#Grantaire x jehan

[combeauferre]

no matter the change or the age

les miserables, rated g, 1.8k words

it's Grantaire's birthday, and that means it's Jehan and their daughter's job to give him the perfect morning.

for ryan @earthbound-in-doubt happy birthday my love

read on ao3

Jehan wakes first, as usual. Beside it, Grantaire snores, as good as dead to the world. This is what Jehan always hopes for.

Gently slipping out of bed, it pulls on some pyjama shorts and Grantaire’s hoodie, always smelling of him no matter how many times Jehan wears it, and it opens the door as gently as it can manage.

The door creaks gently but doesn’t wake Grantaire; he doesn’t so much as flinch, and Jehan is able to sneak out unnoticed. On most days, Grantaire’s ability to sleep through anything makes for a challenge, Jehan’s once light sleeping now adjusted to match. But today, Grantaire’s birthday, it’s a blessing.

They’ve been together long enough now that Jehan has the routine down. Chocolate chip pancakes and fresh fruit juice, berries and maple syrup, and plenty of leftovers for breakfast the next day. Then come presents, and Jehan always showers him in gifts and kisses and love, as he deserves. They both take the day off work, and the day is planned around whatever Grantaire is feeling that year. A quiet, lazy fuck where Jehan indulges Grantaire in whatever he wants, then off to the museum, the aquarium, the zoo, wherever he wants.

“Daddy?”

Or so it used to be.

In the next doorway, teddy bear in hand, sleep in eyes, stands Calliope, yawning and watching up at him with curious eyes.

“Hey, little one,” Jehan smiles, kneeling down to her and opening its arms. “You’re up early, hm?”

“Heard you,” she says, leaning into it. The bear bumps gently against its back as she wraps her arms around it and it takes the hint, lifting her up.

“Oh, not being nearly quiet enough, am I?” it says sympathetically, bouncing her gently in its arms and kissing her forehead.

“Where goin’, Daddy?”

“Going to make Papa breakfast,” it tells her, carrying her towards the stairs, “You wanna help make pancakes?”

She nods fast, giggling.

“You remember it’s Papa’s birthday, right?”

She thinks about it, frowning.

“We got him a present and a card, do you remember?”

This, she can recall. There’s a card upstairs, tucked away in Jehan’s bedside table signed with a messy scribble that, by anyone else’s standards, could not be considered words. But Calliope had tried her best, and no one could appreciate that as much as Grantaire will.

His gift from Calliope is a bath bomb Jehan had helped her pick out by smell (not that she would have gone for anything other than the unicorn-shaped bath bomb, regardless of what it smelt like), and a cat plushie she insisted he should have, that has a remarkable resemblance to their own tortie cat, Shelley. Jehan already knows Grantaire is going to love them.

At three years old, Callie has never been old enough to participate in birthdays before now, and she is eager to get her hands stuck in. She pulls her little stool over to the counter to watch Jehan make the pancake batter – from scratch, Grantaire deserves nothing but the best on his birthday – and tries to help measure. Little fingers on scales are not very helpful at first, but she gets the hang of it, and Jehan even holds her hands over the eggshell to help her feel very grown up and able to bake.

If more eggshell than it ever thought possible goes in the batter, no one has to know.

With a finger to the lips, Jehan shares with her a couple of chocolate chips before the bag gets poured in, and she giggles and happily shoves them into her mouth. She proves herself a good little baker when it comes to the mixing, holding the wooden spoon with two hands and putting all her effort into mixing as well as she can.

Before long the batter is ready, and Jehan surveys the situation, trying to decide if there’s a child-safe way to heat oil in a frying pan. Possibly not.

“You want a really important job, Callie Bear?” it asks instead, dropping to her height and smiling. She nods, eyes wide. “Will you go and get some fruit out the fridge for me? We need lots of berries and apples, you think you can manage that?”

Without another acknowledgement, she bounds off to the fridge, pulling the door open and taking out a box of blueberries. As Jehan readies the pan with oil, it watches her take a punnet, carry it to the counter, climb up on her stool, put it down, and head right back over. Four trips later, she has gathered all the punnets of fruit out the fridge and stands watching it expectantly.

“Wow, that was quick,” it says proudly, “You’re a great little helper, Callie.” He lets the pancake sizzle a moment while he leans down to ruffle her hair. “Think you can get some apples from the table too?”

Off she goes again, taking her stool with her to reach up on to the kitchen table and grab the bag of apples from on top. Leaving the pan again, Jehan goes over to pick up her stool for her.

“No, Daddy!” she pouts, stomping her foot lightly, “I do it.”

It laughs fondly and places the stool back down.

“Okay, okay, you do it, I’m sorry.”

Apples in one hand and stool in the other, she makes her way slowly across the kitchen, never stopping, never flagging, and makes it back to where she left the rest of the fruit. Climbing back up on the stool, she triumphantly puts the bag of apples on the side, looking back at him proudly.

“Wow, look at you!” it says, smiling, “You’re so big and strong, Cal!”

“Big girl!” she laughs, jumping off her stool and bumping into Jehan’s legs. The pancakes are nearly done now, a mighty stack big enough for the three of them on one plate and leftovers for tomorrow on another.

Juicing apples, Callie can help with. Hands far away from anything sharp, Jehan helps her push the slices through the juicer and out comes fresh juice. Before long, they have enough pancakes, berries and juice to split between three plates and carry upstairs slowly and carefully to the master bedroom.

Pre-emptively, Grantaire had gone to bed in pyjama shorts the night before, and Jehan has no concerns letting Callie in first.

By the way she bounds across the room and launches herself on to Grantaire’s sleeping body, perhaps it should have had some concerns.

The volume of Grantaire’s oof! tells Jehan he was unfortunately still sound asleep before Callie inflicted herself on him, and it puts the tray down on the bed so it can gently pry her off of him.

“Good morning, love,” it murmurs, kissing his cheek when Callie has backed off a little. “Sorry about the rude awakening.”

