#combeferre has never done anything wrong in his life

[shitpostingfromthebarricade]

Knowing that Napoléon is on the record as having said

I had been nourished by liberty, but I thrust it aside when it obstructed my path.

(as well as tampered Almost Always with votes and democratic elections) not only makes it perfectly clear why

"What could be greater?"

"To be free."

is such a one-hit KO but also 1000% apparent how hard that response fucks.

[shitpostingfromthebarricade]

Everyone else in the fandom: lol ye

American Les Mis fandom: dO YoU KnoW HoW MuCH hEAlThcARe CoSTs???

My favorite thing in Les Mis fanfiction has to be, when a character gets injured, no matter how serious it is, before calling 911 or driving to the hospital, they call Joly. Like oh no Grantaire was beaten and stabbed, better call Joly.

[pumpkinspice-prouvaire]

Unpopular opinion: Enjolras is not as much of an asshole as he is made out to be.

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

I'm about to go off

Okay so I HATE fics where Enjolras is a irredeemable asshole who yells at and insults his friends and is rude and abrasive and shouty and just horrible, nothing is guaranteed to make me click off a fic quicker (It's actually something I see a lot less now than when I read fic back in 2013, but it does crop up occasionally). Part of that is just because he gets favourite character privileges lmao. But I also think it just doesn't make sense if he's leader of Les Amis? Like, leaders are charismatic, they're likeable, they're charming, they have friends. To me, it just doesn't make sense that Enjolras would be surrounded by friends who like and respect him if he treats them all like garbage??????? You'd be like, 'This guy is an asshole, I don't wanna join his stupid little club' lmao

At the same time, though, he definitely isn't a perfect angel who has never done anything wrong ever in his life. He's 'capable of being terrible', right? Let him get angry, let his unyielding attitude get the better of him and say stupid and cruel things in the heat of the moment, let him hurt people's feelings. We all do it sometimes ya know? But he needs to have some kind of self-awareness if you're going to have people root for him in any way. He needs to admit when he's wrong and apologise, without being forced to by Courfeyrac and Combeferre. He's not a child fs if he wants to say sorry he can just say sorry (I mean...Unless you’re writing a fic where he is literally a child).

Basically, he's allowed to be flawed. But he's also allowed to be nice! Let Enjolras be nice! I will die on this hill!!!

[fremedon]

Brickclub 3.5.1, “Marius in Penury,” and 3.5.2, “Marius in Poverty”

We gloss over several years in these next two chapters: years in which Marius, through difficulty and very hard work, becomes self-sufficient--remarkably so.

This is not a good thing for Marius.

(Everything here is riffing off the discussion @everyonewasabird started in his writeup, so go read that first, it’s quite good.)

The language in which Hugo extols the beneficial effects of poverty for Marius is so much like some of the worst contemporary bootstraps rhetoric that it’s very easy to miss the places where that praise turns ironic. But look at this, from the end of the first long paragraph of 3.5.1, detailing the hunger, evictions, and social embarrassment and humiliation Marius endures:

Awesome and terrible test from which the weak emerge degenerate, the strong emerge sublime. Crucible into which fate casts a man whenever it wants a villain or a demigod.

Marius is becoming a Great Man.

In this book, that’s a terrible thing to be. (And it says something about how radical a message that still is that I miss it almost every time it comes up.)

Hugo continues,

For many great feats are performed in small struggles. There are dogged deeds of valour, overlooked, that hold out step by step in the darkness against the fatal onslaught of destitution and depravity. Noble and mysterious triumphs that no eye sees, no renown honours, no fanfare salutes.

Life, adversity, isolation, abandonment, poverty are battlefields that have their heroes, the obscure sometimes greater than the illustrious. 

This is Cambronne at Waterloo; this is the barricade; this is Fantine’s descent, and the narrator means every word here--but between this and the villains or demigods of fate’s crucible, there’s a contrast it’s easy to miss. These aren’t the struggles of great men; they’re the struggles of good men--of people. Being a demigod isn’t a goal in this book. Enjolras starts as one and his endgame is becoming more human and more vulnerable.

And the next paragraph:

In such a way are steadfast and rare natures created. Almost always a stepmother, poverty is sometimes a mother. Deprivation begets strength of soul and of mind. Hardship is the wetnurse of pride. Adversity is a good milk for the noble in spirit.

Marius was offered the chance, two chapters ago, to take the Republic as his mother. And he took the other choice--here, poverty; there, glory and war. Being a great man; pulling himself up by his bootstraps; going it alone, without accepting help or charity. To lend money to his friends from time to time, but never accept anything but Courfeyrac’s old green coat. It’s as much a mistake for him here as for Madeleine in M-s-M.

And to compound it--hat tip to @pilferingapples--he cloisters himself, going out at night so his clothing looks black, and pulling away from social connections to maintain his pride in a way that is also reminiscent of Valjean, in another of the book’s inversions:

Some formality of expression or behaviour that in any other situation would have seemed to him polite, now seemed to him servile, and he bridled at it. He venerated nothing, not wanting to back down. There was in his face a kind of austere flush. He was shy even to the point of rudeness.

In other words, he feels his position of social inequality so keenly that routine social kindnesses or friendly give-and-take would feel like charity on others’ part or scraping on his own, so he avoids them. It’s the opposite of Valjean’s habit, of eating those abasements and feeling proud to the point of hubris of how much of them he can swallow, but it has the same result--both men end up almost completely atomized and alone.

The horrific thing is that Marius probably thinks he’s taking Combeferre’s advice. What could be greater than to be a Great Man? To be free, Combeferre says. And, welp--

He had suffered everything in the way of privation. He had done everything except contract debts. He said in his own favour that he had never owed anyone a sou. To him, a debt was the beginning of slavery. He even told himself that a creditor is worse than a master, for the master is master only of your person whereas a creditor is master of your dignity and can give it a beating.

Hugo goes out of his way to distinguish Marius’s ideas from the narrator’s here, and that’s often a flag that the character has gotten something wrong. Marius isn’t entirely wrong here--for Fantine, debt was the beginning of slavery. He has, correctly, sensed and avoided a pitfall that we have seen swallow Fantine--consumer debt, debts of the sort that Thenardier has fled so thoroughly that Marius can’t track him down in three years of searching (more on that in a moment), would have been a terrible thing for him.

But Fantine didn’t have friends offering her a loan or a place to sleep. Mutual aid isn’t debt--and Marius gets this on some level, because he’s willing to be the source of the rotating ten francs the Amis trade back and forth. He lends Courfeyrac sixty francs once, and he doesn’t think less of Courfeyrac for taking it! But he’s not willing to accept it.

And accepting help, being vulnerable to people who matter to him, is the quest he should have taken. Having been brought up by Gillenormand, it’s not something he knows how to do. But that’s a lot harder and scarier than isolating himself and learning to live on one mutton chop for three days--and, Bonapartist as he is, he’s determined to do everything himself.

And then there’s his debt to Thenardier. “It was the only debt the colonel had left him, and Marius felt honour-bound to repay it.” This debt is his entire patrimony. If human interconnectedness isn’t a matter of debts--if this debt doesn’t need to be discharged--then his father has left him nothing tangible. And that’s also a hard and scary idea, and not one he’s ready for.

(And now we’re back to Marius’s internalization of that word ingrate. I have no doubt that Gillenormand played the patriarch and drummed into Marius’s head constantly how much Marius owed him.)

This got hugely long, so just a couple more short observations:

Marius’s food budget (365 francs/year), when he gets to a low but stable income, is more than ten times his rent (30 francs/year). He pays 36 francs--20% more than his rent--to the concierge for some basic housekeeping and shopping. One of the privations we are told he endures before he achieves this stability is “sweeping his own landing.”

Marius is having his mail sent to Courfeyrac’s address, which presumably is how Aunt Gillenormand keeps tracking him down. I would love to read a fic about Courfeyrac’s occasional conversations with Aunt G.

“While all this was going on he qualified as a lawyer.” Which, for someone with no connections and no professional wardrobe, opens precisely zero doors--he continues to support himself on the basic literacy that’s part of his class inheritance and his self-taught language skills.

“This Rousseau restaurant, where so few bottles of wine and so many pitchers of water were emptied, was palliative rather than restorative.” Nice. Restaurant, meaning ‘restorative,’ was originally the beverage one drank in a restaurateur’s establishment, as one drinks coffee at a café--an expensive, highly concentrated bone broth, which was a health food craze in the 1760s and 1770s. (I am currently reading Rebecca Spang’s The Invention of the Restaurant: Paris and Modern Gastronomic Culture. Highly recommended.)

[sentinelstars]

Enjoltaire fic

I got bored and I wrote a small Enjoltaire fic thing. Enjoy I guess!

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” Grantaire calls from across the room, where Enjolras has just finished a long diatribe on the rights of the citizen.

Enjolras, temporarily distracted from his idealism, turns to glare at Grantaire. The flames in Enjolras’s eyes threaten to burn the artist, but, truthfully, Grantaire is just grateful to have that fiery passion directed at him, if only for a fleeting moment.

“That statement means nothing from you, Grantaire, as you will drink to anything,” the revolutionary says coldly, turning away once again in order to continue his speech.

Grantaire simply cannot allow that. He feels himself growing cold from the absence of Enjolras’s attention already. “Perhaps it does mean nothing to you, Apollo, but I’ll continue nonetheless. Although wrong in all of your ideals, you are right about my drink. I am fond of it, and unashamed, and so, a drink to that!” He lifts his glass mockingly towards Enjolras, who is turning red with anger. Then, he downs another glass, prompting a few hesitant chuckles from those around him and a pat on the back from Bahorel.

“If only you were as devoted to the cause as you are to your drink, Grantaire,” replies Enjolras, clearly restraining himself from saying something worse.

Grantaire laughs loudly, pointing with the bottle in his left hand. “To the cause? No. But to you? My devotion to you far exceeds my fondness for alcohol, Apollo.”

Enjolras flinches, as he always does at that nickname and at displays of affection. Grantaire assumes it is pathological for somebody so emotionally constipated.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Enjolras finally says, apparently having no desire to continue this particular argument. The leader turns to Courfeyrac, who is stifling a laugh, and gestures for him to come over to discuss something. Courfeyrac has hardly even stood, though, when Grantaire is interrupting.

“Allow me to explain, dear leader. My life has not been easy. The world is cruel and doesn’t take kindly to people like me-“

“I-“ Enjolras begins to interrupt, eyebrows furrowing.

“No, I don’t want your pity or argument or whatever it is you plan on saying. Only listen, just once, Apollo. The world has broken me. I am but pieces. The alcohol allows me to forget; it blurs my fracture lines. But, alas, when I wake, I am reminded once again. Reminded that I am only rubble, nothing more. But you.” The artist says the last words so softly that Enjolras startles, not used to such quiet from the notoriously rowdy drunk. He looks at Grantaire and momentarily forgets where they are, forgets to form a rebuttal in his head, forgets to breathe. Enjolras simply listens as Grantaire continues.

“You, Apollo, make me feel whole. You are light, and warmth, and when I watch you speak, I feel healed. So yes, I am more devoted to you than I could ever be to my drink. Because while my drink allows me to forget I am broken, it is you who makes me whole.”

A long silence follows as Grantaire’s words sink in. Everyone appears stunned, and Jehan looks like they might melt, leaning against Feuilly dramatically. Interactions like these are common from Grantaire towards their leader, but this time, it appears to be more than drunken rambling. In fact, Grantaire has never looked more sober in his life as he gazes almost challengingly at Enjolras.

Enjolras is at a loss. He can’t seem to look away from Grantaire, or move, or say anything at all. Finally, he swallows and says, steadily as he can manage, “R- Grantaire,” he corrects quickly, obviously still flustered. “I have things to do. Matters to attend to. A meeting to run.”

Grantaire sighs, but the smile on his face remains, sad and sarcastic. “Obviously. You always do.”

“But,” Enjolras interrupts abruptly, looking seriously at Grantaire. “After the meeting. Stay behind. We have things to discuss.”

Grantaire hesitates, something he has never done before in answering Enjolras. Finally, he whispers, “As you wish,” in a strangled sounding voice.

Enjolras states him down for a bit longer, thinking, before nodding to himself, clearing his throat, and walking back towards Combeferre.

Grantaire turns back to the rest of his booth, where Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel are staring at him with wide eyes. The stunned silence is eventually broken by Bossuet, who says, “Holy shit.”

They all laugh. “Holy shit is right,” Bahorel chuckles loudly, punching R in the shoulder. “I’m buying you a drink.”

“No thanks,” he replies, smiling lazily.

They all turn to him, even more stunned than before.

“Great,” Joly says, frowning. “Enjolras broke him.”

“I thought I had just expressed the opposite? I was always broken. Discovering Enjolras made me whole.” Grantaire says, grinning.

His companions make noises of disgust.

“Ugh, somebody call Jehan over here!”

“Or Pontmercy,”

“I’ll drink to that!”

[shitpostingfromthebarricade]

@lenezdansleruisseau Oh, do I have some great posts for you.

It's not Joly, but it's Combeferre, which makes it even better: @annabrolena (and co's) super-accurate Les Amis HCs, as well as a newly-discovered and totally legit passage that is entirely in keeping with le Thicc Bricclical Canon de Thicc Vicc.

