serve tapas.” Enjolras made a face and Grantaire laughed. “Yeah, exactly. So the joke’s on...history, I guess.” He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know, that’s L.A. They worship everything and value nothing.”

Enjolras nodded with complete and emphatic understanding before shooting Grantaire a cautious glance. “So I should probably get out of the way now before we get all the way to my car, which has to be around here somewhere: I hate jazz.” Grantaire stopped dead in his tracks, his expression completely blank, and Enjolras paused to raise an eyebrow at him. “Um, are you ok?”

“What do you mean, you hate jazz?” Grantaire asked, in lieu of answering Enjolras’s question.

Enjolras shrugged. “It means that when I listen to it, I don’t like it.” Grantaire looked at Enjolras like he was nuts, and Enjolras added, a little defensively, “Where I grew up, there was this smooth jazz radio station, WNUA 95.5, and people would just put it on in the background and talk over it.”

Grantaire shook his head emphatically. “But that’s part of the problem! You can’t just put jazz on in the background, you have to know the context, to know what’s at stake.” He shook his head again, his fingers twitching in mid-air as if itching for a piano to show Enjolras exactly what he meant. “Here,” he said abruptly, digging in his pocket for what looked like a several-years-old iPod, offering one of the earbuds to Enjolras. “Here!”

Cautiously, Enjolras took the earbud and put it in his ear, taking an automatic step closer to Grantaire, who was navigating through the songs on his iPod. “It’s such a blanket statement to say that you don’t like jazz. Listen to this.” He pressed play on a song and Enjolras closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. “Listen to music,” Grantaire said softly. “Feel what’s at stake. Every one of these guys is composing and rearranging, they’re writing and playing the melody all at the same time.” He sucked in an almost longing breath. “It’s conflict and it’s compromise and it’s new every time.” His tone abruptly turned sad, so sad that Enjolras opened his eyes, startled to see how close he was standing to Grantaire. “And it’s dying.”

Enjolras swallowed, hard, the tone of Grantaire’s voice reminding him of the utter pain and longing of the song he had heard Grantaire play in the bar. “When you talk like that…” he started, breaking off when Grantaire looked up at him. He looked away, feeling his cheeks flush. “It makes me think you might not be as much of a cynic as you pretend to be.”

Grantaire smiled slightly. “Maybe there’s a little bit of a romantic in me as well.”

Enjolras looked back at him, their faces merely inches apart. It would take nothing to close that space, to kiss Grantaire the way he wanted that night so many weeks ago.

Instead, he took a step back, looking distractedly around. “Where is my car?” he asked, chuckling awkwardly.

Grantaire shrugged, his expression turning carefully neutral as he put the iPod back in his pocket. “It’s gotta be around here somewhere,” he said reasonably.

Enjolras shot him a look. “Thanks,” he said dryly. “You’ve been a real...what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Knight in shining armor?” Grantaire supplied, leaning against a lamppost with a cocky grin on his face.

“Weirdo,” Enjolras said instead, a small smile on his face. “That’s the word.”

Grantaire snorted. “Oh. Weirdo. Sure.” He shrugged. “You know, it’s really too bad.”

Despite himself, Enjolras looked over at him. “What’s too bad?” he asked.

“This, right here, under a streetlight, with music…” Grantaire shrugged again. “It’s a moment tailor-made for two. Like I said, it’s really too bad that the two is you and me, and, well…” He winked at Enjolras. “You’re not really my type.”

Enjolras laughed incredulously. “Oh, I’m not your type?” he said. “Well, gosh, how will I ever console myself at such a loss?” He took a few steps toward Grantaire, who straightened. “Thankfully,” Enjolras whispered, leaning in towards Grantaire and stopping just inches from his face, his eyes searching Grantaire’s and his lips almost grazing Grantaire’s as he said, “I’m not one for romance anyway.”

Grantaire shook his head, looking a little dazed, and Enjolras smirked, skirting past him down the street. After a moment, Grantaire followed. “Like I said, it’s a shame,” he called at Enjolras’s back. “What a waste of a lovely night.” He smirked. “But not a waste of a lovely sight.”

“I heard that,” Enjolras said without turning.

“Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave,” Grantaire retorted, rewarded with Enjolras half-turning, a scowl on his face. “Of course, I’ve seen better.”

Enjolras was about to retort when he suddenly brightened. “Oh, there’s my car.” He pressed a button on the remote and the car obediently beeped. Enjolras turned back to Grantaire, suddenly hesitant. “Do you, uh, do you want a ride to your car?”

Grantaire shook his head. “No, it’s just up here,” he said, jerking his head a little up the road.

“Oh,” Enjolras said, shifting his weight. “So, um, goodnight, I guess.”

“Goodnight,” Grantaire said, and before he could stop himself, he grabbed Enjolras’s hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to his knuckles before releasing his hand and slowly backing away.

It was Enjolras’s turn to look a little dazed. “What was that for?” he demanded, and Grantaire grinned.

“Something to remember me by,” he replied. “Until we run into each other again.”

He turned his back on Enjolras, waved a hand in a final goodnight, and began trudging back up the hill, well aware that Enjolras was watching him for a few minutes afterwards. Almost against his will, Grantaire began whistling a song to himself, a song he hadn’t felt the urge to play in many years. “City of stars,” he sang softly, humming the bars in between before adding softly, “Is this the start of something wonderful?”

He whistled the song on repeat for the twenty minutes it took to make his way all the way back up the hill to his car, which was parked almost directly across the street from the valet stand.