Grantaire lets out a string of muffled noises in return, rolling on to his back gently and smiling toothily up at Jehan and Callie.

“G’morning,” he says back eventually, opening an arm for Callie to snuggle into.

Smiling fondly, Jehan readies the three plates of pancakes and berries and maple syrup, making sure Callie is extra careful with her own plastic, bear-covered plate.

While they graze on the pancakes and fruit, Jehan recalls to Grantaire what an amazing sous chef Callie has been all morning, much to her pride.

“I made th’ eggs, Papa!” she tells him excitedly, miming cracking the eggs in front of her.

“You did, did you?” Grantaire laughs, “You made them, are you a chicken?” he ruffles her hair and she giggles.

“No, silly!”

She mimes egg cracking again with more gusto, and Grantaire smiles.

“I see, that’s a big girl job, isn’t it? You’re gonna be a baker in no time.”

Giggling, she puts down her empty plate and shuffles across the bed to nestle back into his side. Fondly, he pets her hair, looking up at Jehan adoringly.

“She doesn’t get it from me,” it smiles, leaning over to kiss Grantaire’s sticky maple lips, nipping gently. He hums his approval, reaching up to tangle his hand in Jehan’s hair, keeping their kisses chaste, lest they get carried away in front of Callie.

“Daddy,” she whines after a moment, taking Jehan’s hand and pulling. It pulls away reluctantly from Grantaire, smiling down at her expectantly.

“Yes, little bear?”

“Presents!”

She jumps up from Grantaire’s side and off the bed, running out of their room and returning moments later with her two slightly haphazardly wrapped gifts. Despite going to Jehan for help, she was desperate to do as much as she could herself, and from the look on Grantaire’s face, he appreciates the effort.

“Wow,” he smiles genuinely, “all this for me?”

Jehan reaches down to the bedside drawer and pulls out Callie’s card.

“Would you like to give this to Papa first?”

She nods, giggling, and takes the card, passing it right to Grantaire.

“Happy birthday, Papa!” she snuggles right back into his side and wraps her arms around him, watching intently as he carefully opens the envelope.

It is a painting of two bears, a father and child, the father in a party hat, Happy Birthday Papa Bear written across the bottom.  

“Wow, is that us, Callie Bear?”

She nods excitedly and he kisses her forehead.

Her presents are handed over, and when Grantaire unwraps the cat, he delicately holds it and makes it trot over and give Callie a boop on the cheek.

“What should we name him, hm?”

He boops her cheek again and she giggles.

“Maybe we’ll wait for his personality to come out, huh?”

Callie nods, reaching over for a cuddle. Passing the cat over, he boops her nose and her forehead and she catches him and cuddles him close to her chest.

“Aww, he likes you,” Grantaire smiles, ruffling her hair.

After a second, Callie passes the cat back over, booping Grantaire’s arm with his nose.

“Your kitty,” she tells him, placing the cat gently in his arms.

Leaning down, Jehan picks up a gift bag and passes it over to Grantaire.

“Happy birthday, love,” it says, kissing him softly.

Gently opening the bag and lifting out the tissue paper on top, he finds, framed, photos of the two of them on their wedding day. Laughing together, holding each other. The final photo is of them, foreheads touching, eyes closed.

He remembers the moment vividly; the busyness of the day, the fun but exhausting schedule and barely any time for themselves. The photo shows blue light against the back of Jehan’s white shirt, the party going on inside while they shared a private moment together – clearly not as private as they thought, but something in Grantaire’s heart pulls warmly at the thought that this special breather was recorded, by some unseen third party, just for a second.

“Bahorel found these,” Jehan says, as if reading his mind, “we were looking through some photos a few weeks ago, and these were taken on a different camera, I guess. He lost the SD card until then.”

“They’re…” he starts, his throat closing up, “this is perfect, love…”

There are tears forming in his eyes, and Jehan, smiling fondly, leans over to kiss them away before they can fall.

“I love you,” he says against its lips, before kissing again and again, softly, chastely.

“I love you too.”

[demonsonthemoon]

Keep Me Safe

Fandom: Les Misérables Pairing: N/A, mention of platonic Jehan/Grantaire Word Count: 3074 Rating: Gen Summary: It's Valentine's day, and Grantaire sits alone in his kitchen with a flatmate who won't leave his bedroom. But maybe he doesn't have to stay alone. Notes: Oh boy. Forgive me if this note gets a bit emotional, but it's hard not to feel anything when this fic celebrate the TENTH anniversary of me meeting the amazing @anastasiapullingteeth. Two arospec people meeting each other on Valentine's day through a Jetaire fanfic, and then staying friends for ten years after that... how freaking awesome is this? Thank you Caro for still being in my life after all this time. The moments we share are always precious to me. Thanks to you, I always look forward to February 14th, and that is no small achievement. Love you, duckling! Title from "Ibuprofen” by Bears in Trees. The song was a big inspiration for the fic and it means a lot to me, so I really recommend you listen to it!

Read it on AO3

“Dinner's ready,” Grantaire calls out across the flat. The cheese on top of the lasagna looks slightly golden and the smell of garlic bread permeates the kitchen. Grantaire is sweating from the heat of the oven, as well as from the cooking and the dishes he just did.

The table is set for two, and he hopes...

He hasn't made a point of the date. Neither of them are really into the idea of celebrating Valentine's day. Considering they're non-monogamous, that Jehan is aromantic and that they've both listened to one too many anticapitalist rants by Enjolras, the holiday doesn't hold much appeal.

But Grantaire had time on his hands today, so he cooked a nice dinner from scratch and-

“I'm busy right now, I'll eat later.” Jehan's voice carries through the closed door of his bedroom.

Grantaire sighs, tells himself he's not disappointed. He would have been happier if Jehan had joined him, but this is the outcome he expected. His thoughts don't sound very convincing even to him as he puts the bottle of red wine he bought in the cupboard under the sink. He's not going to drink a bottle of wine by himself. Not tonight. That would only make things worse.