@alicedraws-kostyalevin and you better believe he plans on cutting that arts funding

@lenezdansleruisseau joly believes in all natural non GMO remedies only !! None of this nasty chemical nonsense

[malewifegrantaire]

The Birthday Thing

READ PART ONE HERE

PART TWO: Guess who’s coming to dinner hang out for no apparent reason (as far as Grantaire can tell)?

Combeferre had inadvertently ruined the rest of Grantaire’s week. It wasn’t his fault, of course. He couldn’t be blamed for Grantaire’s Incredibly Bad Brain. But still, “I just know Enjolras and I know he likes you” is a very reckless phrase to pepper into a conversation with someone of Grantaire’s constitution. He could hardly fall asleep that night because the words I know he likes you were clanging too loudly against the bars of the jail cell he called a mind. He didn’t mind too much though. The clanging was because Enjolras liked him, which made all of the noise sound a bit like music.

Grantaire picked out an outfit for the party and laid it out like he was a little kid excited for a school trip. Embarrassed with himself, he threw the entire outfit into his clothing hamper so he wouldn’t have to look at it lying out on his dresser anymore. Which was obviously a mistake, because now the clothes were are wrinkled and they were touching his actually dirty clothes. Which meant now he had to do a half load of laundry on a weekday, which he really didn’t like doing.

As he folded his laundry, Grantaire felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Huh. It was from Combeferre. Odd.

hey, are u free? sorry lol i am bored and wanted to know if u wanna hang out ??

Very odd. Maybe the wrong number? Just to be safe, Grantaire texted back:

grantaire is folding laundry right now, like a responsible adult.

Two texts back:

very interesting use of third person..

i can help if u want! i love 2 fold things

So this was Grantaire’s life. He used to be young and wild, and now he’s the sort of person that makes plans with people who text him sentences like “i love 2 fold things.” He typed his response.

uh, sure? might get boring, but i’ll never say no to an extra set of hands.

About fifteen minutes later, Combeferre was inside of Grantaire’s apartment. “You got here fast.” Grantaire said.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Aren’t you always?”

Combeferre took in Grantaire’s apartment, which gave Grantaire such a wave of self-consciousness that he thought he might be sick. It was a fine apartment, kept clean mostly because Grantaire hardly spent any time in it. The ceilings were far too low for Combeferre.

“This is a really nice place.” Combeferre said. “Have you lived here long?”

“Five years, I think.” Grantaire said. “I think the landlord thought I’d have left by now, but, well. I’m still here.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s nice. Good windows. Not easy to come by.”

Grantaire laughed at that. “Hey, was there something you wanted to talk about? Or are you just here to admire my big beautiful windows?”

Combeferre looked slightly embarrassed. “Uh, the latter, I guess.” he said. “I mean, just what I texted, I was bored, and I guess . . . I don’t know. I guess I thought we could just hang out?”

Now it was Grantaire’s turn to be embarrassed. Of course. Combeferre is the sort of person who’s actually, you know, decent. He was just trying to be nice and Grantaire was accusing him of having an ulterior motive. Way to go. Grantaire cleared his throat. “Well, thanks for coming. Feel free to park wherever. I only did a half load of laundry so I’m finished folding, sorry. I know how much you love to fold.”

“I went through a very intense Marie Kondo phase.” Combeferre grinned. “Let me know if you ever need your closet to be reorganized.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Grantaire said. It was dawning on him that, being more of the roaming type than the nesting type, Grantaire almost never had people over his apartment, and therefore had very little hosting experience. So he did what he always did in situations like this - said what people say in movies and books and all that.

“Can I offer you a beverage of some kind? I’ve got . . . tap water. And orange juice. And maybe beer?”

“I’m alright, thanks.” Combeferre said kindly. Combeferre’s fridge was probably fully stocked with sparkling water in every flavor for guests to sip on, the bastard. He sat down in a little chair by the kitchenette. “What, what is it?” he asked, looking at Grantaire’s expression. “Why are you - what’s funny?”

“Everything is too small for you in here. It’s like shoving a Barbie doll into a Polly Pocket house.” Grantaire said with a laugh. Combeferre tucked his long legs a bit closer to himself.

“Well, Barbie is a good role model, so I’ll take that.”

“I think an averaged sized woman or two might disagree. Anyways, you’ve got impeccable timing.”

“What do you mean?” Combeferre inquired.

“I mean that someone must have wanted us to hang out today. God, the Fates, some non-denominational arbiter of Destiny.” Grantaire was doing that thing he always did where he ended sentences in a way that begged the listener to ask him to explain himself. Why he chose to speak in these irritating circles? We will likely never know. Grantaire sure as hell didn’t.

Combeferre rolled his eyes, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. “You’re impossible.”

“It’s been said before.” was Grantaire’s reply. “What I mean to say is I’m literally never home. Not literally-literally, but, you know. This apartment is basically a glorified storage unit that I visit when there is absolutely nothing else to do. So the fact that you happened to be passing by on a laundry day...”

“... a work of divine intervention?” Combeferre finished.

“I’d go so far as to call it a miracle if I believed in that sort of thing.” Grantaire said.

Combeferre’s next question caught Grantaire off-guard somewhat. “So you’re an atheist, then?”

Grantaire had never actually seen a shrink, but he had the passing sensation of being sprawled out on some brown leather fainting sofa. Maybe that’s what this was, a psych eval. He’d get a message from the official Les Amis de l’ABC e-mail account later in the week saying “sorry, R, you’ve been deemed mentally unfit to be a part of this organization. We know the Musain is public property, but if you could avoid the premises during our scheduled meeting times we all think that’d be for the best.”

“Well, yeah, aren’t all of the lefties heathens nowadays? At least that’s what Twitter tells me.” he said. His paranoia would not rob him of his (debatable) sense of humor.

Combeferre just shrugged. “I guess if I had to call myself something I’d say I’m agnostic.”

“Huh!” Grantaire said, genuinely surprised. “A member of the ‘namby-pamby, mushy pap, weak-tea, weedy, pallid fence-sitter’ brigade, are we?”

Two things occurred to Combeferre at once: One, that Grantaire was quoting Richard Dawkins, and two, that Grantaire could not have been certain that Combeferre would recognize the quote when he said it. Grantaire was both the sort of person that committed Dawkins to memory and the sort that didn’t really care if someone mistook his references for a string of improvised insults. The more Grantaire spoke, the more Combeferre became aware of how little speaking they’d ever done.

“I guess I just think one can never be sure.” Combeferre said.

Grantaire thought now would be a good time for a subject change. “So, how is party planning going?” he asked.

Combeferre sighed. “It’s . . . it’s going.” he said. “Well, okay, I’m being dramatic. Courfeyrac is actually the one doing most of the planning. I just get weird about stuff like this. I want Enjolras to like everything, you know?”

“I don’t think Enjolras is capable of disliking anything you do.” Grantaire said in a way that to the untrained ear might sound like a veiled insult, but that Combeferre suspected was an attempt at genuine sincerity.

“Well, thanks.” Combeferre smiled gratefully. “I just want him to have a good time.”

“He will. It’s the rest of us you’ll have to work to entertain.”

“Well, Courfeyrac has a slew of party games he’s preparing. Oh, and, uh, Enjolras mentioned he’s glad you’ll be able to make it. By the way.” Combeferre said, which made Grantaire blush, which made Combeferre smile.

Grantaire hated that. Not just when Combeferre did it, when any of them did. Making faces or little comments, as if they were in on some big secret. It’s like they were proud of themselves for noticing Grantaire’s little crush, like they knew something funny or scandalous or cute. But they didn’t know anything, not really. Grantaire didn’t have a crush on Enjolras at all. It was more like a religion. Maybe he’d been too quick to brand himself an atheist earlier.

His annoyance with Combeferre soured the rest of their conversation. He became mean, curt, and downright humorless. This wasn’t at all fair, he knew. Grantaire probably annoyed Combeferre every third sentence (maybe every third word) and that had never stopped Combeferre from being his usual amiable self. There was another difference between the two: Grantaire lacked both grace and graciousness, and Combeferre, it seemed, never ran out of either.

“Well, I guess I should be leaving.” Combeferre said after a while, rising from the squat chair he was sitting in.

“I guess.”

“Uh, thank you for having me over. We should do this again some time. I had fun.” Combeferre lied.

Grantaire smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Yeah, why don’t we all do brunch some time? You can bring your friends, it’ll be a real party. Everyone can sit around admiring my huge windows. What a blast!”

Combeferre knew he was joking, but he couldn’t decipher the punchline. What would be so bad about having all of their friends over for brunch? Why did he say the word “friends” like that, all sardonic and italicized? Combeferre almost asked him, but instead he just shook his head and smiled.

“Okay. Well. Bye!”

Grantaire waved lazily. “See you around.”

Under normal circumstances, the phrase “Enjolras mentioned he’s glad you’ll be able to make it” would have found itself fluttering in the pit of Grantaire’s stomach. Instead, there was something else sitting in there. Something that felt a bit like failure, a bit like guilt, and - most surprising of all - a bit like affection.

This is precisely why he didn’t like having people over.

[kjack89]

All Winners

This little exhaustion-fueled drabble just sort of popped in my head so...enjoy.

Modern AU. Mostly friendship, hinted pre-E/R.

U + ME + FRIENDS TRIVIA 2NITE.

Bahorel barely had a chance to take a swig of beer after sending the text to Feuilly when his phone buzzed with Feuilly’s response: Can’t tonight. Hanging out with R.

Bahorel frowned. R? Y????

Because he knows how to text using complete words, dilhole.

FUCK U, Bahorel responded, followed by three middle-finger emojis.

He could practically hear the laughter in Feuilly’s response. Love you too.

Bahorel just scowled down at his phone before texting Courfeyrac about Friends trivia, and once Courfeyrac enthusiastically agreed to accompany him, he put the thought from his mind.

---------

Grantaire wiped tears of laughter from his eyes at some long-winded story Bossuet had just finished when a hand clapped him on his shoulder. “You ready?”

“Of course,” Grantaire said, throwing back the rest of his drink in a single gulp and standing up.

Joly gave a sarcastic gasp. “Excuse me?” he demanded. “You’re leaving before midnight? Feuilly, what have you done to Grantaire? You must share your secret.”

Feuilly just laughed lightly, and Grantaire looped his arm through Feuilly’s before sticking his tongue out at Joly. “Despite what you may think, I do have a life outside of this café.”

“Since when?” Bossuet asked blankly.

Grantaire just rolled his eyes. “I will see you both for brunch tomorrow,” he told them before heading out with Feuilly in tow.

Joly frowned at their retreating backs. “Was that weird?” he asked.

“Grantaire hanging out with Feuilly, or Grantaire hanging out with anyone who isn’t us?” Bossuet asked.

“Both.”

Bossuet considered it for a moment. “Yes,” he said.

“To which?”

“Both.”

---------

“Where is Feuilly?” Enjolras demanded, glancing up from where he had been typing furiously on his computer. “He was supposed to be bringing the flyer design.”

“He texted to say he was running late,” Combeferre said without looking up from his own laptop. “Apparently he’s coming from Grantaire’s, and traffic’s bad.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “Grantaire’s?” he asked, in a completely different tone. “Why?”

Now Combeferre did glance up, amused. “Almost definitely not for whatever your mind immediately jumped to.”

Enjolras scowled, but his cheeks turned just slightly pink. “I wasn’t thinking anything,” he muttered.

“Uh-huh,” Combeferre said, in a tone that clearly said he didn’t believe him for an instant. “Anyway, they’re friends. They hang outside of Les Amis. What’s wrong with that?”

“Absolutely everything, if it means Grantaire’s worst qualities are rubbing off on Feuilly,” Enjolras said sourly.

Combeferre studied him for a moment. “I think he deserves more credit than that,” he said mildly.

“Which one?” Enjolras asked.

“Whichever one your mind jumped to first.”

---------

“Drugs,” Jehan suggested idly, lying on his back on his couch.

“No,” Grantaire said, flipping through an old issue of the New Yorker.

“Gambling?”

“No.”

Jehan rolled over onto his stomach. “Some kind of criminal enterprise, then.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you confusing me with your ex, or...?”

Jehan threw a pillow at him. “C’mon, you have to tell me something. It’s all anyone can talk about, your unlikely friendship.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and tossed the magazine aside. “Firstly, Feuilly and I have always been friends,” he said. “Secondly, how is it unlikely? He’s an artist, I’m an artist.”

It was Jehan’s turn to roll his eyes. “No, you and I are artists,” he said patiently. “Feuilly is a craftsman, which I mean as an absolute compliment to him.” He leaned forward. “He is everything you are not, and you can’t tell me that you have a lot in common.”

Grantaire threw the pillow back at him. “We don’t have to have anything in common,” he said stubbornly. “He and I just...” He trailed off and shrugged. “We get each other.”

“Are you in love with him?”

Grantaire gaped at him. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he managed.

Jehan laughed and held his hands up defensively. “I had to ask, sorry.”

“Had to ask my left ass cheek,” Grantaire muttered mutinously, standing to go grab another beer, and Jehan glanced at his phone, and the text message waiting for him from Courfeyrac: Anything??