Would be a waste to, considering how expensive the thing was. That's what he gets for falling into the trap of Valentine's day marketing.

He's barely seen Jehan for the past two days, but this isn't exactly a surprise. Grantaire isn't worried about that. He's worried about his friend's behavior the weeks before that, the ever-present melancholy, the repeated absences at friendly gatherings, the aggressive defensiveness whenever this was pointed out.

Grantaire eats the lasagna in silence, scrolling through his phone all the while. He doesn't touch the garlic bread, leaves it in the turned off oven to hopefully stay warm.

His fingers hover over the Grindr app. He wants to get out of his head. Jehan's bad mood is starting to feel like a miasma, clinging to Grantaire's edges and slowly corroding his own will. He feels tired these days. Mean. He knows that the more he tries to keep his words soft and sweet for Jehan, the more they come out biting in front of other people. This isn't what Grantaire wants. It's not who he wants to be. It's not what he wants for Jehan either, but he's running out of ways to try and help. Surely he's not the only sad fuck out there who's lonely on February 14th and desperate for something else?

He locks his phone again.

Yeah, he's lonely and slowly reaching the point of touch starvation, but he's not in the right mindset for a casual hookup. Because he doesn't want to fuck some nameless person. He wants to feel close to Jehan.

It's not unusual for them to not have sex with each other for several weeks. But they haven't shared any kind of physical intimacy in at least ten days and it's starting to get to Grantaire.

The thing is... while he enjoys being held through his breakdown, feels anchored by having arms around him even if his head is too loud to do anything but sit in silence, he knows that's not the same for Jehan. Grantaire doesn't want his friend to snap at him like he did last week. He doesn't want to push himself onto him, doesn't want Jehan to accept his affections just to get him off his back.

Jehan wouldn't do that. He wouldn't manipulate Grantaire like that, wouldn't play with his feelings. Jehan has always been clear about his wants and needs, he's never led Grantaire on. He's nice.

But wouldn't it be the nice thing to do, to go along with Grantaire's own desires? Wouldn't it be easier for everyone?

Jehan probably wouldn't do that, but can Grantaire be sure? Considering that his roommate is currently locking himself up in his room and not talking to him, can he be certain that he hasn't been making Jehan feel uncomfortable all this time, that the other man hasn't just finally reached his limit and is just too scared to admit it to Grantaire? Too nice to hurt him in turn?

Grantaire breathes. In and out. He's spiralling.

He gets up and washes his plate. He covers the dish of lasagna and puts it in the fridge. He keeps the garlic bread in the oven still, even opens the door a little. He's hoping the smell will be enough to lure Jehan out at some point in the evening at least.

Grantaire can feel his muscles tensing. He regrets having done the other dishes earlier, because now there's too much restless energy in his body and he doesn't have a physical task to do to let it out. He wants to hit something. That would relieve the pressure in his brain for a little while.

He breathes in and out.

Picks up his phone again and opens the Signal app. He could text Bahorel, see what the girl is up to. She's usually down to hit the gym even at times when their boxing club is closed. Weights and cardio aren't the same as a good friendly match, but it would be better than nothing. Bahorel is good at not asking questions.

But what if Grantaire wants someone to ask questions?

Jehan hadn't been to the last ABC meeting, nor to the night out that Joly and Bossuet had set up as an excuse to flirt with the barmaid of their favorite queer bar. Both times, Grantaire had left early, worried about his roommate. He'd come back to a silent flat and a closed door, which hadn't been more reassuring than if he had stayed out. And then he had muted the group chat in which people were sharing photos of their night out.

Maybe what he needs isn't an anonymous fuck or a work out, but something else altogether.

Maybe what he needs is to not stay alone with his fear and his lasagna.

Instead of tapping on Bahorel's contact, he opens a group chat nicknamed The High Council. It's Valentine's Day, so he knows that Enjolras isn't busy tonight. Courfeyrac and Combeferre might be – it's difficult to keep track of Courfeyrac's relationship status, and Combeferre has been making eyes at Eponine for long enough that Grantaire wouldn't be surprised if there was something going on between them that they were keeping on the down low. Still, it's worth a shot.

Got lasagna and garlic bread to exchange for company and emotional support. Deal of the century if I'm honest. Anyone wants in?

He doesn't send the message right away.

Because the truth is... He would hate it, if it was him. If he was in Jehan's place. He would hate for someone else to invite people into his space. Would hate to be looked at with pity, with sympathy. He would hate for his vulnerabilities to be exposed to others.

He would hate to be a burden to his friends.

He does hate it. He fucking hates asking for help.

But that also means that Jehan would hate the way Grantaire feels right now. He would hate to be the cause of such helplessness.

So Grantaire pushes through his instincts and hits send.

Sometimes what you want and what you need aren't the same thing. Isolating yourself to deal with your issues isn't always the kindest thing you can do.

Grantaire repeats these thoughts over and over in his mind, hoping he can force himself to believe them.

He drops his phone beside him so he doesn't stare at the text conversation. He's not sure he can fight against the urge to delete the message before anyone has a chance to see it.

He stares at the ceiling instead. It's only marginally better than staring at a screen.

Grantaire can hear soft music coming from Jehan's bedroom, but there's no movement to accompany it. Maybe Jehan is also staring at the ceiling.

Grantaire wants a glass of wine.

Grantaire wants to find a hookup who will share a joint with him before letting him fuck them and who won't ask any personal question and he wants to slam the door on his way out to make a point to Jehan.

He wants to turn the oven back on with the garlic bread still inside. Maybe then it would smell bad enough for Jehan to come out and check what's going on.

Fuck. Being a good person is exhausting.

His phone vibrates with a notification. He doesn't open it right away. Better not hope too much, lest you be disappointed. It could be anything. Maybe someone messaged him on Grindr.

He closes his eyes after a few seconds. Hard. Just enough that it hurts a little, that he can see phosphenes.

Then he checks his messages.

👼 and I are on our way, keep the lasagna warm and cheesy 👌

The text is from Courfeyrac, and a few seconds later a new bubble appears with Enjolras' name.

We've already had dinner.

Followed by another message from Courfeyrac: I said what I said.

He should feel relief but is instead filled with dread. This has to be a fucking mistake. He's just proven to his friends that he's a deadweight. Not even capable of helping his closest friend. Not capable of helping himself.

What if Jehan hates him for this? For meddling? It's not any of his fucking business, what Jehan does in his bedroom when he doesn't want company. It's not Grantaire's business if he decides not to eat.

It certainly shouldn't concern Courfeyrac and Enjolras.

Grantaire sends a thumbs up anyway.

He puts the lasagna back in the oven, turns it on on a low setting.

He knocks on Jehan's bedroom.

“Enjolras and Courfeyrac are coming over,” he says. He doesn't ask if Jehan is going to join them. Hope not and you won't be disappointed.

He doesn't get any answer.

Grantaire has opened the bottle of wine by the time Courfeyrac and Enjolras arrive. He's poured himself half a glass, and taken out two others to fill.

The table is still set for Jehan. He can just pretend that the plate is for Courfeyrac instead.

His friends know to text him instead of ringing the unsettlingly loud doorbell. Grantaire wishes they'd forgotten, because it might have woken up Jehan. The man probably isn't asleep, but still. It's not that Grantaire wants him to hurt. He just has an easier time dealing with Jehan's anger than with his silence. Anger gives him something to chew on, something to eventually act upon. Right now he has nothing.

He walks down the four flights of stairs to open the door.

“Happy Valentine's Day!” Courfeyrac exclaims as soon as the door opens. He drags Grantaire into a hug and lays a huge smack on his cheek. Enjolras rolls eir eyes at the scene.

Grantaire feels a smile tug at his lips. It's partly just a reflex, the urge to pretend, to always act like everything is fine. But there's also some genuine amusement in it, some contentment from his friend's easy affection, from the warmth in Enjolras' gaze even as ey holds emself at more of a distance.

“I would have brought some chocolate but the only one we had at the flat was Combeferre's fancy not-so-secret stash, and Enjolras refused to stop at a night shop.”

“You would have paid a prohibitive amount of money for sub-par chocolate for the sole purpose of feeding the so-called 'holiday spirit' that only serves to drive more capitalist consumption as well as reinforcing norms around monogamy and amatonormativity.”

“Yes, I would have,” Courfeyrac responds with an easy smirk, unbothered by the well-rehearsed rant. “And it would have been fun! Besides, am I really reinforcing those norms if I'm buying chocolate to cheer up my polya and arospec friends?”

Enjolras frowns at that, and Grantaire ushers the both of them inside before they start a debate in his staircase.

“Oh, it smells amazing in here,” says Courfeyrac as he immediately moves towards the kitchen.

“I put the lasagna back in the oven to warm up, you can check if it's ready. And there's garlic bread over there.” Grantaire points to the counter where the bread lies, covered in a clean kitchen towel.

“Well, don't mind me, I'll make myself right at home,” Courfeyrac responds. And he does just that, opening the oven and quickly touching the top of the lasagna to check its warmth.

It leaves Grantaire staring at Enjolras and looking for something to say.

“Want some wine?” he finally asks, before pouring two glasses at Enjolras' nod.

They both sit down at the table, while Courfeyrac lounges against the counter, nibbling on a piece of garlic bread.

Grantaire takes a sip of his own drink.

“So, is something wrong?” Enjolras asks before ey even tries the wine. Rude. This is actually a good bottle. Grantaire put thought into all of this.

He has another sip. Enjolras just stares at him.

Grantaire sighs. “Jehan isn't eating. I've barely seen him for the past two days, really. I'm worried. I don't know what to do.”

“Bread was for him, right?” Courfeyrac chimes in with his mouth still half full.

Grantaire nods.

“His favorite. You're a romantic, 'R.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well. Thought the smell might draw him out. It obviously didn't work.”

Courfeyrac shrugs. “It drew us in, though.”

Grantaire raises his eyebrows at him, but his friend doesn't elaborate, instead poking some more at the lasagna that's still in the oven.

“I noticed that Jehan wasn't at the last ABC meeting.” Enjolras says, finally sipping on eir wine. “But it's not exactly unusual for either of you to skip attendance from time to time.”

“I really don't feel up for a lecture about dedication to the cause, Enj'” replies Grantaire.

Enjolras tuts. “I'm not lecturing you. I'm just saying... this isn't unusual. Jehan gets like this sometimes. He always comes back to himself.”

Grantaire looks up at the ceiling. There might be tears pressing at the corner of his eyes, but no one will be able to prove that. The thing is... The thing is, you only need one time of someone not coming back for the world to change forever. The thing is, Grantaire knows how steep that edge is, he's walked it often enough himself. The thing is, Jehan's depression is often quieter than Grantaire's, but he suspects that the silence only serves to hide the depths of it.

“I'm just scared,” Grantaire finally admits, looking back down at his friends once he is certain that the tears will not fall. “I don't want to fail him.”

“Oh, 'R...”

Courfeyrac walks around the table in order to hug him from behind, the back of the chair probably digging into his stomach uncomfortably. It doesn't stop the embrace from being tight and warm.

“What if we hadn't been able to come tonight,” Enjolras asks in a soft tone. “Would you have thought we'd failed you?”

“What? No. You have the right to be busy. It's not your job to-”

“Just like it isn't yours to take care of Jehan.”

Grantaire feels Courfeyrac nod from where he's still holding him.

“Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that you can be here for him. Just like we're happy to be here for you. And the two are close in a way you aren't with most other people, living together and... such.”

Grantaire can't help but raise an eyebrow at that. Enjolras blushes. It's fucking adorable.

“But you're not responsible for one another even when you rely on each other. Does that make sense?”

“I guess,” Grantaire reponds, rubbing his fingers against the various permanent stains that dot their kitchen table.