Nothing, Jehan replied. I got nothing.

Seems like I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.

---------

Grantaire blinked against the sunlight as he opened his apartment door for a beaming Courfeyrac, who leaned against the doorjamb, bottle of wine in hand. “I come bearing gifts.”

“It is too fucking early for this,” Grantaire said, squinting at him.

“It is three in the afternoon,” Courfeyrac informed him, amused. “Now are you going to let me in?”

He made as if to push past Grantaire, but instead, Grantaire stepped outside, closing the door after him. “What do you want, Courf?” he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Can’t a guy just bring a nice bottle of wine that I nicked from the Enjolras family wine cellars the last time I was there?” Courfeyrac asked, mock-offended, and when Grantaire just raised an eyebrow, he sighed. “Ok, fine, we’re all dying to know what the hell is going on between you and Feuilly. Bahorel’s telling everyone that you’re filming porn together, Jehan seems to think this is some elaborate piece of performance art, and Enjolras—”

Grantaire’s head snapped up. “Yeah?” he asked, almost hopefully.

Courfeyrac just looked evenly at him. “And Enjolras definitely has the wrong idea about what’s going on, so if you think that’s somehow helping your chances...”

Grantaire sighed, and he hesitated for a moment before shrugging and turning to the door. “Fine,” he said reluctantly, “but only to put a rest to whatever stupid fucking rumors are floating around.”

“And because you’re worried about what Enjolras thinks,” Courfeyrac said with a grin, eagerly following Grantaire inside.

His smile faded slightly when he didn’t see Feuilly — or the pornography set Bahorel had described — anywhere inside. “Where...?” he started.

Grantaire held a finger to his lips and carefully opened the door to his bedroom, stepping back to let Courfeyrac peer in.

Feuilly was curled up on Grantaire’s bed, fast asleep.

Courfeyrac’s brow furrowed and he stepped back, letting Grantaire softly shut the door, and he followed Grantaire back outside. “Uh, forgive me for asking, but...what the fuck?”

“He comes here to sleep,” Grantaire said simply. “Some new neighbors moved in upstairs from him, and they’re on, like, opposite sleep and work schedules, and he’s been exhausted. So I told him he could crash here, whenever he needs to.”

Though Courfeyrac nodded, he still looked somewhat confused. “But why here?”

Grantaire shrugged. “He says it’s because I’m the only one who never wants him to do anything.”

Courfeyrac nodded slowly. “No one’s gonna believe this, you realize.”

“Maybe not,” Grantaire said with another shrug. “But as long as Feuilly gets his sleep and I get you freaks to stop making up weird-ass scenarios, then we’re all winners, aren’t we.”

“You mean as long as Enjolras stops thinking that you’re fucking Feuilly,” Courfeyrac said with a smirk.

Grantaire rolled his eyes as he headed back into his apartment. “Like I said,” he said, pausing and winking at Courfeyrac, “we’re all winners.”

[goodbyecringe]

(Un)Natural Selection Chapter 21

Éponine

“But you haven’t worn the flats in months Éponine,” Laila called from my closet.

“I’ve never taken dance lessons before. I want to be as comfortable as possible today,” I said, watching Miriam put the necklace Justine gave me around my neck.

“Or you need to be as comfortable as possible because this is the first time you’re seeing Enjolras since-”

“Why don’t you go clean the bathroom mirrors, Elise?” Miriam interrupted, which quickly sent Elise scurrying away.

“You didn’t have to do that, Miriam,” I shook my head.

“Ma’am, If you need another day we could say that your concussion is still bothering you,” Miriam suggested as I stood to put on the flats Elise set out.

“I can’t use it as an excuse forever. If Enjolras was going to send me home he would have done it already,” I said, mostly to ease my anxieties.

“Well, no one can say that you don’t look like a princess on your first day back,” Laila smiled.

As I looked at my reflection I realized that Laila was right about me looking like a princess. Claudia requested that during our dance lessons we were to wear tea-length dresses so our feet would be visible for easy corrections. The dress was a deep shade of emerald green that matched the upcoming holiday. Even though I had skipped breakfast in the Banquet Room Laila did a favor by putting my hair in a simple braid that made the gorgeous dress look more simple.

“Would you like me to walk with you?” Laila asked.

“Thank you but I don’t think Montparnasse has the guts to come out during the daylight,” I laughed, even though I knew I was lying.

Since the moment I told Miriam the truth about Montparnasse and my father it was like a weight had been lifted from my chest. She handled the entire situation better than I could have ever imagined. Unless I asked her about him directly she never mentioned him, which was something Elise and Laila picked up on very quickly. And even though I knew Montparnasse would come at me during any time of the day I needed to be alone before I was thrown back into the Selection. For once it wasn’t the girls that made me worry, but the press. I knew they would be filming our first day of lessons and I could only hope that they had no interest in interviewing us. I held my breath as a butler opened the door to the Banquet Room where most of the girls were already seated in anticipation of lunch. For once, I didn’t feel any eyes on me as I moved towards my seat between Cosette and Musichetta.

“I’m so glad that you’re able to join us!” Cosette said in her usual giddy tone.

“You came just in time to watch me take a swing at the Royal Brat,” Musichetta almost growled.

“Chetta and Teresa have had a few disagreements this week,” Cosette whispered while we stared at Musichetta.

“About what?”

“Does it even matter anymore? She thinks that every one that isn’t her is dirt. It’s beyond her usual Caste discrimination, which we’re all very sick of,” Chetta growled.

“Adele and Harley have been the most recent victims of Teresa’s harassment. Adele swears Teresa got one of her maids to ruin her ball gown so she might have to wear one of her old dresses,” Cosette explained.

Even though Teresa had always been rude to me she had never gone as far as blatant sabotage towards me. As lunch was served I began to piece together that Teresa probably wasn’t threatened by me, a Six. On the other hand, Adele and Harley were both Fours that come from relatively successful families that could pose a threat to her competition if they continued to gain traction with Enjolras. The most interesting part surrounding all of Teresa’s bullying was that I had never once heard her declare her love for Enjolras. Of course, she and every other girl would gush over his body, but I had yet to hear someone declare their love for Enjolras.

Thankfully I didn’t have to spend a long time mulling over the problems with the Selection since Claudia began to give an instructive lecture on ballroom dancing while lunch was being served.

“Ballroom dance is a necessary skill for any young woman that aspires to be a princess. It provides benefits in intellectual and social wellbeing that are conveyed to those dancing and watching the dancing. Dance is its own language that has brought together countless countries that were once at the brink of war,” Claudia explained passionately.

“I think she’s exaggerating a little,” Cosette giggled.

“I think Claudia’s last name is over-exaggerating,” I smiled.

Just as Claudia was entering an explanation of how a person’s teamwork skills are improved through ballroom dancing, Grantaire interrupted with the announcement of our dance partners. One by one the Friends of the ABC made their way into The Banquet Room, each with varying expressions of excitement and nervousness. We were instructed to mingle with the men while several butlers cleared the floor.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I step on your foot ‘Ponine. I haven’t been to a ball since I was twelve,” Marius said from behind me.

My stomach did a backflip at the thought of dancing with Marius.

“I’ve never been to a ball so I hope you're okay with your shoes getting scuffed,” I blushed.

“I debated wearing my steel-toed shoes, but I decided that I have total confidence in you,” Marius smiled before staring off at something behind me.

“Earth to Marius,” I laughed, waving my hand in front of his face.

“Éponine, who is that?” He asked, pointing to Cosette who was laughing at something Courfeyrac said.

“That’s Cosette.”

“She’s breathtaking,” Marius said, continuing to stare at her.

“Yeah, she’s beautiful.”

Before we could continue our conversation Grantaire was announcing the presence of Enjolras and we were being directed into a large circle. Before I could say anything Marius was rushing over the switch with Courfeyrac, who was originally partnered with Cosette.

“It’s so good to see you Éponine,” He bowed, holding out his hand.

“It’s good to see you too Courf. I’ve missed seeing everyone,” I said, curtseying.

“You have an open invitation to the Men’s Room whenever you’d like,” he smiled, putting his hand on my waist.

Claudia explained that every Elite girl would get a chance to dance with every Enjolras and that the men would rotate after every round. After looking around I realized that I would dance with Marius right before I danced with Enjolras, who was currently partnered with Liberty. Marius’s face was lit up like the Christmas Tree in my bedroom and Cosette’s face was light pink. Even while I struggled to dance with Courfeyrac I couldn’t stop staring at Marius. He had never looked at me the way he was looking at Cosette. But his face changed when he walked over to dance with May.

“Is everything okay?” Combeferre asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, looking at my feet, which were badly off tempo.

“Well, what I always try to do when I have too many things going on is focus on one thing at a time. I don’t mean to imply that whatever else you’re thinking about isn’t important, but these lessons will have a direct correlation with how well you do in front of everyone at the ball.”

As per usual, Combeferre was right. Claudia was going to tell the King and Queen about how badly I did during the lesson, which could affect how I stood among the Elite. I had already missed two weeks on history and etiquette lessons, and I knew those two weeks would make a difference. I tried to push Marius out of my head, but the pain I felt in the pit of my stomach was preventing me from prying my eyes away.

“I never thought I’d live to see the day Enjolras wore makeup,” I heard Ferre say, which snapped my attention away from Marius.

“Excuse me?” I asked in a panicked voice, turning my attention to Enjolras for the first time since his arrival.

It wasn’t very noticeable unless you knew where to look. I could barely make out that the right side of his face was more swollen then his left. And I could only imagine the color of his eye beneath the concealer Combeferre claimed he was wearing.

“I also never thought I’d see the day when someone finally gave what was coming to him.”

“He told you?” I asked, grinding my teeth together.

Combeferre nodded in response.

“I really don’t know what came over me. I never should have done that to him. If I would have taken time to process it my life could have been everything I’ve ever wanted. Now my sister is still suffering because of me.”

“He’s not mad at you if that’s what you’re worried about. In hindsight, it was probably a good thing that you said no,” Ferre smiled.

“How could turning down the Crown Prince be a good thing?”

“You would be getting married for all of the wrong reasons. You would only be thinking about helping your sister and he would only be thinking about his beloved Patria,” he explained, spinning me around.

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“You can start with being honest with him about your situation,” he said, giving me a very serious look before we switched partners.

None of the other conversations with my other dance partners were as serious as the one I had with Combeferre. From what I gathered Combeferre was probably the only other person that knew about what happened between Enjolras and me, which didn’t upset me. Most of the men were able to distract me from the worry in my stomach about Marius. Joly was more eccentric than usual and had me sanitize my hands before we could touch while Bossuet was actually better at dancing than I was.

“It’s the only thing I’ve been blessed with,” he smiled before moving on to his next partner.

I watched Marius smile as he made his way towards me. His smile brought me some comfort, but it wasn’t the smile he gave Cosette.

“‘Ponine, I feel like I could dance forever,” he smiled, placing his hand on my waist.

“Why is that?” I asked, fighting the butterflies in my stomach.

“I feel like I was just reborn into this Earth,” he said, spinning me.

At first, I couldn’t help myself but giggle while Marius twirled me around like a princess. And then I remembered the conversation I had with Cosette during the flight to Carolina.

“Isn’t Cosette the most lovely woman you’ve ever met?” Marius asked, bringing me back to reality.

“She’s great,” I almost whispered, staring at my feet.

Did people really fall in love this fast?

“I need to talk to her again. Do you think I would be able to visit her in private?”

“Only if you want to be executed,” I mumbled.

“Of course, I could never risk putting Cosette in that kind of danger. I could write her a letter!” He beamed, like a kid in a candy store.

“But you just met her? How do you know that your feelings are real?” I asked, tears threatening to fall from my eyes.

“I just know. She is the only thing I can think about, and now it’s like the world has more colors. Would you be able to help me with the letters, Éponine?”

There was no benefit to me helping Marius. Why would I help someone that was causing my heart to break into a million pieces?

“It’s the perfect set up ‘Ponine. You’re the only person that can go to Cosette’s room and the Men’s Room,” he carried on.

“What if I got caught?” I asked, still looking at my feet.

“I would take all of the blame, and if I caused you to experience any harm then I promise to compensate you for what you lost here.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want your money.”

“It doesn’t have to be money. I can get you and your sister out of Illeá. You can live on one of my grandfather’s properties and do whatever you want to in France,” he smiled.

How could I refuse him? And if this didn’t work out with Cosette, maybe Marius would see that I was the person he belonged with.

“Okay,” I mumbled as the song ended.

“Come by the Men’s Room after dinner and I’ll have it ready,” he said, bowing.

At least I had a few seconds to wipe the tears away before I had to face Enjolras.

[shitpostingfromthebarricade]

Paranormal Home Inspectors AU

Jehan, Grantaire, and Combeferre starte a supernatural investigation club where they just break into haunted places and sleep there and hope a ghost tries to kill them

[hms-chill]

(Not a) Hugger

Summary: It's been a few years since Grantaire was hugged. Or cuddled. Or touched for any length of time.Which is fine. Really.

Except that it isn't fine, and he would very much like to be hugged, but the only thing worse than being touch-starved would be seeming needy.