“I'm glad you texted us,” Courfeyrac adds from his unrelenting hug. Not that Grantaire is fighting a lot to get out of it. It's nice to be touched. “We want to be here for you, you know? For you both. But it's hard to show up when the things you're fighting are happening in your own heads. Hard to be there for Jehan when he won't let us in.”

Grantaire nods somberly. “Won't even open his door.”

“But you did let us in. So we're here. And it won't solve everything but maybe it doesn't have to, right?”

He finally lets go at that, not even looking back as he walks back towards the oven and pulls out the lasagna.

“Now who wants a piece of this delicious-looking bad boy?”

Courfeyrac eats a huge portion of lasagna, along with some more bread. Grantaire and Enjolras share a small plate between them, almost shyly. Grantaire is almost vibrating at the idea of fighting over who gets the last bite. It's extremely lame.

They chat through the bottle of wine, Grantaire's friends keeping him up to date on all of the gossip he missed, including the fact that Combeferre and Eponine actually do have a date together today and, well, good for them.

It's almost midnight when they all hear Jehan's bedroom door open. There is the slightest pause in the conversation before Courfeyrac keeps describing the extravagant floral arrangement that Joly and Bossuet brought to their favorite barmaid. Nobody wants to acknowledge that they've noticed the noise, in case it makes Jehan retreat again.

But no, the sound of bare feet on the linoleum is faint, but it's coming in their direction.

Jehan is dressed in his pyjamas, his short bob of red hair hanging messily about his face. Grantaire can't help but look for red-rimmed eyes or the bags that indicate sleeplessness. He can't make out anything by the light of their old and shitty halogen lamps.

“Did you leave any lasagna for me? 'the least you could do after making such a ruckus that it's impossible to sleep in here.”

Jehan's smile looks tired, but it's a smile anyway. Grantaire doesn't waste a second before getting up and putting a plate of lasagna in the microwave. He puts the garlic bread in the oven for good measure. It won't be properly warm, but that's no big deal.

It will still make the flat smell like home.

[anastasiapullingteeth]

Jehan x Grantaire

Do you wanna be my boyfriend? We'll walk the cemetery and I'll kiss you again And make our dead friends blush, We'll be getting married right there on the scene Do you wanna be my best friend? You can drive me crazy all over again And I'll bore you to death Doesn't matter when we are in love

[Happy 10th anniversary, @demonsonthemoon! | “Aime-moi moins mais aime-moi longtemps.”]

[anastasiawritingfics]

Chapters: 1/1 Relationships: Grantaire/Jean Prouvaire Ratng: Mature Additional Tags: Tropes, Friends With Benefits, Forced Proximity, Tragic Romance, Alternate Universe - Hackers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Bittersweet Summary:

Jehan and Grantaire are hacktivists running away from the cops. Forced into hiding, they spend months together in a basement with nothing but each other’s company. Everything goes smoothly at the beginning, until they both give in to their attraction for each other and decide to sleep together. Is there a future for them outside that basement?

10 years ago, destiny and a frankly bad written jetaire fanfic brought a wonderful person into my life who changed me for the better.

I love you, @demonsonthemoon! This is a weird gift to celebrate our day. Happy 10th anniversary!

[autumnalmess]

To anyone struggling with their mental health this holiday season: read Les miserables by Victor Hugo

it won't help, but at least then you'll know about the sewers

[chrysalismandtea]

les amis de l’abc as things me and my friends have said

enjolras: i wish i allowed myself to smoke just to escape functions

combeferre: i’d probably be better off as a jukebox

courfeyrac: (in a discussion about what we should make a podcast on) how many mini sandwiches i can eat in an hour?

jehan: dude i was dizzy when i was BORN

feuilly: (talking about cop shows) i’d make a great dead body

joly: (stressfully) you’ll leave me without a neck, and people without necks aren’t people, they’re corpses!

bossuet: hey, if i made you run errands without paying you would it be considered slavery?

bahorel: we have plenty of grass for you, too. goat (affectionately)

grantaire: (clearly sarcastically) today is my forte

marius: just think about it.. your children’s parent lives on this planet right now

eponine: manic pixie dream girl? nah, i said i’m a panic moxie grim girl

cosette: actually girlhood is listening to loud music and rearranging furniture

musichetta: dude they’re men, they only care about books and astrology

[enjscurls]

Happy 10 years to the video that ruined an entire fandom

Sill makes me fucking sob

[kjack89]

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…”

[pyromaniacbibliophile]

The Halls of the Dead (Chapter 1)

ao3 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

So I was musing on the afterlife then I saw this post and I thought 'Afterlife enjoltaire?' then this happened. Bear in mind I haven't read the brick yet (though i desperately want to but i'm forbidden from bying books near my bday) so Les Amis are based off what little we get of them in the movie and the 178 les mis fics ive read.

MY FIRST LES MIS FIC I'M SO HAPPY :)

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Time passed differently in the afterlife, Eponine guessed. She had woken up a few hours ago, and unless Les Amis had made a sensible decision and left their barricade, surely someone would have died by now. 

Standing up, she stretched and looked around herself. She was in a meadow, the sort of meadow you read about in books. Sun beat down from above, the green grass was speckled with yellow and pink flowers, bees and butterflies flitted through the air. It was nice, she thought to herself. 

It was obviously the afterlife, but surely it couldn’t be just this? There must be something else, she decided, and began to walk. 

Not ten minutes later, she came to a river. It was easily 8 metres wide, and it looked deep. She looked up and down, but there was no bridge. Eponine was about to turn back when a boat appeared. A boat rowed by a skeleton in a black cloak. Ah. 

“Come, Soul, for you must cross to the other side.” The skeleton declared.

“Must I cross now?” She asked. 

“No, but you cannot reside in the Meadows. You will have family and friends on the other side.”

“My only family is still alive. As are my friends. I wish to wait for them.” Although she hoped Gavroche wouldn’t be here for a long, long time, she doubted that could happen. She would also like to think the French Army wouldn’t shoot children, but again, there was little chance of that being true. 

“You may be waiting a long time.”

“Can you find out how long?” 

The skeleton paused. “It is not typically the done thing… Your name?”

“Eponine Thenardier.” 

It pulled out a long scroll of paper and unrolled it. “Thenardier, Thenardier.. The Beginning of the French Revolution?” 

“Sounds about right.”

“Not long at all, Mademoiselle Thenardier.”

“Thank you.” 

She turned, and began to walk back to the meadows, when she saw a familiar figure sit up in the grass just ahead. She stared. 

“Monsieur Mabeuf?”

[expired-applejuice]

Incorrect quotes part 4

Javert: hold the fuck up!

Les Amis: *hugs Grantaire aka their fuck up*

-

Valjean: *shatters a window and climbs through it*

Valjean: *turns around and helps Cosette through it* Breaking and entering is wrong Cosette.

Cosette: Okay.

-

Combeferre, trying to get Enjolras out of bed: Don't make me get the water bucket.

Enjolras: You wouldn't.

Courfeyrac: *walking past dripping wet* Yes, he would.

-

Montparnasse: What if fairies were real?

Jehan: What?

Montparnasse: Faries. What if they were actually real?

Jehan: W-wait...faries aren't r-real?

Montparnasse: Of course they're not-

Jehan: "tearing up*

Montparnasse: HAHAHA TRICKED YOU FARIES ARE REAL JUST KIDDING! Please don't cry I love you

-

Bossuet: You know, I'm starting to regret showing you how that blender works.

Grantaire, drinking toast: Why do you say that?

Courfeyrac: ooh can I have some?

-

Bossuet: COURFEYRAC DID YOU EAT THE COOKIES I MADE

Courfeyrac: there was cookies?!

Bossuet: yes. And you ate them

Courfeyrac: no I didn't

Bossuet: then where are they?

Joly, walking in: *mouth full* these are some good cookies

-

Bahorel: I'm going to bed.

Feuilly: It's noon.

Bahorel: Time isn't real.

-

Enjolras: Grantaire, you risked your life to save me!

Grantaire: And I'd do it again! And perhaps a third time! But that would be it. <3

-

Javert: Alright. Time for a new team-building exercise. We're going to put everything we love into this box.

Montparnasse: Can I put Jehan in the box?

Javert: No.

Courfeyrac: Can I put Jehan in the box?

Javert. No.

Grantaire: Can I-

Javert: No one can put Jehan in the box!!

Enjolras: This is a terrible team-building exercise!

-

Grantaire: So, you like cats?

Enjolras: Yeah, I do. They're cute.

Grantaire: *slowly pushes a glass of the counter*

-

Enjolras: Combeferre, I told you to take out the trash.

Combeferre: Oh, right! Sorry!

Combeferre: Courfeyrac, will you go on a date with me?

Courfeyrac:

-

Combeferre: Okay, I'm going to get the wedding cake.

Courfeyrac: Perfect, while you do that I'll check on the ring bear.

Combeferre: ...

Combeferre: You mean ring bearER, right?

Courfeyrac: ...

Combeferre: Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not going to bring a dangerous wild animal to our wedding.

-

Musichetta: Isn't it amazing what friends learn from one another?

Joly: I learn a lot from Grantaire because he makes so many mistakes.

-

Grantaire: Why were you up yesterday until 3am?

Bahorel: How did you know I was up until 3am?

Feuilly: everyone could hear you clapping to the FRIENDS theme song every 25 minutes.

-

Grantaire: Whoa, you're being a little-

Combeferre, who hasn't slept in 4 days because he was studying: Truculent? Obstreperous? Recalcitrant?

Grantaire: I was gonna say "cray-cray".

-

Courfeyrac: You know you've made it when you see your picture up everywhere you go.

Enjolras: Courfeyrac... Those are our wanted posters.

-

Grantaire: The Ocean is a soup.

Combeferre:

Combeferre: Do elaborate.

Grantaire: What are needed for something to be a soup?

Combeferre: Erm... Water, salt, some form of vegetation, and personally I prefer some meat in mine.

Grantaire: *Tilts head*

Combeferre: The Ocean is a Soup.

Grantaire: The Ocean is a Soup.

-

Bossuet: Okay, it's obvious that you're not over this whole "Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying" thing, yet.

Grantaire: What makes you say that?

Joly: We found you in the park throwing rocks at children.

Grantaire: WHY SHOULD THEY BE HAPPY?!?

-

Musichetta: How did you break your leg?

Eponine: Do you see those porch stairs?

Musichetta: Yes.

Eponine: I didn't.

-

Grantaire: Hey Apollo? If my apartment burned down would you let me stay with you?

Enjolras: Yes of course I would!

Enjolras: Wait... Grantaire?

Enjolras: Grantaire come back!!!

-

Bahorel: We both look very handsome tonight.

Feuilly: You know you could have just said looked good and I would have said "So do you?"

Bahorel: ... I couldn't take that chance.

-

Courfeyrac: What's the word for when your hands are bisexual?

Combeferre: Do you mean ambidextrous?

Courfeyrac: I'm in love with you.

-

Valjean: so I have this rock, it's very beautiful. Javert gave it to me.

Fantine: I watched him throw it at you

Valjean: he's very sweet.

[mysoulsickened]

𝐋𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

————————————————————————————

To love another person is to see the face of God.

————————————————————————————

𖤓 𝐄njolras —

𖤓 𝐆rantaire —

𖤓 𝐂ombeferre —

𖤓 𝐂ourfeyrac —

𖤓 𝐉oly —

𖤓 𝐉ean (𝐉ehan) 𝐏rouvaire —

𖤓 𝐅euilly —

𖤓 𝐁ahorel —

𖤓 𝐌arius —

𖤓 𝐄ponine —

————————————————————————————

* The way I write the characters will be based upon the book. If you have a specific request for the characters; i.e 'BBC Les Misérables' or, '2012 Movie', please specify in your ask. The characters will be as book accurate as possible!