OR: Grantaire communicate with your friends god damn it

Trigger warning for the mention of an eating disorder. Grantaire's mostly better, but it's mentioned a few times, as is past abuse.

Grantaire can't remember the last time he was hugged. It was probably in high school, as part of one of the big group hugs that always followed successful soccer games the one year he played, so it's been about seven or eight years. Which is fine; he just doesn't think about it. He doesn't think about it when Cosette comes into the Musain for a meeting and hugs everyone, even Enjolras, who gives in and hugs her back, and they both look more relaxed when they separate. He doesn't think about it when she gives anyone going up for a speech a hug, and they relax enough to stay put together. When he gives a speech at a rally, just to get one of those hugs and gets instead a squeeze on the arm, he doesn't think about the fact that it's been years since anyone hugged him.

When he's at a movie night with Joly, Bossuet, and Munchetta, he doesn't think about how much he wants a hug. They'll pile onto each other, cuddling close, but that's fine. Grantaire gets the popcorn to himself, and he doesn't feel left out. He most certainly doesn't think about how much he'd like a hug when Combeferre mentions the effects of touch starvation in a meeting about prison injustice. He talks about it as a cruel and unusual effect of isolation, and Grantaire tries his hardest not to think about how his irritability and insomnia sound a lot like the evils Combeferre is upset about. He knows how it feels to be isolated, and he recognizes the feeling of being alone in a room full of people who claim to love him (and likely do, despite his infinite failures). But that's fine. He can live with all that. He just doesn't think about it.

Except that he does think about it, almost every day. He thinks about it a lot on bad days, when the eating disorder he thought he kicked out a few years ago rears its ugly head to remind him that no one would ever want to touch his body. On even worse days, he thinks about it when he hears his father's voice telling him that no one would ever touch him unless they wanted to hurt him. On the worst days, he wraps himself tightly in a blanket and pretends that's the same thing as a hug, or at least a good enough replacement. It never is, but he can pretend.

In his better moments, his rational brain reminds him that he could ask someone for a hug, but he can never bring himself to do it. If Cosette hugs everyone but him, there must be a reason, and it has to be that there is something wrong with him (the voice of the eating disorder points to the spare tire around his middle that's developed since it ruined his metabolism). If Joly cuddles with Bossuet and Munchetta all the time, it's because they're dating, and Grantaire can't disrupt their relationship any more than he already does. If Courfeyrac hugs everyone else, it's clearly only because he and Grantaire have the world's best secret handshake, and it would be a pity to miss even a single opportunity to use it. Besides, he can't impose on any of his friends. Asking them to hug him would make them uncomfortable, so he doesn't say anything, and if things get worse, he pretends not to notice.

The worst part is that he's not sure why. If he knew why his friends don't hug him, despite the fact that they all hug each other, it might be easier. 'You smell', 'I don't want to', or even just 'bad vibes' would be easier to deal with than the options his shit brain gives him. But he doesn't know, and if he asks anyone, they'll know he's upset by it and everything will be ruined. They'll either hug him out of necessity or continue to ignore him, and he's not sure which would be worse.

It all boils over after a movie night turned sleepover at Combeferre's. Grantaire wakes up before his friends to see nearly all of them cuddling someone. Feuilly's head is on Bahorel's chest, and Jehan is held under his arm. Joly is sandwiched between his partners. Enjolras is holding Combeferre's arm while Courfeyrac hugs his boyfriend from behind. Even Marius, who never wants a partner and is usually not a cuddler, is snuggled up with them, his back pressed against Courfeyrac's. Eponine and Cosette are cuddled close, Gavroche clinging to Eponine's back like a spider monkey. But Grantaire, despite being very available for cuddles, is left out of every single pile. He puts on his shoes and slips out the door. He can't do this. He can't watch from the outside as all his friends love each other; it might destroy him.

Joly finds him later, in his own apartment, sitting on the couch with his knees pulled up to his chest, staring at a dark TV screen. His hair is still damp and sweaty from the hardest run of his life, his breakfast sits untouched on the coffee table, and he's not sure if the salt on his face is from sweat or dried tears. He'd like to blame the tears on the wind, but it's a still day.

Joly sits beside him on the couch, then reaches over to squeeze his hand. That tiny touch is nearly enough for Grantaire to break down again.

"We missed you when we woke up this morning. Bossuet thought maybe you'd come back for your bag, but he had to work, so I brought it over. Do you want to talk?"

Grantaire shakes his head. It would be so easy to lean over and flop into Joly's lap. Just a simple fall, and he'd be touching his friend, and things would be, if not okay, so much better than the pressing loneliness he's used to. But he can't. Joly doesn't hug him, and there must be a reason, and he can't make his friend uncomfortable.

"Alright, well, I just wanted to let you know that we missed you. We love you, R. Do... do you mind if I stay for a bit? It looks like it's going to rain, and that means the bus will be crowded, and we both know people don't respect the handicapped seats nearly enough for me to want to deal with them right now."

"Please do. You can turn something on if you want. Sorry I smell." I'm sorry you're trapped with someone like me. I'm sorry for being a disgrace of a person. I'm sorry you worried. I'm sorry you have to know me. I'm sorry.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. How do you feel about Bake off?"

"It's not a great food day. Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for; I'm glad you told me. I'm proud of you. How about Too Cute instead?"

"That sounds good."

"Perfect."

Joly loads an episode called "Super Pups: Pint Sized", his hand never leaving Grantaire's. They watch quietly, the sounds of rain starting to fall outside complementing the show's bouncy soundtrack. But "Super Pups" autoplays into a kitten episode, and when it opens on a shot of the kittens piled up together, Grantaire feels the icy grip around his insides tighten. He swallows hard, then takes a deep breath and tells Joly he's going to the bathroom. He finds a discarded flannel there to muffle the tears he's been trying his best to ignore.

A few minutes later, there's a soft knock on the door.

"R? Can I help, Love?"

"I'm fine." His voice doesn't sound like his. He's made Joly get up and come find him, and he's made Joly worry again, and he's done everything wrong. This is why his friends don't like him enough to touch him.

"I... I want to help you, R, I do. Please know that. I'm sorry for holding your hand; I know you don't like to be touched. That was--"

Grantaire cuts him off by throwing the door open. Joly stumbles back in surprise, catching himself on the wall of the hallway.

"You... you think I don't like to be touched?"

"I know you don't. I'm sorry."

"Don't... no, don't be sorry. I loved that. It... it's not you holding my hand that made me cry, I promise."

"But you hate being touched. Bossuet tried to hug you once and you flinched so hard you tripped over a couch."

The memory floods in: Grantaire, freshly at college on an art scholarship and still trying to believe that no one here wanted to hurt him, clinging to his one shot at a life away from his father. Bossuet, who'd taken two gap years and was bigger than Grantaire by a sizeable amount, coming toward him after a game night in the lounge with an arm raised in a position that Grantaire only knew as one of anger. Grantaire stumbling back, cowering, falling onto one of the lounge couches, and excusing himself to go hide under a blanket in the room he shared with Joly.

"That's... that's not... I thought he was going to hit me. I... He was so big, and so much stronger than I was, and I was just starting therapy and still trying to make myself eat a full meal sometimes instead of just going hungry, and if he'd wanted to hurt me I couldn't have stopped him. You remember how tiny I was; he could have snapped me in half, and after my dad, I wasn't at a point where I trusted him not to want to. I thought everyone hated me, and that they'd all want to hurt me, and that's what was scary. It wasn't about the hug. It was never about the hug."

"So you don't hate hugs?"

"You... you don't hug me because you thought I didn't like them?"

"We told the others, too. When we first dragged you to a meeting, Chetta told the group chat you didn't like hugs so that no one would scare you off. But you don't mind?"

"Not... ot at all. I mean, it's been... it's been a long time, but I don't think I mind hugs at all."

Joly comes back across the hallway slowly, like he's approaching a wild animal, and he wraps his arms around Grantaire and squeezes. Grantaire lets out a sob as his own arms come up to hold Joly close.

"I love you. I've got you. I'm sorry," Joly says softly, letting them sink to the floor together. "I love you, and I'll give you as many hugs as you want from now until forever."

Grantaire's not sure how long they stay there, in a pile outside his bathroom while he cries and Joly promises not to let go. It's at least until the sobs stop, but that's really no measure of time at all. When he's pulled himself together a bit, Joly pulls back just a touch and reaches up to cup his face, but Grantaire pulls back on instinct. Someone's hand near his face has never been a good thing. Joly pulls his hand away and squeezes Grantaire's arm instead.

"So your face isn't a place you're comfortable with me touching. I'm sorry. I should have asked. But I... R, I'm sorry about this, but my leg doesn't like being on the floor very much. Is it okay if we move this hug to the couch?"

Grantaire nods, trying his best not to be embarrassed of his flinch. Or his tears. Or the fact that he'd just broken down completely at a simple hug from a friend. There are a lot of things for him to be embarrassed of from the last hour, ever since Joly found him staring at a blank TV.

"Is it okay if I take your hand?" Joly asks, and Grantaire nods, so Joly holds his hand and leads the way to the couch. Too Cute is paused on the image of a kitten wobbling across a blanket.

"I'm going to go make some popcorn, and then I'm going to come back and cuddle the hell out of you while you eat it for breakfast," Joly says. "If you want to, when I get back, we... we could do something called green-yellow-red that Cosette taught me. It'll help us make sure we're both comfortable while we're cuddling, so for example, today, I'm... my chest and arms are green, and so's my back and shoulders, really anything from the waist up. So go for it with hugs there. My face I'm going to say yellow, and same with my hips and my good leg, so just ask and I'll let you know in the moment. My bad leg's red, so I'd rather you didn't touch it. Oh, and the top of my head is green. Does that make sense?"

Grantaire nods, doing his best to remember. He can't mess this up. If he ruins cuddling with Joly now, he might never get a second chance.

"And it's alright if you make a mistake; I can let you know if I'm ever uncomfortable. I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt me on purpose; you'd never hurt anyone. Is it alright if I kiss the top of your head?"

"It's... it's nasty. I haven't been great at showering recently, and I went for a run."

"I don't mind, but do you?"

Grantaire thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. A few weeks ago, Cosette had taught everyone a game she used in consent workshops where they practiced saying yes or no, and she'd pushed them to make the choice in that moment however they felt. Grantaire is trying his hardest to make her proud.

Joly brings over a blanket and presses a kiss to the top of Grantaire's greasy, sweaty head before disappearing into the kitchen. As he hears popcorn start to pop, Grantaire takes stock of his body, trying to decide if it would help or hurt to have Joly cuddle the parts of it he (especially) hates. He's got some semblance of an answer by the time the popcorn's done, and he gives Joly an assessment that includes a green 'spare tire' (a phrase that makes Joly frown) and a red face. Joly repeats Grantaire's requests, asking about parts he forgot and referring to the spare tire as a stomach, which is probably the kindest thing anyone's called it since it developed. Then he hands Grantaire the popcorn and cuddles up next to him, stealing pieces from the bowl and always keeping at least one arm firmly around Grantaire.

When Bossuet gets off work, he joins them with pizza, and they play green-yellow-red again before Bossuet joins their pile. If Grantaire has the best nap he's had in years with Joly's arms around his waist and Bossuet's chin on his head, well, he tries not to envy Munchetta when he wakes up.

The next time he sees Cosette, she asks if she can hug him, beaming. He agrees, and she holds him so close and so tightly that he forgets to see his body as a disgusting mass of fat and acne for the rest of the day. She tells him he gives wonderful hugs, and he tells her that that quote will be his next tattoo. It makes her laugh, and he can't help but grin back. He and Courfeyrac add a hug to the end of their elaborate handshake, one that involves Grantaire supporting most of Courf's weight and not caring at all. His body may not be as thin as it once was, but now it can lift his friends in the air, which is clearly a good trade. At the next rally, when Joly's leg gets sore and Bossuet has already slipped twice, Grantaire pulls his friend onto his back. Joly's arms wrap around Grantaire's neck, and Grantaire becomes the hottest mobility aide at the protest.

In short, the floodgates are open. Once it's established that Grantaire enjoys hugs, he starts getting them regularly, and he eventually starts giving them, too. He starts spending evenings squished into a chair with Joly, often with the other man in his lap and occasionally with Jehan, Chetta, Bossuet, or a combination of the three leaning against him. He carries Joly when his leg gets bad or Gavroche when he's too short to see or exhausted but too proud to admit it. He hugs Eponine, something he hasn't done since puberty, and she nearly cries telling him how proud of him she is. He does cry, and that sets her off, and Gavroche finds them crying and brings them a carton of ice cream and two spoons and leaves them be.

He hugs Enjolras last. Enjolras isn't a hugger. Even after spending most of his life with Courfeyrac, he'll lean into hugs good-naturedly, but he won't initiate. Between that lack of initiation and Grantaire's overwhelming self-doubt, it's really a miracle that they hug at all. It finally happens at Courfeyrac's birthday party, and he maintains that it is the best gift he could ever get. Enjolras has just gotten into his top choice for law school, and he doesn't want to upstage Courf, but he's so excited he has to tell someone, and Grantaire is nearby. And Grantaire is thrilled, and he's so excited that hugging Enjolras feels like the most natural thing in the world. That, of course, tips their friends off to something major, which ends up stealing the moment for a bit as Grantaire and Enjolras find themselves in the middle of a giant group hug. But when Grantaire looks up to see Enjolras's grin, everything feels just right.

On AO3

Notes:

You know when you're just minding your own business, then suddenly your brain goes "hey, when was Grantaire hugged last?" and you have a mild crisis about your beautiful touch-starved son? Yeah. - To make things worse, I like to think of physical touch as one of Grantaire's main love languages, so he's just been casually not believing his friends love him for like seven years. - The consent games mentioned are ones we've done for the play I'm working on! Green-Yellow-Red is pretty explained, but for the other (yes/no), you all stand in a circle. You say someone else's name, and they say either 'yes' or 'no'. If they say 'yes', you walk to stand by them and it's their turn. If they say 'no', you ask someone else. It's super simple but I love it and think it's super important.

[shitpostingfromthebarricade]

Everyone (rightfully) loves to talk about how intensely and succinctly Combeferre dragged Marius's argument for Napoléon through the mud, but I don't think we give nearly enough credit to this exchange:

"The bourgeoisie love tragedy, and on that point we must leave the bourgeoisie alone. Tragedy in a wig has its reason for being, and I am not one of those who, in the name of Aeschylus, deny it the right to exist. There are rough drafts in nature; in creation there are ready-made parodies; a beak that isn't a beak, wings that aren't wings, fins that aren't fins, claws that aren't claws, a mournful cry that makes us want to laugh, there you have the duck. Now, since fowl exists alongside bird, I don't see why classic tragedy shouldn't exist opposite ancient tragedy."

Motherfucker said, "I'm not here to gatekeep what counts as tragedy: if rich people wanna play fake-deep, that's their business."

[kainosite]

Les Misérables 2018, Episode 4

If I post the review before the next episode airs in the US that counts as “timely”, right?

The Good

• Extremely South London Éponine is the best thing in this series.  From the moment she steps into Marius’ room, their interactions are absolutely perfect.  Her crass attempt to offer herself to him and her delighted wonder when it fails, Marius’ appalled, half-paralyzed bewilderment at the whole situation and his awkward charity, Davies’ made-up slang for the écu, “You’re a star, are you sure!?”,  Éponine code-switching at the end and then grabbing the bread on her way out, even the noncanonical, nonconsensual kiss – the whole scene is spot-on from start to finish.

As is her reunion with the rest of the Thénardier clan.  The coarse sisterly banter and Azelma’s look of joy when Éponine hands her the stale bread, Thénardier’s petulant ranting, his violence towards Éponine and Mme. Thénardier’s weary indifference to it, his immediate attempt to crush Éponine into submission when she shows any sign of independence or self-worth – it all paints a vivid picture of Éponine’s world, and the juxtaposition to the scene with Marius makes it very clear that her infatuation with him is not about a crush on a boy but rather about getting the hell away from all this.  And I love that she grabbed her five francs back at the end.

• It’s interesting that the miniseries with the most graphically awful Toulon also has the most determinedly reclusive Valjean, and it’s consistent with his experience in Montreuil-sur-Mer as well.  In the novel Madeleine’s fall is precipitated by his carelessness towards his subordinates, first with regard to the consequences of his factory’s morality policy and then with regard to Javert’s feelings.  But that’s all pretty indirect, and Brick Valjean could reasonably feel that he was the victim of an arbitrary misfortune and that if he’d been a bit luckier everything would have worked out fine.  Westjean, on the other hand, was hunted from the moment Javert showed up in town and was personally responsible for Fantine’s downfall.  From his perspective, his attempt to participate in society must seem like a catastrophe.  He might well wonder whether it’s possible for someone in his position to do any good at all, given the debacle in Montreuil.  Both guilt and prudence suggest it might be better to just give up and become a hermit.

• Cosette’s little convent friends.  This miniseries has consistently gone out of its way to place the female leads in community with other women, and it’s nice to see.

• Rivette continues to be excellent even with a silly moustache.

• The Mabeuf + Marius timeline continues to be nonsensical, but I enjoyed their meet-cute and Marius was charmingly obtuse.  I also enjoyed Davies’ commitment to Georges Pontmercy/Mabeuf, which is the only explanation I can think of for why Mabeuf might keep a collection of old newspaper clippings about Georges in his attic.

• Gillenormand is still pitch-perfect.

• This episode was not Quinjolras’s finest hour, but he was extremely done with Marius’ shit, which though not particularly Brick-accurate is a quality I always appreciate in an Enjolras.  Giving him Combeferre’s “To be free” line was inspired.  I’m also impressed by his ability to adjust his rhetoric to match his audience – “Think of the poor veterans living in poverty!” is the way to win Marius to the side of revolution, if anything will.

• The juxtaposition of Javert’s lonely, cheerless bedtime routine and Valjean broodingly watching Cosette at the piano could have been filmed by a Valvert shipper (Look!  They’ll never be complete without each other!), which in a way I suppose it was.

• The police patrolling the Luxembourg Gardens while Cosette is looking around in raptures was a nice subtle touch.  This series plays up the Valjean vs. Cosette conflict more than I might like, but it does a very good job of showing you where they both are coming from.

• THE HANDKERCHIEF SCENE!

• I do appreciate Westjean’s ongoing commitment to self-branding.  Also the fact that they included the chisel scene makes the Coin of Shame a nice piece of foreshadowing.

The Meh

• I suppose it makes sense for a Cosette raised by Shouty Valjean to shout a lot herself.  This Valjean + Cosette pair actually articulate their needs and desires and communicate them to each other, instead of repressing everything and sinking into silent depression.

On the one hand, that’s healthy.  Good for them.  I know people are concerned about the tenor of their relationship, but frankly Westjean has done a better job than Brick Valjean of raising Cosette out of the unquestioning silence of her abuse.  They both adopted a kid who “had suffered so much that she feared everything – even to speak, even to breathe”.  Only Westjean has a kid who doesn’t exhibit the exact same trauma symptoms six years later.

On the other hand, who are these people?

• I do not appreciate Javert’s medal, but I very much appreciate Javert’s resentment of his medal while there’s still a Valjean on the loose.  If we’ve gotta go Bread Crimes let’s really commit to it.

• Sister Simplice is convinced the outside world has become more dangerous.  Sure, I guess?  1823-25 when they came into the convent was a relatively calm period, and there has just been a successful revolution.  Still, this seems like a good time for the show to mention that.

• “Wow,” I thought, “What a perfect choice for the Rue de l’Homme Armé!”  Oh wait, it’s the Rue Plumet which is still mostly orchards at this point.  That said, the garden is fantastic.

• Marius’ wet dream was actually okay.  After the Éponine Peep Show Incident I feared the worst, but there was nothing terribly wrong with it.  Marius had vaguely sexual thoughts about Cosette, his subconscious pulled a bait-and-switch and transformed her into Éponine, at which point he went “Nope nope nope DNW!” and awoke in a cold sweat.  This is not at all an unreasonable thing for Marius to dream, especially in an adaptation that’s dangling Éponine’s sexuality in front of him as aggressively as this one is.  The key theme of Marius/Éponine from Marius’ end, which is that he’s not attracted to her because he understands it’s immoral to fuck starving child prostitutes, comes through loud and clear.

• What a weird way to do the Chaîne scene.  I can see it happening: most Valjeans would never intentionally expose Cosette to a sight like this, but because Westjean is stuck with a Cosette who actually asserts her needs, he has to push back much harder than usual in order to maintain their secrecy.  He doesn’t show her the Chaîne to punish her or upset her – it’s clearly an ill-judged attempt to convince her The World Is Bad and win their argument from the day before, and perhaps also to start a conversation about his own past which will explain why he’s a paranoid recluse.  A bit manipulative perhaps, but that’s well within Valjean’s repertoire, and he’s thoroughly punished for it by the narrative since the whole scheme ends up backfiring horribly on him.  Cosette is not just appalled by this glimpse into the brutality of their society but repulsed by the convicts themselves, and the viewers get an explanation for why Valjean will be so adamant later that Cosette must never learn his true history.

I do think the Chaîne scene is important for explaining Valjean’s Cosette Issues so I’m always glad when an adaptation decides to include it, but on balance I think it works better when they stumble across it by accident.

• The attempted kidnapping at the Gorbeau tenement was fine.  Points for including the chisel and all the “neighbors” slipping into the room, minus points for Valjean punching everyone.  I’m not sure why Valjean thought paying off Thénardier would help anything, but then Valjean has never been the king of good decisions and this Valjean less than most.

The Bad

• I appreciate Valjean’s aspiration to spend the rest of his life hiding in a hole.  I do not appreciate the hard sell on Cosette taking the veil.  It just makes him seem selfish and inconsiderate of her needs, to a degree that he isn’t in the novel.  His “I thought we’d found a home here together where you could grow up and I could grow old, and you could grow old, and I could die, and you could die, and we’d be buried and we’d be together forever! :D :D :D” line is hilarious and adorable in the way it expresses the tragic limits of his aspirations, but I would sacrifice it in order to lose this scene.

• After holding down the fort on costumes and set design for two episodes, the Prefecture of Police sadly let us down this episode.  You guys were doing so well!  No uniforms, no illegal tricolors in 1823 like some adaptations we could mention *cough2012cough*, but now it’s 1832 and suddenly everyone is dressed like an officier de paix and Javert has a medal and they’ve still got the fleur-de-lys up.  Also that blah jacket of navy serge is not what the Prefect of Police’s uniform looked like in the 1830s, lmao.  I mean, for fuck’s sake, it’s fancier than that now.  That thing Chabouillet was wearing in the 1978 movie is also not remotely what the Prefect’s uniform looks like, but at least they bothered to slap some gold braid on it.

I will grudgingly accept the uniforms as a visual representation of the increasing professionalization of the police, Not!Gisquet’s Légion d’honneur is a reasonable reward for him apparently allowing the July Revolution to happen, and I do appreciate them swapping the portrait of Louis XVIII for Louis-Philippe inside, but there’s no excuse for Javert’s medal or the flag.

• Surely the entire purpose of casting Josh O'Connor as Marius is so Marius can be shy and stiff and awkward, and emphasize these qualities by having a face that consists primarily of nose and ears?  Otherwise you could cast someone who actually looks like Marius.

I know everyone shouts a lot in this and he probably needs to be able to shout back to keep up with Cosette, but from his very first words to Gillenormand he’s far too assertive and confrontational.  Part of the charm of Marius/Cosette is how isolated and naive they both are, and how these victims of childhood abuse are able to find in each other a safety they might not find in anyone else.  (Marius’ damage is obvious, and while Cosette’s is more subtle her tendency towards unquestioning acceptance would leave her incredibly vulnerable to the Tholomyèses of the world.)  This adaptation portrayed this kind of mutual refuge very well with Valjean/Fantine, of all things, so it’s weird they didn’t think to do it here.

Of course, Bambersette is healthier than Brick Cosette in some ways so maybe she doesn’t need it so much, but they still need to sell us on the pairing somehow.  Meet-cutes in the Luxembourg are all very well, but handkerchief sniffing can only get you so far.

• I see Fantine’s inability to put her hair up like a respectable woman is hereditary.

• If we have to see this much of the principal-tenant of the Gorbeau House I want to see some parrots, dammit.

• Éponine has a job and we have no reason to assume she’s bad at it, so I’m not going to say she wouldn’t do a sexy peephole dance for her new neighbor the law student.  At this point she knows nothing of Marius’ virtuous chastity; all she knows is that he’s young, male, richer than her, and she’s probably going to be forced to sleep with him for money at some point.  This scene could happen.

But we sure as fuck didn’t need to see it.  Stop sexualizing the starving child prostitute, Davies.  It’s disgusting.

• Speaking of things not to sexualize, why the hell does the dressmaker assume Valjean is Cosette’s sugar daddy and not her actual relative?  It made sense that everyone thought so last week because Valjean was being super shady.  It makes sense for Thénardier still to think so, because Thénardier is Thénardier.  It makes absolutely no sense for random strangers to assume it.  It’s the nineteenth century!  People die in childbirth!  There’s a cholera epidemic!  Teenage girls need their fathers to take them clothes shopping because all their female relatives are dead.  This is not such an unusual scenario that anyone would remark on it, or make highly offensive insinuations about a customer.  And why doesn’t Valjean just introduce himself to people as her father???

Mild, mild Valjean/Cosette is Brick canon and I don’t think we can justly criticize an adaption for including it, but every random passerby shouldn’t be remarking on it.

• On my first viewing of this episode, I assumed that its portrayal of the Amis as tiresome drunken louts could be explained by the fact that Andrew Davies simply didn’t like Enjolras, and probably not the other Amis or the June Rebellion very much either.  The superb barricade sequence in the subsequent episodes demolishes that theory.  Never has it been portrayed so well, and certainly not in any English language adaptation.  But that leaves me at an absolute loss to explain what Davies was doing here.  This is our first introduction to the Amis: they should be likable, so that we will like them.  They are not.

The irony is that it’s not particularly hard to prosecute a case against Enjolras, if you want to complicate his heroism a bit.  Enjolras is ridiculous and slightly insufferable!  Enjolras is a guy who thinks “Citizen, my mother is the Republic,” is a coherent and comforting response when his best friend musically drags your Napoleon eulogy.  I mean, just look at these twats in hats in the Théâtre de la Jeunesse adaptation.  They are highly mockable!  And on a more somber note, Enjolras led a revolutionary cell that misjudged the public mood so badly it got a hundred people killed to no useful purpose.

But Enjolras is not deliberately trying to orchestrate a battle to the death over France’s system of government.  Enjolras had the chance to battle to the death only two years ago, and he’s still here.  What Enjolras wants is to jump up on Lamarque’s casket and have all the National Guards and the troops of the line wave their muskets in the air and say “Yeah, fuck that pear-faced buffoon!  Down with the king!  Vive la république!”  That’s why his side have been quietly trying to propagandize and subvert every military unit in Paris for months, which Davies knows, because Enjolras mentions it himself in Episode 5!  If the monarchy could be overthrown without any bloodshed at all, that would be ideal.

And Enjolras has too much dignity to throw food at anyone, even Grantaire.  If we must take a swipe at Enjolras through the medium of food fights, Courfeyrac should throw food at Grantaire and Enjolras should give him a pious lecture about wasting food when so many are starving.  That wouldn’t be in character either, but it’s at least within shooting distance of proper characterization and it highlights annoying qualities the characters actually have.

• Speaking of annoying qualities characters don’t have, when Courfeyrac is coming off as sleazier than Tholomyès you are doing it wrong.  Courfeyrac knows girls you don’t have to pay, beyond the usual ‘showing them a good time’ expenses.  He does not have to take his dorky virgin friend to a brothel to get him laid!

• Grantaire is a drunk, but he’s a grandiloquent drunk.  That is... his entire characterization.  How could anyone get this wrong?

• That fucking brothel scene.  WHY.

If you must do a Sexual Awakening of Marius plotline, and evidently Andrew Davies must, I think the correct sequence is this: Courfeyrac and Grantaire take him out beyond the barrières and try to set him up with cute girls.  Marius is having none of it, of course; he’s too shy and awkward, girls are scary, he doesn’t want a fling.  Then he sees Cosette in the park and he’s smitten.

A visit to a brothel Courfeyrac is too classy ever to patronize is not in the cards.  The sole redeeming feature of this scene was the fact that Enjolras declined to attend.

This episode was a return to form, and by form I mean the Thénardiers were fantastic and everything else was incredibly fucking uneven.  While I can’t say that this Gavroche will make fun of Enjolras’ rubbish beard, I can say this Gavroche would make fun of Enjoras’ rubbish beard, and that’s what really counts.

[live-and-in-living-colour]

Ok, I have painted my nails, I have cookies. I am ready for whatever episode 5 holds in store... which is probably more staring

Or as it turned out, this week was better than last week I mean it wouldn’t take much to be but still, I miss Les Amis

Also as rude as I am about the show, I do believe the actors are doing a fantastic job with the material, and that the cinematography is beautiful. But there’s only so much they could do when everyone is so OOC

In conclusion

So posters are going up but everyone is just... rebellion? 

But Javert is justice orientated then revenge?

That was an interesting scene, but Eponine and Azelma were never arrested

Goodness, are we not even at the point of Red and Black yet?

THERE’S MORE BOYS, DID THE REST OF LES AMIS SHOW UP?

Where did Marius get that hat? It is a nice hat

So Thenardier faked his death?

Cosette’s actress is very beautiful, but that blue dress looks terrible 

Marius climbing over the gate instead of knocking is the most Marius like thing he’s done yet

That still doesn’t look like Valjean

That probably shouldn’t have been something I laughed at, but yet I did

Has Valjean not said anything about leaving yet? He’s gone on a trip, and Cosette wanted to go? I’m confuddled

Ok, maybe things were different back then, but I’m pretty sure a guy randomly finding you, leaving a note in the garden, but not knocking on the door, or apparently signing a letter, is a lot of red flags

So one moment she’s terrified, the next she thinks going outside at night to maybe meet a boy is wise... Cosette is all over the place in this version

Marius is very Marius in this episode

Oh good, women fainting, I thought this stopped being a thing after the 1950′s films

WHY DID SHE FAINT

WHY IS HE KISSING HER WHEN SHE IS FAINTING?

I HATE THIS

GAVROCHE! Make this better please

Wait so they’re doing the stories with the two little boys? But... they’re meant to be his half-brothers

This is a very non-organised revolution 

Grantaire is too sober 

What... is... even... happening?

Is Marius going to bang his head against a tree for 2 hours? That would make me forgive everything

Nope, he did not

Is heartbroken over losing his grandson, and yet is still an arsehole towards him

I really hate this Enjolras, why is he so angry and cruel? This isn’t an attack on the actor, I think he’s playing it well, just not sure why he has been written like this

That red dress looks so much better

Ok, but legit... DO YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING

It feels like Les Amis have got caught up in a situation, rather then you know... ACTUALLY BEING A PART OF IT AND BUILDING A BARRICADE

I have seen no reason for them to listen to Enjolras 

I get that building a barricade is important but... this is taking a very long time

Is now the time for Cosette to act like a 3 year old? THERE IS LEGIT FIGHTING EVERYWHERE

Marius is still as dramatic as ever

That just... that looks identical to the musical, like at least not use a red flag

Who the hell aimed at the flag? 

Grantaire’s horror is an interesting angle, and the actor plays it well, but it still feels like it’s the wrong person

Didn’t Enjolras have that beautiful thing with Courferyac (I think but honestly it might have been Combeferre, I can’t remember) about how the soldiers could have been his brother or something like that? Not happy about all of this? 

Why is Marius now hiding? Did I forget this?

Oh was the blowing up thing actually from the book, I thought Tom Hooper added it, that or Davis is copying the musical

WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO ENJOLRAS IN THIS VERSION

Why would he be talking about valuing his life? It just... doesn’t make sense

Why does it feel like Marius is in love with Cosette and Eponine in this version?

In fairness, Eponine felt a lot more book like this episode, and this is even lines from the book. If only last weeks episode wasn’t so bad

“I really did love you” god dammit, they ruined it

Least it was a forehead kiss, not one on the lips, thought they might go there

Why is he still grabbing things from children? Has he learnt nothing from episode one

“If I die” STOP USING THE MUSICAL LINES IF YOU HATE IT SO MUCH

So next episode the barricade has to fall, the wedding, and lots of death... WHAT IS THIS PACING?

OMG a next time trailer!

They have the hand holding? Which might be more significant if they had done the Les Amis justice

[throughthefumes]

neither lost nor found ii

“Enjolras? Hey, Enjolras, everyone’s been looking for you… Enjolras?”

Enjolras looked up to see Feuilly standing there, worried eyes on him; he hadn’t even heard him come out into the garden. He stood automatically, smoothing down his suit jacket with shaking hands. He still couldn’t quite catch his breath, his chest was too tight to let him.

“Sorry, I’m fine, let’s-”

“Let’s go home,” Feuilly said, resting a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder to keep him from moving away. Enjolras opened his mouth to argue, but Feuilly cut in again. “It’s okay. The party is winding down, Ferre is happy, you’ve done a good job. You look exhausted, let me take you home.”

Enjolras was exhausted, he could identify that one feeling out of the many swirling in him, and finally nodded. Feuilly wrapped a comforting arm, or maybe a supportive one, around Enjolras’ waist as they walked the back way out of the garden to the line of cars parked outside of the chateau. He spent the hour-long ride back to Paris staring blankly out of the window, a silence that Feuilly didn’t break until they were parked on the street outside of Enjolras’ apartment. He didn’t know how long they’d been parked there before Feuilly prompted him.

“Do you want me to go in with you?”

“Non,” he said quickly, thinking of the mess inside, of having those worried eyes on him any longer. “Non, I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to be,” Feuilly said gently, his hand on his shoulder again. “Enj… we didn’t know. None of us knew. We wouldn’t have kept that from you.”

Enjolras squeezed Feuilly’s hand; he wished that was enough to make him feel any better. “Thanks for the ride, mon ami.”

Up in the apartment, Enjolras made a beeline for the living room, blocking out everything on his way. He pulled off his shoes, his tie, his coat, and curled up on the sofa with his back facing the rest of the room. He thought he would cry the moment he was alone but the tears never came, and neither did sleep.

Grantaire didn’t sleep easy that night either, even curled up with Étienne in a way that had become comforting and familiar in the past few months. Maybe because of that.

He felt guilty, without knowing why. He hadn’t done anything wrong, not in falling into a relationship with Étienne nor in agreeing to be picked up by him from the wedding. He couldn’t have warned Enjolras, not when they hadn’t spoken in months, and, besides, he hadn’t anticipated them meeting. He hadn’t really thought about Étienne meeting any of them. Jehan had met him, that was all that had seemed to matter before last night, and he’d been so focused on just getting through the day that he hadn’t really considered any of the others.

What was done was done, he supposed. He didn’t know how he could have done anything differently.

Once Étienne had left for work the next morning, Grantaire called Enjolras. He tried a couple more times throughout the morning, until it became clear that, deliberately or accidentally, he wasn’t going to answer. Grantaire’s stomach sank. He tried texting instead.

[Text] Hey, good to see you last night. Hope you got home okay. Still on for smoothies sometime this week? - R x

Enjolras didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Étienne sweep in and kiss Grantaire, could see it still when his eyes were open.

He heard his phone going off somewhere in the flat, and it was only then he registered he’d made it through the night and into the next morning. He could only assume it was Feuilly checking in on him, or maybe Combeferre wanting to know why he’d left the wedding early, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it.

When Grantaire didn’t receive a reply, even to his text, he left it for a few hours, although he didn’t know what Enjolras could be doing that was keeping him occupied like this - he didn’t have any work to lose track of time in. He started to worry that the other man was deliberately avoiding him, setting them back months and months when last night had seemed to promise some kind of friendship again. He sent another message later that afternoon, back in his own flat with Ant.

[Text] Everything okay? - R x

Enjolras managed to get himself up off the sofa, motivated by the painful gurgle of hunger in his stomach. He gathered his suit off the floor to hang it back up and pulled his phone out of the pocket, tossing it onto the coffee table without checking the notifications.

He showered, didn’t trust his hand to stay steady to shave. He searched for food as he made a pot of coffee, but he’d been gone for so long, everything in his fridge and cupboards had expired. So Enjolras set off cleaning the kitchen out, eventually working his way throughout the entire apartment, ripping the place apart in a frenzied deep clean until it looked like no one had ever lived in it, until every trace of the life he shared with Grantaire there was out of sight.

By the time he got back to his coffee, it had gone cold. He sat on the sofa and turned on the news and he couldn’t help but think of Grantaire waking up with Étienne, kissing him good morning and making breakfast together, curling up on the sofa to watch television together; all the things he and Enjolras used to do together.

Grantaire left it for the day. He didn’t know how Enjolras passed his time anymore; it was conceivable that he just hadn’t had a chance to check his phone, though he doubted it.

He called again the next morning, on his way into work, Ant in her carry case in his spare hand.

Enjolras slept on the sofa, the sheets never put back on his bed when he’d done laundry because the smell of the detergent reminded him of Grantaire. So that morning he planned a trip to the market to get food and new detergent, and he was on his way out the door when Grantaire’s call came through.

He ignored it. He left his phone behind, because that made him feel less guilty for screening Grantaire’s attempts to reach out. He just didn’t know what he could possibly say to him now.

Grantaire called again on his lunch break and on his way home and before he went to bed. Finally, mid-week, genuinely concerned, he stopped by their old home with Ant on his way to work, nervous and worried as he buzzed to be let in.

Enjolras checked his phone eventually, answered messages from Combeferre first. He read through Grantaire’s texts, listened to his voicemails, and he didn’t respond. He understood now why Grantaire hadn’t responded to any of his calls or texts after New Years. He didn’t want to pretend like everything was okay, and he didn’t want to talk about Étienne.

He’d just gotten in from a jog when he heard the buzzer, and he sighed on his way to the intercom. He’d told Combeferre not to come.

“Yeah?”

“Oh,” Grantaire said. He realised now, a little wave of panic washing over him, that he hadn’t expected Enjolras to actually be there. “Hey. It’s me. Ah. It’s Grantaire.”

Enjolras’ heart stopped. He hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t ever thought that Grantaire would just show up, it wasn’t like him to just show up. And now Grantaire knew he was home, he couldn’t avoid him anymore.

“Come on up,” he said, buzzing him in.

Grantaire stood frozen for a second before jumping into action, taking the stairs two at a time so hastily it made Ant mew in protest in her carry case.

And then suddenly he was standing in front of their old front door, slightly out of breath, without a key to let himself in anymore. He closed his eyes for a second before knocking. He didn’t know what he was going to say; he just needed to know that Enjolras was alright. None of the other Amis he’d checked with had heard from him either.

Enjolras spent the two minutes between buzzing Grantaire in and the knock on the door counting his breaths, tying his hair back, toweling the sweat off his face and neck, telling himself this could be quick. Just hello, I’m okay, thanks for stopping bye, see you around.

He didn’t feel calm but he looked it as he opened the door, managing a smile.

“Hey - oh, hey, dieu, you have Ant with you? Come in.”

“Hey,” Grantaire said, regarding Enjolras worriedly as he stepped inside. That was something, wasn’t it? That he’d been invited inside. Never mind that the place looked like it had been gutted - that hardly mattered. He looked up at Enjolras, who looked… fine. Completely fine. Shit, this whole thing had been a mistake. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… t’sais, just barge in like this… I...”

“Non, it’s okay,” Enjolras said, closing the door behind him and lingering there. “I could’ve been dead in here, what did you know?”

“Excactement,” Grantaire said, breathing an uneasy laugh. It was worse seeing Enjolras like this, at home. “I was worried. Oh, here, say hi to your daughter.” He crouched down to free Ant, who was mewing insistently up at them both.

Enjolras was happy to both not have to respond to Grantaire’s worry and to see Ant. He bent down and gathered her up into his arms, his nose tingling with a sudden threat of tears.

“Oh, mon dieu, look at you,” he cooed, scratching behind her ears. “Have you gotten bigger? You have, haven’t you? Ah, you are more beautiful than ever, you’ve been keeping up with her brushing?”

Grantaire laughed, smoothing his hand over the cat’s back. “Of course,” he said, smiling at the two of them - it helped to have something else to focus on. “She just keeps growing and growing. I’m not fully convinced she’s not some kind of weird lion.”

“She may be,” Enjolras said, his smile focused on her. “Or part, at least. I never saw her papa, just her maman.”

“So, you’re okay?” Grantaire asked, glancing up at Enjolras as they both petted Ant.

Enjolras’ smile slipped. He didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Convincing. “Has your number changed or something?”

Enjolras swallowed, and shook his head slowly. “Non, it’s the same.”

“Ah,” Grantaire said, looking down. It stung. Even though he’d suspected as much, before he’d really started to worry, it still stung. “Then I guess I really am sorry for coming round like this.” He took a deep breath and held his arms out for Ant. “Here, I’ll get going.”

Enjolras held on to her, taking a steadying breath before finally looking up at Grantaire. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Grantaire asked warily, his eyes flicked up to meet Enjolras’.

“About you and Étienne.”

Grantaire looked down at Ant. “When would I have told you, ah? We hadn’t spoken for five months.”

“Je ne sais pas, sometime before you let me hold your hand or asked me to dance with you.”

Grantaire swallowed. “Would that have stopped you?”

Enjolras looked away again; they both knew that answer without him having to say it. “How long have you been with him?”

“A couple of months,” Grantaire said, looking down.

“So… when we spoke on New Years and you wanted me to meet him… you wanted me to meet your new boyfriend?”

Grantaire shook his head. “We weren’t… We didn’t… Not ‘til the end of February.”

Enjolras breathed a humorless laugh, setting Ant down to wipe quickly at his eyes. Of course now the tears decided to come.

“He’s nice,” he said softly. “He’s…he’s nice. That’s good. And, um. He’s tall… er than you. It’s good.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to meet each other like that,” Grantaire admitted. “You don’t need to… I’m not expecting you to be happy for me. It’s… I mean, it still sucks. What happened with us.” He had to wipe his own eyes quickly. “I’m not… I don’t think I can ever get over you. But… I like him. He likes me. We’re good for each other. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.” He pressed his fingertips to his eyes. “This is all coming out wrong. I don’t mean to make it sound like he’s a second choice, or that I...”

Enjolras shook his head, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. “It’s fine, you don’t owe me any explanation,” he said, his voice shaky. “You’ve moved on, it’s fine. It’s good. It’s good you’re… good. You deserve that, someone who makes you happy. I left, and…. I mean, you’re happy, right? He makes you happy?”

Grantaire nodded, and that was the truth. For a little while, Étienne had been one of very few things capable of making him happy.

“But I didn’t go looking for him,” he said, still feeling like he had to justify it all. “I didn’t go looking for anyone.” He’d been waiting for Enjolras; he still felt a little bit, awfully, very deep down, like he was waiting for Enjolras. “You moved on too though, right?”

Enjolras shook his head, and his cheeks burned with shame. “It doesn’t matter,” he said thickly. “You’re healthy and you’re happy and I’ll be fine. I’m fine. I just… at the wedding, I thought there was some kind of reconciliation happening, tu sais? The way you looked at me, the things you said, I thought… so that’s why I didn’t answer your calls. I’m embarrassed that I thought something was happening and it wasn’t. I’m sorry. You don’t have to worry about me getting in the way of anything, ca va? I know where we stand.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said, his expression horrified. That same panic was washing over him again - he couldn’t make sense of any of this, not what Enjolras was saying nor his own intentions. “I’m so, so sorry. Maybe I… I didn’t realise I… I was just so glad to see you again. So relieved that you didn’t hate me.”

“I’ve never hated you,” Enjolras said with a frown, still not quite able to meet his eyes. Grantaire didn’t feel the same about him anymore, that much was clear, and Enjolras didn’t even know how to begin to come to terms with that. “No matter what happened with us, I never once…”

He swallowed, struggling to keep his composure. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, ca va? It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry anyway,” Grantaire said softly. “Honestly, I thought you’d… Je ne sais pas, I thought you’d guessed. It’s my bad. I’m sorry.”

Laughter bubbled out of Enjolras; he’d never heard anything so absurd.

“You thought I would guess? Really? Me? You thought I would have guessed that you were dating someone new? Why would I have guessed that?”

Grantaire faltered, flinching slightly at Enjolras’ tone of voice. “I thought wrong then,” he said, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

“Non, I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, taking a step back from him, rubbing his hands over his face. God, this hurt, it hurt so much he didn’t know how much longer he could stand it. “I’m sorry. It’s fine. We’re not together anymore, I shouldn’t have assumed you would want... There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Grantaire looked at him for a long time. He couldn’t work out if Enjolras believing he still had feelings for him meant that Enjolras wanted him to, or had feelings for Grantaire in return.

What did it matter now? He was with Étienne and Enjolras was giving up on him.

“I ah… I know it’s probably going to take some time, but obviously I still want to… I still want to be friends. I still care about you, Enjolras, so much. I don’t ever want to lose you,” Grantaire said finally. “Especially not over something like this.”

Enjolras nodded, wiping hastily at his eyes. It had been easier accepting they were just friends when there was the possibility that one day they would get back to where he believed they were supposed to be, but now with Étienne in the picture, he didn’t know if he had it in him.

“Do you love him?”

Grantaire’s expression shifted. “Are you serious?”

Enjolras swallowed. That was enough of an answer for him. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, that’s inappropriate.”

“Yeah, it is,” Grantaire said, not quite able to hide his hurt expression.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said again, looking away from him. “I’ll get used to it, ca va? We’ll be friends, meet for smoothies, I’ll, ah… he can come to meetings, if he wants.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Grantaire said quietly, looking down.

“That’s how this works now, isn’t it?” Enjolras asked. “What else am I supposed to do?”

Grantaire looked back up at him, eyebrows knitted together. “Je ne sais pas,” he said. “I guess see if you actually like him first. You don’t have to force yourself to get along with him if you don’t.”

Enjolras shrugged. He knew he wouldn’t get along with Étienne no matter what. “I either get along with him or I don’t get to see you,” he said. “I’ll deal with it.”

“That’s not true,” Grantaire protested. “I’m not attached to him at the hip. Besides, you haven’t even met him properly - you might get along really well. He’s a really good guy, Enjolras.”

“He seems great,” Enjolras conceded, “but that doesn’t mean we’ll get along.”

Grantaire exhaled softly, trying not to get wound up or upset. “We don’t… We don’t have to do anything about it now, ca va? Let me take you for a smoothie sometime this week like we planned, ah? No Étienne.”

Enjolras shook his head, taking an automatic step back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Grantaire nodded, looking down to hide the way his eyes were stinging. He was losing Enjolras all over again. “Phone calls, then?” he suggested.

“Grantaire, I’m having a really hard time here,” Enjolras said, his voice obviously strained. “I… I can’t see you without seeing you with him, I can’t think of you and not think about how you’re going to leave work tonight and go back to him, and I’m going to be here in our home without you, except it’s not our home anymore, it’s not home, and you found someone who makes you happy, who you’re building a whole new life with, and I have… I don’t have that, and I don’t have any hope that I will again. And I know it’s not your fault, I know that I left you and you didn’t know when I’d be back, but now I have to learn how to live without you, and with the reality of you and him, and I appreciate that you want to keep in touch, that after everything I did to you and to us, you still want to be friends, I really do, but I can’t do this right now. I can’t do it.”

Grantaire couldn’t look at him, couldn’t even breathe. He wiped his eyes but more tears kept coming. It hurt. It hurt so acutely. He hadn’t thought anything could hurt like this again, not after last year.

“Oui, ca va,” he said, his voice thick. “Got it. Let me just get Ant.”

“Can you see where I’m coming from at all?” Enjolras asked, tears escaping him despite his best efforts. “It was a shock and it hurts, you can’t expect me to just bounce back from that right away.”

“You left,” Grantaire said simply. “You left.”

He turned away to call Ant over, hastening to nudge her into her travel case. He looked at Enjolras a moment longer, but what else was there to say? He looked down again and turned to leave.

“Grantaire, please,” Enjolras said, following after him. “Yes, I left, and I’ve regretted that every single day since, but I still can’t see what else I could have done. We were so unhappy, we weren’t good for each other. But that doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. I never stopped. I love you so much, Grantaire, but now you’re with someone else and I have to get used to seeing the man I love with someone else. I want you in my life, I just need time.”

Focused on getting out of there before he broke down completely, Grantaire scarcely heard what Enjolras said. Enjolras had left and now he was back and he still didn’t want Grantaire around, that much was clear.

“Oui, got it,” he said. “See you whenever then.”

Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s arm before he could try to leave again. “What can I do, Grantaire? What else am I supposed to do?”

Grantaire held very still, just letting Enjolras hold on to him. He couldn’t look at him. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s fine, Enjolras. I’m going to be late for work, ca va?”

“Please,” Enjolras said softly. “Please, Grantaire.

“Stop making me feel like I’ve done something wrong,” Grantaire said, pulling his arm free of Enjolras’ hold so he could wipe his eyes. “Stop making me feel like this is all my fault. What was I supposed to do, Enjolras? Sit around in all that silence, waiting for you to come back, hoping you still wanted to know me when- if you did?”

Enjolras breathed a laugh  “Silence? Who’s silence, Grantaire? I called you every day for two months without a single response. You went silent. You didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I wanted nothing but to have you back here,” Grantaire choked out.

“So you just stopped talking to me? How was I supposed to know that?”

Grantaire shook his head, desperately trying to wipe his eyes. He couldn’t find it in him to explain it all, all the hurt and confusion and endless, unremitting longing. Believing Enjolras had left and was staying away because of him, that the giant hole he left behind in the centre of Les Amis was his fault. Being too scared to answer his phone in case he made everything worse than he already had. Trying so, so hard not to so much as think about Enjolras being gone - from his life and from Paris - so he stood some semblance of a chance of staying sober. Nobody wanted him drunk. He’d just wanted to stay alive.

“Stop,” he sobbed. “Please, just stop. I have to go to work.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said softly, reaching to wipe at Grantaire’s tears without thought. He hated making him like this, knowing he’d been the cause of it, of this whole mess they were in. If he’d just stayed, if he’d been strong enough to stay, neither of them would be so broken right now. “I can’t let you go like this. This isn’t your fault, R. I don’t know that I wouldn’t have… I don’t blame you for moving on. You have every right to find what makes you happy.”

Grantaire didn’t know how this, standing here sobbing in the middle of his ex-fiancé’s apartment when he was supposed to be at work, could be called moving on.

“So do you,” he mumbled, pulling away from Enjolras’ touch.

Enjolras drew his hand away quickly, shoving his fists into his pockets. “Ah, non, I meant it when I said you’d ruined me for anyone else,” he tried to joke.

Grantaire swallowed, hard. So he’d really ruined everything. “Thanks,” he said, trying to take a breath without it sounding shaky. “That makes me feel a whole lot better.”

Enjolras faltered, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It’s easier to joke than admit I don’t want to move on.”

Grantaire’s expression crumpled again. “You have to try,” he said. “We both do.”

“Grantaire, I…” Enjolras stopped himself with a quick inhale of breath, his heart suddenly racing in his chest at the prospect of confessing. He shook his head. “Nothing says we have to.”

Grantaire looked up at him, dread seeping through him. “What were you going to say? You what?” he asked.

Enjolras shook his head again, his throat almost too tight to speak. How could he tell Grantaire what he’d done, after losing it over Grantaire being with Étienne?

“You have to work, non? I’m keeping you too long.”

“Enjolras…” Grantaire said helplessly.

“I slept with someone,” Enjolras blurted out, avoiding Grantaire’s eyes.

“What? When?” Please don’t say before we broke up. Please, please, please don’t say before we broke up.

“In Amsterdam,” Enjolras said, his voice hardly above a whisper and his eyes glued to the floor. “Late February, I guess.”

Grantaire stared at him and realised he wasn’t relieved. Why had he told him that now? How was he supposed to respond? Did Enjolras want him to be jealous? Proud? Angry? Hurt? Grantaire swallowed; he didn’t know what he felt.

Sad. He was sad. Desperately, desperately sad. He’d forgotten how long it had taken Enjolras to feel comfortable and safe and secure enough to sleep with him. He could remember how much it had meant to him. What state had he been in to do that with a stranger, just like that? Was it Grantaire’s fault?

“Were you safe?” he asked gently.

Enjolras nodded, shame choking him. He wanted to explain himself but had never really been able to reason it to himself, and he wanted to apologize but he didn’t know that Grantaire really cared what he did anymore.

“And was it good?” As soon as he’d spoken, Grantaire shook his head, pressing his lips together. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, it wasn’t… traumatic or… Je ne sais pas. It was… You wanted to do it? It was a good experience for you?”

“It was fine, I guess,” Enjolras said quietly.

Grantaire nodded. That said everything Enjolras hadn’t said. Grantaire’s curiosity got the better with him.

“Who was it with?” he asked, careful to keep his voice gentle and sympathetic. “Someone you already knew?”

Enjolras swallowed, blinking back tears again. “Non,” he said. “I’d just met him.”

Grantaire wanted nothing more than to pull Enjolras into a hug. He held his arms carefully by his sides. “I’m… I’m really sorry it wasn’t what you wanted it to be,” he said softly. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Don’t regret it.”

“It’s too late for that,” Enjolras said, wiping tears off his face. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to… it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m just sorry.”

“I am too,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras shook his head. “Don’t,” he said, because hearing Grantaire apologize just made it worse. “It’s fine.”

Grantaire swallowed, still looking worriedly up at Enjolras. Finally, he exhaled softly. “Look, I really need to get to work, but… I’ll give you however much time and space you need, ca va?” he said, just as gently. “You can call me or text or drop round, whatever you want, whenever you need to. Whenever you want to. Don’t isolate yourself again, Enjolras, ca va?”

Enjolras nodded, his arms crossed protectively over his chest. He knew he wouldn’t be able to reach out after this.

Grantaire nodded, looking down. A moment later, he glanced up again. “Hey, do you want to take care of Ant for a few days? Or just today, even?”

“Look at this place,” Enjolras said quietly. “It’s not… she’s happy with you.”

Grantaire tried to blink his eyes clear of newly formed tears. “I’m really, really sorry,” he said. “About everything.”

“Don’t cry,” Enjolras said, taking a half-step toward him. He just wanted to hold him. “Please don’t. This isn’t your fault.”

“It’s not yours either,” Grantaire said, taking a quick step toward the front door. If he let Enjolras touch him now, he’d never be able to convince himself to leave. “It’s just… one of those things. I’ll wait to hear from you, ca va?”

Enjolras stepped aside to let Grantaire by, his arms tight to his body. He couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t watch him go again.

“Ouais, ca va.”

Grantaire hesitated beside him.

“I still love you, ca va?” he said softly. “No matter what. You are loved.”

He looked at him a moment longer before readjusting his hold on Ant, taking a deep breath, and heading out the door.

Enjolras shut the door behind him and waited until he could no longer hear his footsteps on the stairs before letting the tears fall, his body shuddering with the ferocity of them.

What did it matter that Grantaire loved him if he didn’t want to be with him?

[theblazeofmemory]

(I completely blame Elise and my biannual reading of Of Growth and Decay for this completely self-indulgent piece of Antoine being the absolute best)

Antoine stood in the center of the dais, his jaw set, eyes locked on one raised throne in particular. He had been standing there for what felt like an eternity, talking in circles for hours while the other gods tried their best to wear him down. Stubbornness was one of the best traits he had inherited from his father. The rest of them could complain and try to shut him down, but Enjolras was the one that mattered most; he held particular sway over this council.

"Enjolras, please! You know me. You know Jehan." Pulling his parent into this could be a risk- they certainly were as biased in this matter as he was- but the young god was getting desperate. "I have never asked for much, and I urge you to consider-"

"You have no idea what you're asking now!" Courfeyrac cut in, surging to his feet as he cut Antoine off. The ends of his curls glowed like embers with his anger. "Have you any clue what kind of damage granting such a request could do? The damage he has already done?"

"That was generations ago!" Antoine snapped back, frustration bubbling up around him like a tangible thing. "The mortals only know about that time through song and story! How long before you all let go of this grudge?"

Combeferre muttered a word to Courfeyrac, enough to calm his burning and coax him back into his seat, before turning his attention to the dais again. He gave a small smile and spoke softer than Courfeyrac, and Antoine could taste the pity behind his honeyed tone. "Antoine... You did not know the world before. It was wonderful, always warm and blooming, and now? Your father set in motion many changes, and he still pays the price for it."

"For prompting the end of your perfect, eternal summer?"

A murmur rumbled through the crowd, several of the assembled gods stirring from the tension.  Courfeyrac nearly left his seat again, but a stern look from Enjolras settled him back. A few- Joly, Musichetta, Cosette- sought out Jehan instead, and the Flower Deity was the only one apparently unbothered by their son's display, leaning on the arm of their throne and watching intently.

Antoine took a breath. "I would have no place in a perfect world. I maintain balance, not perfection, and there is no need for me without first an imbalance. He might have been wrong, there's no changing what he did or what happened after, but he is not monster. Montparnasse is my father, and he loves us."

The power in the name sent another ripple around the room. Even Jehan rarely spoke that name aloud here.

As much as Antoine wanted to seek out his parent in the crowd, make sure he was doing this right, he kept his gaze focused on Enjolras. He was the one who had fixed the lock on the Gate in the first place. "One day is all I ask for. Let him feel the sun and see the flowers and the stars. Let us be a family on the surface, just once. Please."

A beat of silence passed, enough to freeze Antoine's heart painfully in his chest, then Enjolras slowly rose to stand. He looked regal, keeping his expression decidedly neutral as he waited another moment, studying Antoine for a reaction. Then he spoke. "You realize how dangerous your father is?"

Antoine swallowed down a quip, took another breath to steady his tone. "All gods are dangerous."

That earned a nod. "You understand the gravity of his actions, yet you still believe he deserves a second chance?"

"I'm not asking for a chance. I want one day, out of the thousands he has to spend alone."

Enjolras motioned for the rest to stand with him. "We will discuss it. You may go."

"But-!"

"Go."

Jehan gently tapped their knuckles on the door to Antoine's chambers. "My son?" they asked softly. No answer. They waited a moment more. "Are you there?"

They touched the door again, and it opened under their fingers, giving them just enough space to slip inside before it closed again. Antoine was sprawled across his bed, propped elegantly against an assortment of cushions with his back to the door. He looked like a much younger version of Montparnasse, all tousled dark curls and sullen energy. He barely stirred when Jehan sat down beside him, though he did lean into their hand when they rested their palm on his shoulder.

"You do have your father's flare for the dramatic," they teased, gently gripping his arm. Jehan could feel his anger bubbling just beneath the surface, frustrations fueling tension and threatening to upset his own internal balance. Not good.

Antoine barely shifted, enough to see Jehan's face with one eye. "Is there something wrong with that, too?" His voice had an angry bite to it, sharp, cold.

"Absolutely not." They moved a curl away from his face. "Why would there be?"

Antoine sat up but only stayed upright long enough to lean on Jehan's shoulder. "Anything I do like my father flies in the face of all Olympus, it seems. They hate any part of me that reflects him. I don't know how long they will still look me in the face or want me around since I look so much like him. Things used to be so... different..." His voice trailed off, arms wrapping tight around his middle and fingers digging into the fabric of his chiton.

Jehan pulled him into a hug and dropped a kiss in his hair. "You were a child, starlight. You've grown, but-"

"They don't like how."

"But they still care for you. Everyone does. They love you. You know that, right?" Antoine gave a little grunt of acknowledgement."You are unique, my darling. The only son of the King of the Underworld, my only son. You sit on the edge between life and death and hold more power than most could ever dream of. You're a precious being, the first of something completely new. You wear darkness as well as you do light."

"So does Gavroche," he huffed. Antoine squirmed away from them and fell over on his side, curling himself around one of the larger pillows. "Eponine, too. No one gets angry at them for it."

Any crimes of the Thenardier blood feel squarely on their parents shoulders and remained safely locked away in the depths of Tartarus while their children were free to go about their lives in peace. His only seemed to grow with time, though maybe that was because he actually liked his imprisoned parent.

Antoine quirked an eyebrow and peered up at Jehan again. "I never asked, but why are you here? I thought you would be involved in the 'discussion'" -he scowled at the world, dipped it in venom as it left his tongue- "surrounding Papa's fate."

"Am I no longer allowed to be concerned for my son?" Jehan settled a hand on him but otherwise let him be. "I believe they know my position on the matter. I want Montparnasse here as much as you do. If they want anything from me beyond that, they will call for me."

"So you will defend him?"

"With every breath I have."

"And me?" The question came out more choked than he meant it to. "If they start questioning me or think I might be dangerous or- What would you do?"

Jehan smiled, but there was something fiercer in their eyes. "I would make them see the error of their ways, of course. If that means tearing Olympus out by the root like a weed that dared harm my most favorite creation, so be it. No one will hurt you, sweetling, no need to worry about that."

That brought a smile to his face. Antoine had grown so much since he first appeared in Montparnasse's garden, he had so much strength and potential tangled up in him, but he was still their child above all. Jehan loved to see him smile, short-lived as they might sometimes be.

Antoine let his cheek fall against the mattress, his smile slipping with it. "The others speak so cruelly of my father. They treat him unfairly. He did everything out of love, and they want to keep him locked in those cold, dark halls forever. I hate it."

"Not everything was for love, dear. Montparnasse is as selfish as he is caring, but he does love us both very much." Jehan combed their fingers through Antoine's hair, leaving little blossoms in his curls. "I was selfish, too, but the rest won't hear that. It's easier for them to make him a whole villain than admit their friend shares the blame. And don't let your father hear you call his palace 'cold and dark.' It might serve as his prison, but he built that place himself and loves everything he put into it."

"I know." Antoine sighed and tapped his leg against Jehan. The Underworld was as much his home as Olympus, though he was beginning to wonder if he really belonged to either. "Maybe we can wile all of next summer away from Olympus. Spend some time hiding among the mortals like Gavroche and I used to do."

"Do you think that would fix anything?"

"No, but it might make them all miss us."

In the distance, a bell began to toll, then another, and another. The others must have reached some kind of decision and were calling them back to hear the verdict. Calling everyone, in fact. Jehan stood to leave while Antoine released his grip on the cushion and sat back up to watch them.

"I am going to see him tonight," Antoine said quietly, firmly, "regardless of what they decide."

Jehan nodded. They expected nothing else of him. "Take him my love."

"Anything else?"

"Not tonight." Summer was nearly over. Gifts could wait until they could hold their husband again. "I will see him myself soon enough."

There was a hesitation while they strode to the door, and then, "Han?"

Jehan's fingertips brushed over the door frame, and the stopped, smiling to themself. They still loved that nickname "Yes, sweetling?"

"I will find a way to bring him here, with or without the help of Olympus. I will tear down the Gate with my bare hands if I have to." He caught sight of a flicker of concern on Jehan's face and mentally balked. "After I try everything else I can think of, I promise."

"I know, Antoine. If anyone can find away, you can."

The sound of bare feet echoed through the halls of the palace, distracting Montparnasse from the souls he was supposed to be judging. He sent the one in front of him on its way before glancing to Claquesous, who nodded in confirmation. Only two people ran barefoot through the Underworld, and one would not grace his court for a few weeks yet, so that could only mean-

"My son is here," he managed to say before the doors of the main hall swung open, and Antoine came racing toward the throne. The new souls parted to let him by as he had no desire to stop. Montparnasse had time to rise from his seat, then his son all but slammed into him, clinging like he had as a child.

"I did it!" Antoine gasped, breathless but smiling, giddy with his news and a little dizzy. "We did it- Han- I- we-"

Montparnasse stilled him with a hand on his shoulder. "Breath first," he said softly. He motioned for Claquesous to take over maintaining order here while he led Antoine somewhere more private. In an instant, they were in his room.

Montparnasse took a seat, while Antoine buzzed with so much energy he could barely stand still.

"What is it you've done, sunbeam?"

"I got a day! One single day, the best day! Oh, decades of work is finally paying off!" Antoine bounced on his toes, delighted. "I hope it's enough time, I have so many things I want to show you!"

Montparnasse shook his head. "Explain, Antoine, please?"

The young god stilled a little, still smiling brighter than his father remembered in a very long time. "I finally- finally- got them to give you a day! We have to follow their rules, and I think I owe favors to Joly and Grantaire and half a dozen other gods, but Papa... Papa, you get to see the sun again!"

Montparnasse gaped at him. This had to be a prank, some trick, something. There was no way Enjolras would even consider bending on his punishment like that. The Gate was closed forever, that was how it had been, but Antoine would not be this excited over nothing. "I... I can..?"

"Yes! We can't go near Olympus, but we can show you the flowers and the stars and... everything. All the things we've talked about, all the things you've missed."

"And Jehan can come down to meet me? I can see them, too?"

Antoine took his father's hands and pulled him up to stand, squeezing his fingers with his own. "All of us. Together. On the surface. It's been promised."

"When?" Montparnasse asked, hesitant, like he was afraid to scare the idea away with a breath.

"Tomorrow."