[demonsonthemoon]

A State or a Feeling

Fandom: Les Misérables Pairing: Jehan Prouvaire/Grantaire Word Count: 2155 Rating: Gen Summary: "I'm in love!" "And that's a good thing?" OR: Grantaire is so happy about his unrequited crush on Enjolras that he has to kiss Jehan about it. Notes: Happy meeting anniversary to my beloved friend @anastasiapullingteeth <3 Your friendship is a light in my life.

Read it on AO3.

Grantaire is giddy with it. Practically skipping as he walks home. Jehan would probably have given in to that instinct and cheerfully hopped down all the way back to their shared flat. He's a lot more comfortable in his skin that Grantaire is. He wouldn't care about people staring, wondering if maybe he's drunk, or high, instead of just this. Intoxicated and overjoyed by the simple act of loving.

Maybe Grantaire's a little drunk also, if he has to be entirely honest. But he's just walking, not skipping about, so it doesn't matter. It's not a problem. Right now, anyway.

There are many things in Grantaire's life that are a bit of a problem, but what is important is right now. And right now he's feeling giddy and happy, and he lets himself into his apartment, which always feels just a little bit like relief.

This is how Grantaire knows he's happy.

“Honey, I'm home!” He sing-songs, dropping his keys into a bowl in the hallway.

“In the kitchen,” Jehan shouts back. His voice is a little low, more rough-edged than usual.

Grantaire doesn't care about his lingering cold, though. He wraps his arms around the other man's waist and buries his smile into Jehan's neck, feeling like it might run away from him otherwise.

“Someone's in an amorous mood tonight,” Jehan says as Grantaire nuzzles under his skin. “You'll catch your death, you know.”

“What a beautiful way to go, though.”

“Well, you might have a deathwish, but I don't. And if you don't stop distracing me, this broccoli might just catch fire and take me with it into the afterlife.”

“The broccoli's already in the afterlife, you know.”

Jehan swats at him, then pokes his face with their wooden spoon until Grantaire relents and lets him go. “That is not the point and you know it,” Jehan adds, still threatening him with the spoon.

He quickly eases off though, relaxing and smiling. Grantaire can feel the same expression reflected on his face. “What's got you so happy?”

Grantaire can't resist. He swoops back in, lifts Jehan in his arms and twirls him around their kitchen. “I'm in love,” Grantaire says, grin growing bigger as Jehan starts to laugh.

“And that's a good thing?”

“Mmh-mmh.” Grantaire drops his flatmate back to the ground. Jehan turns around and switches off their gas hob. It fills Grantaire with a simple joy, because he knows that Jehan is truly listening to him. He is regularly shaken within his bones by the fact that someone can care about him so obviously, so easily, without making him feel inadequate. Grantaire stops to breathe, letting himself savor the feeling of his lungs being filled. It seems so easy, in this moment. What a precious thing. “I'm happy,” he whispers, like it's a secret.

Once again, he wonders at his luck, because Jehan knows to kiss him when he says that, tugging on Grantaire's hair slightly so that he bends down enough that Jehan can lick the joy from his lips.

“Tell me about it,” Jehan says, like a promise. Grantaire tugs him away from the kitchen, away from the broccoli. He's not hungry right now. He's filled to the core with euphoria.

He knows it's temporary, of course. It's just another high, like the ones he gets from drugs or from alcohol. But right now it's there, it's real, and that's all that matters. Being present in his body, and knowing that for once, he owes none of it to artificial substances.

“It's Enjolras,” Grantaire says as he settles on the tattered couch in their living room. Jehan settles down next to him, crossing his legs.

“Of course it is,” Jehan chuckles. “That's what I expected. Or, well, I guess there could have been a new recruit in Les Amis that caught your eye in a flash. After all, it happened to me.”

It's Grantaire's turn to reward Jehan with a kiss, a marker of the easy intimacy between them. It could so easily have turned out differently between them. Grantaire is very aware of how easily he could have been put off by Jehan's affection for him, if the other man hadn't been so good at respecting his boundaries. It's happened so many times before, that he felt a connection to someone, fell headfirst into adoration, before everything fizzled out once they started actually dating. It always felt uncomfortable, the cloying attention of someone being in love with him, the way that receprocation made a relationship change, stripped it of the playfulness that had made it interesting in the first place.

But here they are, he and Jehan. Living together, kissing each other, fucking each other when the mood strikes them. And yet it's not cloying. It's not laden with expectations and judgements.

It's not always easy. Hasn't always been easy. They've had to fight, for this. When they first got to know each other and the yearning felt so deep it threatened to consume them both, Grantaire had to push back against his own wants to try and protect what he truly needed. A friend. Foremost, front and center. A friend.

It's one of the hardest things he's ever done. It's definitely what he's the proudest of in his life.

Now he gets to have this. Like a reward. For once, Grantaire believes he deserves it.

“So, what did Enjolras do this time? Did he finally admit something nice about you?”

“Ah! We first need at least three signs of the Apocalypse before we can expect that. No, he called me a buffoon, I think. Hardly the insult he thinks it is. I do very much enjoy playing the entertainer.”

Jehan rolls his eyes at that. “Yeah, I think everyone in Les Amis has noticed that.”

“It's a great service I provide for them! I'm sure we would have lost half of our attendees if I didn't take it upon myself to make these meetings a little less rebarbative.”

“What you call rebarbative is known in some circles as efficient.”

“Psh.” Grantaire makes a gesture with his hand as if he's chasing a fly away. “We both know they like to talk in circle. If someone didn't push them towards a decision, they'd just spend all evening debating for the sake of it.”

“It's funny,” Jehan points out with a sly grin. “This almost makes it sound like you care about Les Amis achieving their goal.”

“You know I do,” Grantaire says, tone turning more somber. God, he hopes Jehan does, because if not... If not, there's been something going fundamentally wrong in this relationship, and Grantaire has only noticed. “I really do want you all to succeed, even if I don't-”

“I know. I know it's hard for you to believe that things can change, but it doesn't mean you don't think they should. I know that you care. The others know it too. They get mad at you for pushing, but they know it helps, that you're forcing them to think, forcing them to defend themselves, to step out of their comfort zone.” “Yeah. I mean, I also do it because it's fun to rile them up,” Grantaire adds, trying to salvage the situation before it devolves into The Sads Hour and he's forced to talk in excruciating details about his insecurities.

Jehan chuckles fondly. Grantaire feels seen. He's certain that his friend knows he diverted the conversation on purpose.

This is another thing that would scare him in any other person, but not in Jehan. Being known so intimately, being read for who he truly is and not just the lies he hides behind, it isn't an ordeal, when Jehan is the one doing the reading. Because, if his gaze his searching, it's never weakness that he's looking for. If he tries to pry Grantaire open, it's not to see what makes him tick, it's to be certain that Jehan will be able to put him back together again if the need arises.

“Fun. I've never been one to find shouting matches particularly appealing, but whatever does it for you. So, is that why you were in such a good mood? Because Enjolras called you an idiot and shouted at you?”

“A buffoon, he called me a buffoon. You of all people should know the importance of picking your words right.” Grantaire's smile turns a bit shy after that. “And yeah, that's pretty much what happened. It's just... remember how we had that entire conversation about how Enjolras doesn't actually hate me?”

That had been one of the times Grantaire had had to talk in excruciating details about his insecurities. It had been embarrassing, and painful for the both of them, but also absolutely necessary.

“He doesn't, by the way. Hate you.”

“I know. I know that now. Your arguments were very convincing. Also, I probably knew that all along. It's just that there's a big difference between knowing it intellectually and actually believing it, in your body. But we're not having that conversation again! Especially when I was trying to say that I do believe it now.”

Jehan raises an eyebrow at that, which is fair.

“I do! At least tonight. Because we were arguing, and he was calling me names, and then we got interrupted by one of the waitresses – you know the one that Joly and Bossuet both like? So obviously that took a while, and afterwards... The meeting just carried on. No barb. No cutting remarks. He could have said something to undermine me, like he used to do. But he didn't. It was like he didn't care. Except obviously he does, since we spent so long arguing right before that. But I just realised that... this is it.”

“It?”

Precious Jehan, trying to follow along even though Grantaire isn't making one bit of sense.

“Yeah. This is it. Enjolras and me. That stupid attraction I feel? This is where it's going, but not any further. He doesn't give a single fuck about it going any further, Jehan. It's amazing.”

Jehan laughs at that, and Grantaire soon joins him, giving in to the euphoria once more. It's a communicative kind of laughter, one that bursts out into small fits, dies down, then starts back up. They're laughing, because Grantaire has a hugely embarrassing and embarrassingly huge crush on someone and that someone couldn't care less about it. They're laughing because Grantaire is happy. They're laughing because Grantaire is unafraid, and that might taste even better than happiness.

And Grantaire loves the taste of things that are shared, he loves stealing fries from other people's plates, or the very last spoonful of dessert, or the first sip of an expensive fruity drink. And so he shares this taste with Jehan, kisses him once more, soothes some of the everpresent hunger in his gut even as the broccoli keeps getting cooler and cooler.

The kiss deepens this time, even as they keep getting interrupted by their own giggles. Jehan tangles his fingers in Grantaire's short curls, holding on and being held onto. He hasn't washed his hand, Grantaire thinks inanely. He doesn't try to move away, pushes into the grip instead. He hopes his hair smells like cooking oil after this. He hopes his entire body is marked by the easy intimacy of this life in close quarters, the way this shared space has become a freedom instead of a prison.

He can say these things here. He's free to want and not want at the same time, and he can be celebrated in his contradictions, in the way it makes him so much happier than those many times he so desperately tried to resolve himself.

He's wanted here, but in a quiet way. Not the all-devouring depths of his own feelings, those dark tendrils of yearning that threaten to drown him. Jehan's is a tamed love, one that is happy to fill the space it is granted to bursting, but never beyond. Always so careful to stop before the explosion.

Grantaire is all explosions all the time, but that's okay, because Enjolras won't give him any fuse to lit, and Jehan will force him to clean up his mess and put things back together.

It fills him up, this energy. This mixed euphoria, something new and something old, not standing in contradiction to each other, but creating a contrast still. Lifting each other up.

He's so lucky. It's the phrase he used, but he's not in love, not really. Not as a feeling. The crushing weight of attraction he feels for Enjolras isn't anything as mature as love. And what he has with Jehan isn't really a feeling. It's a state. He loves and he is loved.

It's like floating on a calm sea, being surrounded but mostly being carried. It's like knowing he's over shallow ground, can stand up if he needs to, but not needing to.

He's giddy with it.

[anastasiapullingteeth]

just so you know, february 14 is Jetaire international day

happy jetaire day to all those who celebrate

[anastasiawritingfics]

Chapters: 1/1 Relationships: Grantaire/Jean Prouvaire Ratng: General Audiences Additional Tags: Online Dating, Developing Friendships, Friends to Lovers Summary:

Jehan and Grantaire keep bumping into each other on different dating apps. After five years of online friendship, Grantaire starts to think maybe the universe is trying to tell him something.

@punxbarton and I met 9 years ago on a February 14 and it's a lovely tradition of us to celebrate our anniversary.

Meeni, you're my favorite aro-Valentine. I hope you enjoy your little present ♡

[minor-character-fanpage]

I need more les amis de l’abc friends! comment if you wanna talk and my dms are open if anyone wants to chat!

(i’m a feuilly person <3)

[autumnalmess]

Les Amis de l'ABC as "because of woke" twitter memes

Enjolras:

Grantaire:

Combeferre:

Courfeyrac:

Feuilly:

Bossuet:

Joly:

Bahorel:

Jehan:

Bonus Marius: