#grantaire sort of feeling like he has a purpose for the first time ever

[autumnalmess]

For the consideration of the privy council: Grantaire introducing Enjolras to music and cinema.

Consider Enjolras who is "austere in his enjoyments" learning that there is such thing as music that is not just background music to work to, and film that is not just designed to teach you something.

Consider Grantaire gaping at Enjolras for never having heard of the Beatles, sitting him down and forcing headphones over his fluffy golden hair to force him to listen to 'A Day in the Life'.

Enjolras going "this is so stupid" until it hits the second verse and he suddenly becomes very quiet.

Grantaire dragging Enjolras along to the cinema to watch reruns of The Fellowship of the Ring, after which Enjolras grumbles the whole way home, but asks to see the next movie just to "make sure they're all bad".

Grantaire showing up on Enjolras' doorstep with an armful of DVDs because he just has to educate him.

Enjolras discovering Wes Anderson, and the concept of comfort movies, curling up to watch a film not because it means anything or has a deep political comment to make about the human race, but just because it's fun.

Grantaire watching Enjolras more than the film.

Grantaire letting Enjolras borrow his Spotify to find something he likes and almost tearing up when Enjolras says "have you heard of this band called Fleetwood Mac? I've been listening to a couple of their songs".

Grantaire desperately trying to explain to Courfeyrac that it's "not a date! Enjolras has just never been to a proper concert before!"

Enjolras suggesting they share wired earbuds because it's "more efficient" and definitely not because it means they have to sit closer together.

Enjolras learning that life is not about how efficiently you plough through it.

[offspring-of-calliope]

For the writing thing. Would you be able to do one where enjoltaire go on holiday and little things they get up to. I’m awful at ideas sorry.

Hey, thanks for the request :)

To be honest, I'm not sure if this is even a bit like you imagined it would be but I just began writing what felt right and this was what came around. There's a bit of angst but I tried to keep it as little as I could and I don't know if it's a trigger warning but they fight at first.

I hope you enjoy,

Sincerely, me,

Lélodie

-----

Grantaire sighed while strolling through yet another historical museum Enjolras had dragged him to. Initially, Courfeyrac und Combeferre had planned to join the two of them on their trip. Combeferre and Enjolras had wanted to visit the museums while Grantaire and Courfeyrac would busy themselves with trying every piece of food the Cafeterias had to offer.

But then, Courfeyrac had gotten sick, so he and Combeferre had decided to stay back home. And Grantaire - ever the lovesick fool - had agreed to follow his boyfriend through neverending rows of pictures, texts and artifacts.

It wasn't that Grantaire detested museums. It was just that he didn't want to spend the majority of his holidays in stuffy buildings, looking at things. Especially when he already knew everything he wanted to know about historical events.

"Tell me again why you're studying law and not history," Grantaire said, once again letting a sigh escape his lips.

Enjolras threw him an exasperated look. "Studying the law will help me right several wrongs and make the world a better place. Knowing about the great revolutions of the world that built the fundament I'm working on is simply a hobby."

"Could you at least consider pursuing this hobby when you're not on vacation with your boyfriend that wants to see more from his environment than the insides of every museum in town?"

"You said you were okay with it!" Enjolras retorted, suddenly stopping.

Grantaire snorted. "I say so many things as long as nobody tells me to shut up."

"Oh, so you're pretending that it's my fault that you're obviously miserable and bored even though you very well know that it's your own fault for trying to please me."

"Trying to - of course I'm trying to please you, that's all I ever seem to do." Grantaire groaned. "But to be honest, I don't know why you're picking a fight now. I was just being my sarcastic self, no need to make a fuss about it."

"I don't make a fuss about it! It's just that this is our first trip as a couple and I'm not good with... this whole relationship thing. And then you're not even enjoying it."

"Every moment I get to spend with you is a moment I enjoy," Grantaire responded, not sure if he should be feeling annoyed or attacked.

Enjolras gaped at him, obviously at a loss of words. His fists were clenching, then relaxing, then clenching again. "Good. Then we can move on to the next part of the exhibition," he said, eventually, and started walking again.

Grantaire didn't say anything for the rest of the afternoon.

-

It was already late in the evening and Grantaire sat on the balcony of their hotel room. From there, he could see the nearby parc, the leaves of the trees starting to change their colours, the rooftop of an old castle. His pencil seemed to move on its own.

A sudden noise made him look up from his sketch. Enjolras was suddenly standing behind him, hands behind his back, uncertain of where to look. Expectantly, Grantaire looked at him.

"I...," Enjolras started, showing his hands that were holding some flower that Grantaire couldn't really identify but whose pattels were shimmering white in the light of the sinking sun. "I wanted to apologise for the way I acted in the museum. That was uncalled for. It was just that, like I said, that I wanted everything to turn out alright. But then Ferre and Courf couldn't come and they were usually the ones that could help me sort out my feelings. And I was overwhelmed because... Being here, sharing this experience with you, it's nice. Really nice. So I got you this as an apology." He stretched out his hands with the flower. "I know what you're thinking - giving someone a flower is not romantic because you're killing it before it has the chance to die when its time has come. But I found this one in the garden - its stem was already broken. I wanted to give it one last purpose."

Hesitantly, Grantaire took the flower from his hands, spinning it around a bit. "I appreciate your honesty. I know that relationships and feelings don't come easy to you."

Enjolras nodded. "Thank you. I also thought - since we already did something I like, how about we go dancing later? There's an evening course, right next to the hotel."

"You hate dancing."

"But you like it. I want to make you happy, Grantaire. I might snap at you sometimes, I might get angry because I cannot decipher my emotions. However, I cannot deny that you being happy is a big priority of mine."

Grantaire smiled and stretched out his hand for Enjolras to take, tilting his head in question. Enjolras smiled as well and took his hand. "I'm happy as long as I'm with you," Grantaire said.

"Me too."

[songbird-musing]

Virtuoso: Chapter Three - Verses

Enjolras is Saint-Michel Academy’s brightest young composer. He runs the orchestra, the Musician’s Rights board, chairs the scholarship program, teaches free classical music to children, and is in the middle of his dissertation. He has never been anything less than a prodigy, until his teacher forces him to write a pop song.

Enter the effortlessly cool Grantaire, with his smudged eyeliner and lovely guitar-playing fingers. He really digs Enjolras’ “vibe,” whatever that means.

There's wooing, and revelry, and all sorts of things that don't quite suit Enjolras' sensibilities.

Chapter One

Chapter Two 

Verses

“So, are you conducting at any upcoming concerts?” Grantaire asked, lit only by a flickering outdoor lamp.

“Not anything official... I’m performing a cello solo and some ensemble stuff at the showcase next week, though,” their faces were blistered by the heat from the tea.

“Wait... What is your main instrument?” Grantaire filled his lungs with smoke, “Can you play the whole orchestra?” he joked.

“Pretty much,” Enjolras scuffed his toes against the floor, “Pushy parents...” he paused, “I’m grateful, though. I don’t know where I’d be without music.”

“Do you not think you’d have found it anyway?” Grantaire asked, eyes closed, lips parted.

“What? Music?” Enjolras tucked his hands under his jacket to warm them. “Who knows? I’d probably have ended up as a lawyer, or a banker or something.”

“What... like ninety percent of the Saint-Michel graduates?” he slumped his head to the side and traced a bird through the sky with a half-amused tilt to his mouth. “Anyway, I don’t believe that for a second. You’d have found it... it’s who you are.”

Enjolras watched him closely, mouth suddenly dry.

“Do you want...?” Grantaire asked, tilting the cigarette towards him.

“Oh no... I don’t smoke.”

“Tobacco?”

“Anything,” Enjolras answered, lungs recoiling at the scent.

“Man of strong morals,” he said, yawning slightly. “I’m afraid I have none.” He kicked the end of his cigarette into an overflowing pile. “Let’s finish this masterpiece.”

A laugh bubbled in Enjolras’ chest and burst through, clattering loudly in the patch of cobblestones.

“Grantaire,” he asked, and the boy turned around with a look in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected Enjolras to even know his name. “Why are you even at Saint-Michel’s?” He stood, hands still warming beneath his arms. “Surely there’s a contemporary school of music you could study at?”

“Um,” said Grantaire, turning slightly red. Enjolras couldn’t tell whether he was blushing, or if it were just the sunset bouncing off his cheeks. “I’m performing at the showcase next week, so maybe, if you stick around, you’ll see why.”

They stepped back inside, the air gracefully far warmer.

“What does that mean?” Enjolras asked, itching for Grantaire’s answer. “Do you play like the oboe or something?”

“You’ll see...” Grantaire lifted a corner of his mouth and Enjolras inexplicably had to drop his gaze, a strange feeling stirring in his chest. “Can’t give away all my mystery at once,” he leaned in, “My mystery is all I have going for me.”

“Very mysterious,” said Enjolras in a small voice, laugh curling the edge of his breath. His senses snapped from the moment as a shrill ringing screeched from Grantaire’s phone.

“Oh,” the sound poured from his lips like carelessly spilled water, his eyes glazed. “I didn’t realise it was so late.” He threw his phone roughly onto the bed and stretched his limbs out.

“Plans for the evening?” Enjolras asked, hovering by the keyboard, fingers longing for the keys.

“I forgot all about it...” Grantaire cursed, grabbing a fresh shirt from his wardrobe, patterned with an unexpectedly intricate Victorian design in forest green. “I could call it off...” but the words eked from him, as if cancelling his plans was not on his mind at all.

“No, of course not... Um... I’ll just...” Enjolras cleared his throat, making for his scarf. “Nice shirt.”

“It’s my wooing shirt,” Grantaire laughed, mirth smeared in his eyes.

“Oh, you’re going on a date?” Enjolras said with a smile, shouldering his coat.

Grantaire laughed again, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “A date...” he made quick work of the buttons on the shirt he was wearing. “Sure... let’s call it that.”

With a swift movement, he slithered from the material of his top and threw it onto a lump of clothing.  Enjolras caught a glimpse of his russet shoulders, marked with delicate black ink and masses of freckles before he turned to the door, cheeks heating.

“I’ll head off then,” he said, blinking a little too rapidly.

“One sec,” Grantaire said, “Catch!”

Enjolras was forced to confront the image of a half-shirted Grantaire and apologised fervently, missing the memory stick soaring towards him and hearing it clatter by his feet.

“Sorry for what? I have no shame regarding the human form...” he quirked an eyebrow.

“You sound like Jehan.”

“Jehan sounds like me...They used to do life modelling for me.”

“Huh?” Enjolras gaped.

“Yeah, I have the pictures somewhere. They’re very artful... Do you want to see?”

“I feel like I would have to ask Jehan first...”

“You’re such a sweet boy,” Grantaire said in a deeply southern accent. “Didn’t you see Jehan in that exhibition where they stood naked in a forest or something?”

“Oh...” Enjolras recalled it well, “The Adam and Eve thing. It was certainly an interesting take on religious gender non-conformity...” He tilted his head, “I think they still get death threats sometimes.”

Grantaire threw his head back in a laugh, and Enjolras wished he could throw such a glorious laugh around with Grantaire’s ease.

“Hang on, I’ll show you out.” He bumped open the door with his hip, towering a myriad of plates and empty cups in his hands.

“Thanks for doing this with me,” Enjolras said, voice shatteringly polite, “Seriously, Grantaire, I’m so grateful.”

Grantaire grazed his shoulder up into a shrug and brushed Enjolras’ comment away with finesse. “Ép,” he said, slamming the dirty dishes onto the table before her. She peered up from a clunky Mac, headphones nestled in her hair. She gazed at him briefly before her eyebrows slanted downwards.

“What’s with the wooing shirt?” she asked, dragging the headphones from her ears.

“Are you going to be here all night?” he asked, grabbing an apple and sinking his teeth into it.

“Yeah...?” she said after a pause, “Ugh, don’t make me leave,” she complained, “I’m literally in the middle of producing right now.”

“No, its fine,” Grantaire’s eyes were burning hazel under the setting sun, “I’ll be back in a few hours. Just tell Claque if I find any more of his masks, or creepy merchandise in my room again, he’s banned from ever coming here again. I’ve had enough. He’s doing it on purpose now, I swear...” Grantaire looked to Enjolras with a dark shade in his gaze, “I found an ornamental dagger in my pillowcase last night,” he said in way of explanation. “It’s getting beyond weird now.”

“He does it to show affection,” Éponine said, “Like a cat.”

“That’s even worse!” Grantaire said, “Like at least ten billion times worse! Tell him there is more to life than aesthetic.”

“Try to tell that to anyone in the band, my dear,” Éponine laughed. “Well, have fun guys!”

Enjolras blinked.

“Éponine!” Grantaire hissed, shaking his head frenetically. “The shirt’s not for him.”

The moment stretched out and Éponine let out a giggle, collapsing her head onto her forearms. “Oops!” she snorted, “I totally thought you were gonna...”

“Why would I make us go all the way back to his house?” Grantaire said, smirk playing on his face, “I’m a good host, Ép. You would be kicked out.”

“This is weird...” Enjolras interjected, feeling a little flushed.

“You’re right. This is weird, and it’s all your fault,” Grantaire said, pulling a face at Éponine. “Right, I better get ready.”

With a spin, Grantaire reached their front door and presented it to Enjolras with a bow. “It has been a pleasure to work with you, Enjolras. When’s the lesson we have to perform in?”

“Monday at nine,” Enjolras said, “With Valjean.”

Grantaire groaned. “Very devious of you to tell me that at the very end... Monday at nine! Okay, okay, fine. I’ll see you then. Maybe I’ll catch you before to practise.” Grantaire’s eyes were drifting away, “Seriously, though, we should hang sometime. Courf seems really cool.”

“Oh, yeah,” Enjolras said, “He really is.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Grantaire joked. Enjolras eyed the pattern of his shirt.

“No, he is! Anyway, I don’t want to keep you... Enjoy your... thing.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire said, giving another laugh, but peering through narrowed eyes. “Are you alright?”  

“Hm?” Enjolras started, “Oh sorry... just have Beethoven on my mind.”

“What?” Grantaire asked, “Well... Good luck with that?” he leant forwards and briefly embraced Enjolras, kissing the air beside his cheeks casually. “See you later. Safe travels!”

Enjolras travelled back on the metro with a strange, roiling sensation shifting in his stomach. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and let the haunting melodies of Shostakovich ensnare his senses for the ride.

~*~

“House meeting!” shouted Combeferre, who perhaps called house meetings far more than necessary.

“What’s wrong now?” asked Courf with a playful groan, “Did I eat your last avocado again?”

“The issue to discuss is a certain Courfeyrac’s attendance in this household,” said Combeferre, opening his journal and scratching down a title. He flicked to another page and nodded, “You’ve been absent five out of the past seven nights...”

Courfeyrac lounged back on the sofa, letting his mass of dark curls flop over his eyes, “Sorry, dad.”

“I feel like you shouldn’t be paying full rent,” Combeferre said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “But... there is a way to rectify your missteps.”

“You can tell he’s going to be the most intense teacher in five years time,” Courfeyrac said with an eye roll to Enjolras.

“No backchat,” Enjolras quipped, quietly letting his fingers drift over the strings of his harp.

The three of them laughed in tangent.

“Seriously though, you have to give an opinion on my dissertation,” Combeferre said, throwing a chunky booklet into his friend’s hands.

“No!” Courfeyrac elongated, letting the vowel ring out through the flat. “Why am I subjected to such cruel punishment for taking advantage of my youth?”

“Love you so much!” Combeferre said, giving Enjolras a roguish wink. “We’ve sorted him out,” he said in a mock whisper, ignoring Courfeyrac’s dramatic complaints. “What’s wrong, Enj?”

“Hm?” Enjolras leant his forehead against the gilded edge of his harp.

“You’re playing Tchaikovsky again.”

“What does that mean?” Enjolras sighed, stilling his fingers.

“Darling,” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, “The last time you looked this mopey was when I said I didn’t like Bach that much.”

Enjolras instantly frowned. “You should be expelled from Saint-Michel’s, you heathen.”

“Stop deflecting,” Combeferre interjected, “Do I have to call the second house meeting of the night?”

“Do you guys think I’m not living in the student life as much as I could be?”

“Absolutely,” Courf said.

“One thousand percent,” Combeferre added, “But since when have you wanted to act like a student?”

“Has that nasty boy Grantaire been corrupting you?” Courfeyrac asked, “I’ll be having words with him.”

“I think you might have a chance with him,” Enjolras tilted his head, watching the flare of interest in Courfeyrac’s eyes.

“Nah,” he said after a moment, “It would break Jehan and I’s agreement. No sharing.”

Enjolras licked his cracked lips and his eyebrows folded. “Jehan and Grantaire...? They were a thing?”

Courfeyrac laughed lazily. “You know Jehan... Free love... There’s literally no-one in that circle that Jehan hasn’t slept with... Well, apart from Gueulemer... he’s painfully straight. We’re both trying to see who can crack him.”

“You’re awful, Courf,” Combeferre said, “Leave the poor heterosexual alone.”

“Are you going out tomorrow night, Courf?” Enjolras asked, the words tasting brassy on his tongue.

“Dunno,” he turned his wide-eyed gaze to Combeferre, “Can I go out tomorrow, dad, please?”

Combeferre grimaced. “Stop calling me dad.”

“Daddy says yes,” Courf said with an exaggerated wink.

“House meeting!” Combeferre shouted, mirth in his eyes, “The issue on the table: never do that again.” He shut his notebook and stalked away.

“Well, I’ll come with you.”

“Ooh, Enjolras!” Courfeyrac said, scandalised, “On a school night as well! You little rebel!”

~*~

After university the next day, Enjolras contemplated himself in the mirror, red shirt as stark as blood against his skin. He buttoned it to the top, but unfastened the button closest to his neck. He imagined calling it his ‘wooing shirt’ to literally anybody and almost turned as scarlet as the material. With a glimpse at his alarm, he noticed the lateness of the hour and snapped at Courfeyrac to hurry up.

“Me?” Courfeyrac gaped, “I’ve been ready for the past four hours,” he exaggerated, still shirtless and barefoot. “I’m not the one raunchily exposing a slither of neck and blushing at myself.”

“That’s not-” Enjolras blushed, “That wasn’t what I was doing!”

“Gosh! I’ve heard that Enjolras is a floozy, you know?” Courf called to no one in particular, “I once caught a glimpse of his ankles!”

“His ankles?!” Combeferre called from a distant room, sounding aghast.

“You both are the worst,” Enjolras said, still flushed. Courfeyrac grinned and ruffled a hand through Enjolras’ mass of blonde curls.

“Come on, you harlot,” he tiptoed to smack an affectionate kiss to Enjolras’ cheek, “We have some revelry to revel in.”

By Courfeyrac’s standards, revelry was measured in how blisteringly high one could become.

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it,” he drawled, after they had arrived at the party, passing a joint to Jehan, arm crossing over Enjolras’ chest as he did so. “I just think that if the moon was real then it wouldn’t be such a symbol of mystery... I’m just saying... who looks at the moon and isn’t a little bit creeped out?”

“You get creeped out by the moon?” Joly asked, head resting on Musichetta’s lap.

“Like...” said Courf, eyes drifting shut, “Like just a tiny bit...” a small cough rattled in his throat, “I just don’t trust it.”

“I think the moon is lovely,” Jehan said. Joly peered up and shared an eye-roll with Enjolras. Joly was the first violinist in the Saint-Michel orchestra, and had dealt with the whole bunch of orchestral stoners more than Enjolras had had the will to.

“You think everything is lovely, Jehan,” Enjolras said. Jehan looked at him with starry, brown eyes and slumped against the column of his neck.

Then, amidst the smoke haze of the room, time seemed to unfold far quicker than it usually did, and Jehan had led Enjolras to their room, to show him the life paintings Grantaire had mentioned.

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, head a little fuzzy, “Very artful... he said they were.” The pictures captured Jehan as they looked in the current moment, lazy-eyed and oozing contentedness. “They’re incredible, Jehan.”

“Tell Grantaire... he was the one who did the hard work.”

Enjolras was not sure what came over him, but he ducked his head and felt the edge of Jehan’s lip between his own. He felt a hand leap to the back of his head, and the warm curl of fingers lace themselves through his hair. Jehan’s lips feel like a revolution – Enjolras had never kissed someone so well versed in the art of kissing. The lips on his neck made him gasp for air. He contemplated how long it had been since the skin of his neck had been worshipped so... too long. A year ago with the pretentious cellist that was too attractive for words, (Enjolras had called it off when the sex had been the only part that didn’t bore him half to death.)

“Jehan,” he mouthed, feeling mind-spinningly blissful. His hand dropped to Jehan’s waist, feeling for a seam of material. His fingers searched blindly, tracing the edge of Jehan’s hips, increasingly frantic. Enjolras broke away with a tut and stared at Jehan’s attire.

“It’s a romper,” Jehan said in explanation. Then, as Enjolras moved his hands to the zip on Jehan’s back, they said, “What are you doing, Enjolras?” Enjolras pressed his lips to Jehan’s collarbone, who laughed breathily and batted his head away. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m looking for my wilder side,” Enjolras said, eyes dark.

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” Jehan said lightly, “I thought this was just a friendly make-out session.”

“You sleep with everyone,” Enjolras said, drawing back and resenting the whine that had infiltrated into his tone. In lieu of offense, Jehan merely snorted with a grin.

“Look, I’m down for casual flings aplenty, but you, my friend, are not.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”                                    

“No,” Jehan shrugged, “You wouldn’t be here if you were.”

“That makes no sense,” Enjolras frowned, “Your pseudo-deep doesn’t work on me.”

“Come on, Enj,” Jehan said, patting Enjolras good-naturedly on the chest, “If you actually wanted a hook-up, you wouldn’t have come to the one person you thought would never turn you down... I’m sorry, but I am just not dealing with the emotional nonsense you are sure to bring.”

“What?” he gaped, mouth dropping open.

“You’re a drama queen, Enjolras – you can’t even deny it...” they smiled, “Let’s not do this.” Jehan tucked the sketches back into place and stretched out their arms. “Wow,” they said with a hazy blink, “I am too high right now.”

“You always are,” muttered Enjolras.

“Don’t get grumpy with me, darling,” Jehan said, “I still love you.”

Enjolras flushed a little, still not as open with his words as Jehan could be. “Yeah, and I love you as well. Besides, I’m not grumpy with you, I’m grumpy with myself.”

“Enjolras,” Jehan tutted, “Don’t mope... I can shower you with positive affirmations, if you’d like... You’re the loveliest boy I’ve ever met, anyone would be blessed to have you, and you’re as beautiful as the sun itself... I am at once blinded by you yet cannot take my eyes from you... happy now?”

Enjolras couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his mouth. Jehan laughed and pressed a friendly kiss to his lips.

“Ugh, I’m so embarrassed,” Enjolras said, covering his face.

“About what?” Jehan said, smile lazy, “I’m so high, I’ve forgotten already.”

[williamvapespeare]

"Didn't want you to see this." Enjolras/grantaire obv

“Didn’t want you to see this.”

i’m sorry this took so long! (and i’m also sorry to the other ones that are taking even longer!) also i MEANT for this to be kind of happy but it just ended up being really depressing, as in it’s kind of just about depression. i’m sorry for writing only about sad boys 90% of the time lol

(i’m just gonna say tw for depression and all the things that come with that package!)

–

Some days, it feels like he’s being pulled apart at the seams.

Sometimes, Enjolras’s hands are on his stomach and hisfingers spread out to graze against his hips and Grantaire feels their pathacross his body like lines of flame. And sometimes he’s too drunk to stand andhe curls himself into a corner of his room and thinks about drowning in asubstance thicker than wine, thinks about submerging himself so deeply that itquiets the pounding in his temples.

Sometimes, he laughs so hard he thinks his sides might burstopen, those days when he measures hours in the clink of glasses and Bossuet’shand on his shoulder and the glint of Joly’s smile.

Some days, the seams are strong and wide, too substantialfor the Fates’ knives to cut through. Those are the nights when Enjolras smilesat him when they lock eyes across a crowded room and later there are slender fingersslipping through his and soft gasps against his throat and he is, he supposes,the closest he will ever get to happy.

And then there are the kind of nights that Grantaire alwayshides from Joly, when all the pretenses come down and the meaninglessness stopsbeing a joke. He has always hated the taste of sincerity: too bitter on histongue, with nothing left to mask the burn of self-loathing. When he’s run outof shitty wine and run out of coping mechanisms and the world comes so sharplyand viscerally into focus that it makes his head spin. These are the kind ofnights that even his friends who intend to make a career out of fixing peoplecan’t fix.

It’s one of those nights and he’s outside. He’s come out fora cigarette, he told himself, but he hasn’t lit one yet, is still trying toremember if he locked the flat door behind him.

That kind of night.

He balls his hands into fists in the pockets of his hoodieand wanders.

His feet find the way before his brain does, carrying him acrossa familiar route that he knows he should be avoiding at all costs, that hewould never go down if he wasn’t so lost somewhere else, wasn’t being pulledapart so hard that he felt like he was in danger of snapping.

He doesn’t knock on the door when he gets there, feels, nowthat he’s finally reached a vague destination of somewhere, like he’s expendedwhatever small burst of energy it was that got him there in the first place.And maybe he’s more drunk than he thought, because he slumps down against thedoor and lets his head tip back against it.

There’s no reason for him to be here, he knows this. No reasonfor Enjolras to be home, or even if he is, to let him in. So, he just sits, eyesclosed, feeling the chill of the breeze through the thin material of his hoodie.He still hasn’t lit a cigarette.

He doesn’t quite notice the footsteps, doesn’t fully openhis eyes until someone’s foot bumps softly against his own, forcing him fullyinto awareness.

Enjolras is standing in front of him, his keys dangling fromone hand. His face is strangely blank, impassive in a way that Grantaire canonly assume is annoyance, or outright anger. He doesn’t blame him.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Enjolras asks, after a fewbeats of uncomfortable silence.  

Grantaire flinches, as if he’s been slapped.

“It’s not on purpose.” He says quietly, staring down at hishands on either side of his legs, balled into fists so tight that his shortnails cut into the flesh of his palms. “I just forget sometimes how to…” Hetrails off. “I didn’t want you to see this.” He says finally, softly,the sincerity of the statement grating on his tongue. Enjolras already knows enoughof his flaws, he’s been privy to plenty of them on group nights out or back onthose rare occasions when they used to argue openly, shouting across rooms.

He tries to kick his overtired brain into gear, to put hislegs underneath him and stand up and leave. It was a mistake to come here, tobother Enjolras with more of his problems when he has a whole world’s to worryabout himself.

He doesn’t realize that Enjolras has crouched down next tohim until he speaks, his voice quiet and close, “Grantaire.” A hand cups hischeek, a thumb’s gentle caress across his cheekbone wiping away tears he doesn’trealize he’s been crying. “Of course, I want to see you. That’s the point ofthis.” Enjolras’s fingers tighten into his hair. “That’s the point of beingtogether.”

“I’m sorry.” He turns his face sideways into Enjolras’s palm,pressing a soft, wet kiss to the inside of his wrist. “You deserve better thanthis.”

“No.”

And he can’t stand it anymore, looking at Enjolras so closeto him, the line of his eyebrows pulled together in worry, his hair falling inperfect waves around his shoulders, so he leans forward and presses his foreheadinto Enjolras’s neck, choking back whatever sort of argument against himself issupposed to come next.

Enjolras wraps around him immediately, his hand moving torest against the back of Grantaire’s neck, fingers stroking through damp curls.His lips press against the side of Grantaire’s head, other arm tight around hisshoulders.

“I want you.” Enjolras is whispering, soft and insistent inhis ear, “Every part of you, including this one.” And that’s a lie, Grantaireknows, because no one could ever want this part of anyone. He doesn’t even wanthimself.

Enjolras feels cool around him, like the evening air, hishands and his neck settling against Grantaire’s too-hot skin. It’s somethinglike comfort, the hand rubbing gently against the back of his head, making himwonder vaguely when the last time he washed his har was, or the last time heshaved. He chokes out a laugh, hitched and muffled in Enjolras’s hair.

Enjolras pulls back slightly, but keeps his hands on him,pushing his hair back, staying close. Grantaire feels a rush of affection.

“I think this is the most dramatic thing I’ve ever done. Youmust hate this.” He rubs a hand over his face, fingers scratching gently against too many days’ stubbleand Enjolras smiles at him, amused but still worried.

“Have youmissed how the whole point is that I don’thate it?” He tilts his head up to kiss Granatire’s temple, soft and light.

“I’m anidiot.” But even as he speaks, Grantaire is leaning back in towards the comfortof him, “I miss almost everything that ever happens. I don’t even notice who I amsometimes.” It’s a joke, but it’s not a joke and he doesn’t know how else tocontinue but by curling his fingers into the front of Enjolras’s shirt andpulling him into a kiss. It’s a little too hard and a little too desperate tofit the softness of the moment around them, but he’s not sure how to expresswhat he needs to say any other way. He wraps up the need and the gratitude andpushes himself against Enjolras with an intensity that he hasn’t felt in days.It’s something of a relief, to notice how he can feel again.

Enjolrassmiles again against his mouth, pulls away slightly to look at him.

“Do youwant to come inside?” He asks; the normality of the question seems almost funny.

“No!”Grantaire feigns indignation with what he hopes is a hint of his usual sarcastictone. “I came here to sit on the ground outside your door and cry.” Enjolras’sarms shift around him, gently maneuvering him up and into a standing position.

“Well, that’sperfect. You can check that off your list and now you can come inside.”

Grantairerolls his eyes.

“I missedthis.” He says, as he leans into Enjolras to stand up fully, and Enjolraspauses with his keys in hand; he seems surprised.

“I missedyou too.”

And yes, somedays it might feel like he’s being pulled apart at the seams, but some nightsend like this, with Enjolras’s arm around his waist and soft whispers ofsomething like love in his ear. That’s really all Grantaire can ask for.

[midautumnnightdream]

Please ramble more about your les Mis/LOTR crossover concept! Where does each ami find themselves when they wake up, how/where/in what order do they find each other, what do they do upon finding themselves in Arda? I want to know all about this.

Friend! I'm being Very Enabled :D

(uh sorry it took me so long to answer; the last couple of weeks turned out to be A Lot, but the EXTREME WALL OF TEXT of this ramble might at least justify the delay. Consider yourself warned!)

Anyway!

Okay, as I said before, the basis of this concept is Pure Aesthetics, so any "logic" is derived from moving backwards from the result that I wanted. But! There is a sort of method to the madness, which is that the Amis are distributed to Middle-Earth in the same order as they die, spiraling outwards from the central point of somewhere-in-Rohan on the same date they die –so Prouvaire and Bahorel appear closest to each other on the 5th of June 3018 and Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet, Courfeyrac and Combeferre land in a loose circle around them a day later, increasingly further away from each other, but not super far. Grantaire and Enjolras, For Reasons, get propelled a lot further away in separate directions. But more of that later.

So! Bahorel and Prouvaire find each other pretty quickly and establish that something Extremely Weird has happened. Being themselves, they are more excited than confused or upset about the situation and immediately set about exploring this new world. In a way, out of all the Amis they are perhaps the most suited for it: Rohan with vast countryside and mountains and mysterious forests, with the oral culture that honours the poet and glorifies the warrior; the horses, the tapestries, even the shadow of some great evil they do not yet understand but can feel in every unspoken concern – it's something of a Romantic medievalist's dream, isn't it? Sure, they also hear Some Bullshit about the way this country is run and have every intention of doing something about that in the future, but for the time being they are satisfied wandering about the countryside, exchanging songs and stories and exploring that forest they have been warned away from by everyone they meet. (Yes, they totally make friends with the ents, is what I'm saying.) They don't search for the other Amis because they have no reason to assume anyone else died –as far as they know, they're busy living happily in a new Republic. They learn otherwise soon enough, however.

What exactly happens with the next four Amis at first is the part that i'm least clear about – they'd have the same kind of initial confusion about the situation and P&B, but they each know for sure that all their friends should also be dead, and would try to look for them. Probably causing some Unsettling Rumours to spread a bit further than is strictly speaking ideal, but i also want most of them to find each other reasonably quickly, because the group dynamic is more of what i'm into here (esp because Bossuet probably landed somewhere terribly unlucky, poor dude.) Other than that I'm not sure, except that I want Feuilly somewhere with Dunlendings for a little while, because I can just *see* him having Unpopular Dunlending Opinions and getting glowered at by every Rohirrim he stubbornly voices them to.

Anyway, eventually I want that group to come together and... not quite settle, but to have something like a temporary home they can share and come back to, as they figure out what to do next. A place just outside of Edoras, perhaps? The kind of community that is getting increasingly twitchy about the state of affairs in Meduseld, enough to shelter this incredibly weird but friendly and helpful bunch of strangers whom Wormtongue is oh-so-curious about and to help dispel wilder rumours about them ("look they are just foreigners okay? From, um, Lake town. Yeah, Lake town"). Of course, healers are appreciated wherever they go, and so are bards, especially when they have a whole repertoire of songs and stories no one has heard before. Bahorel and Courfeyrac probably know their way around horses, for different reasons, Feuilly also has the kind of skills that would be appreciated and Bossuet, for all his bad luck has the resiliency of a cat who always lands on his feet. And if the lot of them get a bit Sarcastic about monarchy and tend to express the kind of ideas that might get everyone involved into a lot of trouble, well. People are Not happy and they'd welcome anything that goes counter to Orthanc influence in Edoras. Bahorel and Prouvaire still go wandering sometimes, leaving with the herders taking horses to pastures, in effort to find out more about what's going on and how they can help to influence events. But mostly, the Amis stick together.

Things are a bit... tense, once the inital shock passes. There is a lot of unspoken grief between them, for the home and people that are lost to them, for the revolution that could have been, for the future they cannot quite see themselves having in this world, and in a strange way, for each other. The whole situation is just so weird they have no idea how to process it and nothing to measure it against. On top of that, there are people missing in their group: by the time all seven of them come together, it's pretty clear it's just Amis showing up in this world, not everyone who dies, and knowing that the barricade was on a brink of a collapse, it'd make sense for Grantaire and Enjolras to be there too. Still, there is a possibility that they survived, by being taken prisoner or in R's case for being missed because he was asleep – and at this point, no one can quite figure out which option they should be hoping for. Not to mention, Enjolras absence shifts the group dynamic around quite a bit and each of them finds themselves having to pick up some emotional slack – which they do, quite well, but in addition to obvious obligations of coordination and decision-making, there is stuff like Bahorel having to pick fights with Combeferre when he's stressed, so he could argue his heart out without having to hold back, or Courfeyrac and Lesgle taking extra time to attentively listen to Feuilly when he's having Dunlending Opinions. On top of that, they are still trying to find a place in this new world and there is this sense of tense expectation, of coming storm.

Grantaire though. He takes Enjolras's hand, he smiles and when he wakes up, he's in Gondor of all places, all alone and very far from everyone he ever knew. "Now why would you do this, you monster??" you might think. And the answer is, well, symmetry. Aesthetic. Enjolras finds himself alone. So Grantaire must be alone too. On top of that, there is the appeal of our guy Grantaire, just after his big moment of revelation, being put into a situation where he has to live with the full implications of it, without being able to revert back to the expectations as he might if he was surrounded by his friends. Gondor is complicated sort of place. Denethor... is not going to miss a universe-traveler landing in his backyard. Nor would he neither dismiss him out of hand or trust him fully. He knows there is a reason for this, but there is no way to figure out what it could be, no more than he can figure out Grantaire; still reeling with the exhilaration of taking a leap of faith, in some ways a transfigured man, but still with all his foibles. Including talking too much, in references that no one in this world could possibly decipher.

So what happens is, once Faramir catches on to what's happening (because no way is Faramir either going to miss an universe-traveler in his backyard) Denethor pretty much hands R over to him, like "Yeah keep an eye on him and figure out what he's on about, or at least get him to shut up." and whooo boy do i have Thoughts about this character combination. Because Grantaire would be like. Reminded of half of his friends within minutes of meeting this guy (which, ouch) but also.. those sure are some Politics he's got there. Would there be A Debate? Sooner or later, probably! Probably despite Grantaire's better judgement! When on one hand you've got someone who is very convinced of the moral righteousness of his opinions, but is also very open to discussion and very very curious and discerning about what people are not saying, and on the other hand a person who is riddled with guilt over convictions unspoken, who perhaps feels like he owes the arguments to those who are not present to speak them, who's just... not good and not being contrary and shutting up ever. It could get really interesting – not in the sense of anyone getting Converted here, but I feel like both of them would end up with lot to think about (and Grantaire would end up as part of the team going to Ithilien at Important Moment)

And that's the other point – what would Grantaire do here, other than cautiously trying to express A Conviction? Well, mostly he'd try to keep himself afloat. In a moment of irony, in this situation he'd be the only Ami to never doubt that he's not alone in this world: partly it's the context of people around him immediately deciding his presence must serve some kind of Divine Purpose – and well, surely no Divinity would pick him to fulfill some destiny and not the other Amis right? But more than that, it's the fact that he Believes, so utterly, not only in Enjolras but in all of them, to the point of just Knowing they'd never abandon him in such a place. So he waits. And hangs on. And tries his best to fight the darkness on the horizon that seems to physically fog his mind and spirit, because he told Enjolras he's one of them, he's got to at least Try, right?

Onwards to Enjolras then! Okay this is the part that I've thought through the most and (**looks back over the length of the post so far**) Cripes. Umh, I’ll try to keep it concise?

Enjolras ends up at, or very close to Rivendell: this is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it's as good a place as you're ever going to find if you get dropped into a different universe with no idea what happened or how anything works, and also a very good (and very Aesthetic!) place to heal both physically or mentally but on the other hand, it's very far from where everyone else ended up and no rumour reaches him. So he has no idea what to think: he certainly hopes the others are also around somewhere, but for all his soaring faith, this is not something he can control, so he tries his best to find a way forward regardless of what happens.

So he keeps trying to learn everything he can about the world he is in, mostly with the help of a chatty old hobbit who tells him all the histories and helps him figure out the writing systems (look, everyone can just magically speak Westron okay?) And as fantastical as everything seems, and sundry dark lords notwithstanding, there is a lot that is broken about this world which is perhaps not so different from the one he left behind. All the same, it's clear that fighting Sauron must take the first priority.

(This is what he keeps telling himself when he finds out about the Heir of Isildur thing. Please just take a moment to imagine his expression.)

Anyway! The actual plot of the book would catch up soon enough, the Council of Elrond happens and as the Fellowship is being composed, it would become pretty damn clear for anyone with eyes what the Divine Forces were expecting Enjolras to do here. However, that brings me to the other point of curiousity which prompted this AU, and that is Enjolras and the Ring. Because I do feel like in his own painfully pragmatic, bright-burning idealistic way he would be pretty vulnerable to the Ring's influence. Not for a lack of self-awareness, or overconfidence, or for thinking that such means could ever be justified, but from the same impulse that had him shoot Le Cabuc: he's the sin-eater, he'd take that fall to spare the others in full expectation that they'd have to overcome him and render him harmless. And the Ring being what it is, it could use any opportunity to force such a decision, making it seem like the only option available whether that is the case or not. Even so, I'd think Enjolras would be quite self-aware – and also pretty upfront – about his own vulnerabilities and oh, it'd be such an interesting conversation to have between him and Frodo and Gandalf before a decision is made. Also, bonding with the hobbits! and the rest of the fellowship! Gimli would immediately adopt him, idk it's just the Truth. Having people ask him “are you an elf?” multiple times, which he’s so confused about! Hella awkward bonding time with Aragorn! xD

Oh and then The Plot would happen but Geez, this is already horrifyingly long. If you are still reading this and haven’t been bored to tears yet I might tell you about it another time!

[mysunfreckle]

Movie talk and spilling secrets

Montparnasse/Jehan/Grantaire (Jepartaire?), 2.5 k

Established Jehanparnasse, established friendships for all, friends with benefits themes, nsfw-ish banter and domestic fluff.

“Parnasse,” Grantaire says gravely. “In all the years I have known you, you have never offended me this deeply.”

Montparnasse scoffs at his friend’s frowning face and waves his hand dismissively. “All I'm saying is that the dream-inducing peaches are by far the most valuable thing in that whole labyrinth.”

He doesn’t even bother to look apologetic about it. Grantaire and Jehan both stare at him in dismay.

“Why are you dating this heathen again?” Grantaire asks Jehan from his spot on the couch.

“I'm beginning to wonder,” Jehan says, frowning up at Montparnasse. He's lounging in the only arm chair and they are sitting on the floor, leaning against his legs.

“Am I wrong though?” Montparnasse smirks, but Grantaire is pretty sure this is just him covering up the fact that he actually really enjoyed himself watching what he had at first insisted was “just a trippy kids movie”.

“You're insulting one of my favourite films,” Jehan huffs.

“Or you're saying you want to ballroom dance with Bowie,” Grantaire suggests with a snort as he reaches for his coffee. “Either way, Jehan has reason to be offended.”

“Oh no,” Jehan says immediately. “As long as he apologizes for insulting Labyrinth, Parnasse can fantasize about Bowie all he wants.”

“I apologise for insulting Labyrinth,” Montparnasse chimes dutifully and he follows it up with a quick grin. “I was allowed to do what with who now again?”

Jehan laughs and gives his legs a punishing push, making Montparnasse chuckle slightly.

Grantaire honestly isn’t sure if they’ve ever made it through a single movie without some sort of argument. But that’s half the fun, really. Jehan and Grantaire are no better than Montparnasse when it comes to overanalysing and disagreeing with movies. The subjects of the arguments have just shifted a little since he started joining them for movie nights, that’s all.

Montparnasse has been doing that much more often lately. Just like he’s taken to arriving early in the evening instead of late at night. It has taken Grantaire a while to get used to seeing this new side of him. Because the Montparnasse he was used to hanging out with, usually together with Éponine, was not quite the same as the Montparnasse he now frequently finds making coffee in his kitchen in the mornings. Well, a first serious relationship does that to people.

Jehan has probably changed too, but Grantaire must admit he hasn’t noticed it. All the knows is that they have somehow managed to never make him feel like a third wheel in his own home. He’d been worried about that when they moved in together just after Jehan started dating Montparnasse. He needn’t have been.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Grantaire tuts at Montparnasse, who is still making suggestive faces at Jehan. He lifts his mug. “Absolutely unbe— dammit!” He shouldn't try to drink lying down, now he's spilt hot coffee all over the front of his shirt.

“You okay?” Jehan asks, looking up worriedly.

“Klutz,” Montparnasse snickers.

“I'm fine, thank you,” Grantaire says, glaring at Montparnasse. It’s still uncomfortably hot though. Grantaire pulls his shirt over his head and uses it to dry his hand.

Montparnasse, who looked in his direction to smirk at him with his usual brand of indulgent schadenfreude, is now looking at him a little too deliberately.

“Do you mind?” Grantaire says, drawing up an eyebrow. “Jehan's right there, ogle them.”

“There isn't a limited supply of ogles,” Jehan says sweetly, looking appreciatively at Grantaire’s chest as well. “We can take turns.”

“Yeah,” Montparnasse drawls. “Take your jeans off too if you feel like it, nothing either of us haven't admired before.”

“Fuck you,” Grantaire grunts and Jehan giggles. Their giggle is short, however, and cut off by a sudden quizzical expression.

“Wait,” they say, looking up at Montparnasse. “What do you mean ‘either of us’?”

Montparnasse slants his head in amusement and Grantaire turns his gaze upward to the ceiling. Great. Wonderful. Just what he needed. He glances down again to see Jehan looking at him for the answer Montparnasse isn’t giving them and when he doesn’t either, they look back at their boyfriend. By that time Montparnasse’s face is sporting a smirk that makes Grantaire wish this couch had loose pillows, so that he could throw one at his head. Especially since Jehan is by no means slow on the uptake.

“You two slept together?” they gape, eyes wide with sudden understanding.

Montparnasse laughs softly, because of course he thinks this is funny. “I thought you knew,” he says, looking down at Jehan with as much sincerity as his amused expression will allow. He glances at Grantaire, a smirk pulling on the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t tell them?”

“Hey,” Grantaire says indignantly. “You’re the boyfriend.”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Montparnasse says. He sniffs. “And you two talk about bloody everything.” He looks down at Jehan again. “I assumed he told you.”

“He did not!” Jehan says, just as indignant as Grantaire, and he’s grateful at least that it’s only indignation. Jehan doesn’t look the least bit troubled or hurt by the revelation, which is rather a relief. Still, their dark eyes are fixed on Grantaire rather demandingly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He actually has several reasons, but one is definitely on the top of the list.

“And when exactly was I supposed to bring that up, hm?” he says, pulling a face. “The first time you came to me gushing about him?” He remembers that lunch date, they had been absolutely buzzing with energy. And so completely intent on dragging information out of him. Not telling them everything had been a very conscious decision.

Jehan opens their mouth in protest, but Grantaire points an accusatory finger at their face. “You would have made me tell you what it was like,” he says. “Every damn detail.”

Jehan flushes and then giggles. “I probably would have,” they admit.

“Thank you,” Grantaire says heavily and he leans back on the couch, ignoring the poorly repressed snickering from Montparnasse.

“Well,” Jehan says, amusement quivering in their voice. “There’s no need to ask you if it was good.”

Montparnasse makes a smug, equally amused sound and Grantaire groans, slinging one arm over his face. From the corner of his eye he can just see Jehan looking at him with twinkling eyes.

“…I won’t have to ask Parnasse either,” they add meaningfully.

“No you don’t,” Montparnasse hums.

Grantaire rarely blushes visibly and thank fuck for that, because his cheeks are burning. “You’re doing this on purpose and you’re evil,” he glares at Jehan.

“I’m sorry,” Jehan laughs, genuinely apologetic now.

“I’m not,” Montparnasse says casually, leaning back into his former lounging position.

Grantaire makes another mildly resentful noise and gets to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Jehan whines.

“To put on a clean shirt,” Grantaire says, ambling towards his room.

“Aww,” the joined lament comes from the living room and Grantaire makes a rude gesture at them behind his back.

When he returns Grantaire is grateful that the subject seems to have moved on from him back to the movie, which is much better. It doesn't stop Montparnasse from shooting him a last teasing grin, but he can deal with that. Grantaire sits back down on the couch, that Jehan has now also curled up on instead of lying on the floor. They lean against him comfortably when he sits down and Grantaire wishes that his brain could switch subjects as easily as his company. Because between Jehan leaning their head back against his arm and Montparnasse lounging draped sideways in his chair with his shirt just a few buttons undone, Grantaire is stuck with some very vivid memories that really aren't helpful right now.

Jehan is currently talking about the merits of masculine looks in make-up.

“Maybe it isn't make-up,” Montparnasse says languidly. “He's the Gobling King isn't he? Maybe he just looks like that.”

“Maybe,” Jehan says dreamily. “But if he doesn’t, one of the goblins would have to fetch it for him…”

Grantaire's mind wanders again, but at least this time he has an acceptable reason.

“What?” Jehan asks, laughing up at him.

“Nothing,” he smirks.  “I was just remembering that neither of you are very good with make-up.”

Jehan looks puzzled and Montparnasse opens his mouth indignantly, but then he catches Grantaire's eye and smirks in understanding. “Oh, that,” he grins. “Well…”

“The Halloween party doesn't count,” Jehan huffs, catching on as well. “I wasn't prepared.”

Grantaire laughs. Montparnasse and Jehan were only just dating at that time and they had taken each other rather by surprise. They had both looked very pretty, of course. Too bad they couldn't keep their hands and mouths off each other. He remembers the guilty faces and the smudged lips and grins at Jehan. “Hey, I don't blame you,” he says and it feels kind of good to be able to joke about this openly now.

He is rewarded with a lovely flustered look from Jehan and suddenly they burst out once again: “I still can't believe you guys!” They point accusingly at Montparnasse. “You had sex with my best friend!”

“I knew him first,” Montparnasse grins, amused and perfectly easy.

“That's no excuse,” Jehan pouts and they do it so comically that Grantaire chuckles as well.

Now Jehan turns their eyes on him instead. “You have to tell me,” they say. “How many times?”

Their indignation is completely feigned, but their curiosity is not. Grantaire represses a grin, his initial embarrassment is over now and Jehan is always so damn cute when they’re in a flurry of strong feelings.

“Tell me!” Jehan insists.

Grantaire laughs, at Jehan and at the memory. “Just the once,” he says.

“Twice,” Montparnasse speaks up and Jehan looks round at him intently and  then back at Grantaire. They quirk a demanding eyebrow.

Grantaire pulls a face at Montparnasse. “One and a half,” he says. He won’t allow it to be any more than that, that would just be needlessly feeding Montparnasse’s ego.

Montparnasse tuts, eyes twinkling, but doesn’t argue.

Jehan sits up straight so they can cross their arms demonstratively. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe I'll tell you later,” Montparnasse teases. “When R isn't around to contradict me.”

The image of Montparnasse whispering the details of that particular evening in Jehan's ear flashes vivid in Grantaire’s mind for a second and he nearly squirms. There’s no real tension to the atmosphere though, only Jehan’s curious energy.

They look at him again. “Was that before me or after?”

“Before,” Grantaire splutters. “Way before. Before I even met you.” Jehan looks oddly pleased with that.

“Hmm, lifetimes ago,” Montparnasse hums and he really needn’t sound so mockingly dreamy.

“Just so you know, I am still highly insulted,” Jehan informs them both.

Montparnasse grins and lets his leg slide down from the armrest of his fauteuil so he can lean towards Jehan. “Let me apologise then,” he drawls and he reaches out to cup Jehan's face.

Grantaire watches, almost mesmerized, how Montparnasse brings his face close enough to Jehan to almost kiss them. They don’t do this in front of him too often. Grantaire isn’t sure if that’s something they avoid for his comfort or their own, but it has the unintended side effect that he has had very little opportunity to build up immunity against the sight of Montparnasse’s slightly darkened eyes and Jehan’s gently parted lips.

“Sorry Jehan...” Montparnasse murmurs and only then does he press his lips against theirs.

Jehan leans into the kiss and lets out a gratified hum when Montparnasse finally releases them.

Montparnasse leans back into his chair, elegant as ever, and his eyes flit from Jehan's face to Grantaire's. “Well?” he smirks. “It’s your fault too, you know…”

He can't be serious. Grantaire looks into Jehan's face. They pout. Grantaire snorts, rolling his eyes, and leans down. “Sorry Jehan,” he chimes and he gives them a kiss on their cheek.

Jehan makes an appreciative sound, but Montparnasse scoffs: “You call that a kiss?”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at him, but Montparnasse stares back with challenging eyes. “Go on, apologise properly,” he says and it’s damn near an order.

Grantaire stares at him, glances at Jehan's laughing eyes and flushed cheeks and narrows his eyes. He'll teach Montparnasse not to play him for laughs. “Okay,” he shrugs, and kisses an astonished Jehan full on the mouth.

When he pulls back, Jehan’s face is scarlet and they let out a surprised laugh. Montparnasse looks mildly impressed and that makes it almost worth it, Grantaire thinks. Almost, because he definitely enjoyed that a bit too much.

At least Jehan seems partly under the same confusion, because they flush a little redder still and say:

“I forgive you both.”

“Isn’t mercy a wonderful thing,” Montparnasse drawls amusedly.

Somehow the conversation manages to move on from there and Grantaire is just about capable of shutting down the parts of his brain that are particularly bothering him at that moment. It’s getting late though and by the time that Montparnasse has joined them on the couch and most of their talking has trailed off into drowsy, companionable silences, Grantaire figures it’s time to go to bed. Not that he isn’t comfortable here, with Montparnasse’s arm stretched out on the back of the couch behind him and Jehan sitting in between them leaning against both, but he refuses to fall asleep here with his bed only a few paces away.

Grantaire sits up, stretches his arms above his head for a moment, and lets out a yawn. When he opens his eyes again, Montparnasse is shamelessly studying the way his shirt has been pulled up above his waistband. Grantaire rolls his eyes at him and gets to his feet.

“Well, goodnight,” he hums and he leans forward to give Jehan a kiss on the top of their head.

Jehan makes a happy sound. “Goodnight, R.”

Montparnasse tips his head back a little to look at him and smirks. “Sweet dreams,” he drawls, just a bit too deliberately.

Grantaire treats him to a thoroughly unimpressed look, gives Jehan’s head another affectionate pat and retreats to his room, leaving Jehan and Montparnasse halfway entangled on the couch. He closes his bedroom door behind him with some of the thoughts he put on hold finally catching up to him. This was an…interesting evening. He can still feel Jehan’s lips on his. Just like he can still see the appraising look on Montparnasse’s face as soon as he closes his eyes. Well done, Grantaire, well done. At least he sees the sense of humour in it by now. It’s not like it’s actually a big deal anyway. He has known the both of them for so long now. Clearly Montparnasse thinks all this is highly entertaining and Jehan seems to be fine with it too. And as long as Jehan doesn’t mind, Grantaire doesn’t mind.

Well, he wouldn’t mind if he didn’t have such an overactive imagination. Better reign that in a little.

Even so, he can’t help but grins slightly  in spite of himself. Nothing that involves kissing Jehan Prouvaire can be an actual source of regret.

[I felt this was a nice warm ending, but there is 5.5 k more of this fic. Except it comes with an E-rating and is therefore hidden on AO3.]

[shellcollector]

Second part of @pilferingapples‘s ask!

Bahorel/Actual Canon

- Extremely Chaotic Good

- Living His Best Life

- Seriously, though, he’s just got this amazing capacity for exuberant joy, such that Enjolras sees it as What He Brings To The Table, and like - even when he’s Very Angry he’s still fundamentally having a good time just as long as he’s DOING something and the blood’s pumping in his veins and he’s ALIVE goddammit

- His family has enough cash to send him a generous allowance without discomfort, but he’s still aware all the time of the fact that they’re the Wrong Sort Of People and he’s deeply proud of that

- RIOTS ARE MIRACLES

- If it’s worth doing it’s worth being EXTRA about it

- Knows EVERYONE and was somehow there for EVERYTHING in defiance of the usual, eg chronological, constraints and cares DEEPLY about ALL of it

- Knows about the ladies. Knows about the fashion. Knows all the secrets for how to live your Best Life, and will tell you all of them

- Big-brotherly in a cute way with his younger friends

- GSOH

- Always the first one to leap into anything, even when it puts him at personal risk (sobs)

Bahorel/Debatable Canon

- Will openly weep at poetry, theatre, novels, fairytales. Will openly take it out on a nonfiction book if it is full of Incorrect Opinions.

- I decided a few days ago that if R/J/B are the Party Trio then he, Prouvaire and Feuilly are the Arty Trio, thus neatly arranging the amis into three trios, all of which pleases me to an unreasonable extent

- “What do you MEAN to an unreasonable extent” says Bahorel “ALL feeling is unreasonable, thank God”

- Strong Southern accent, mostly on purpose

- As we know, Hugo introduced the Amis in height order, making him shorter than all but Bossuet, Joly and Grantaire

- Has a fiercely protective streak when it comes to people he loves

- He loves EVERYONE except for the monarchist bourgeoisie and the Law faculty

- “But Shell, you repeat yourself,” says Bahorel

Bahorel/Canon Only In My Heart

-Ever since tumblr user @combeferre floated the possibility that Bahorel’s whole Arrangement with his mistress is just that they’re each other’s beards I cannot get it out of my head and never will

[accretion--disk]

Les Mis Brasil - my review (LONG POST - MIGHT AS WELL BE THE BRICK)

So, about a month ago I went to São Paulo to watch the brazilian Les Mis. It’s the second time in sixteen years that the show is performed here and I was more than excited to watch it, since Les Mis was my first musical, and my favourite one as well. I wanted to make this post a while ago, but I got lazy, so why the hell not do it now.

As soon as I walked into the theatre I felt my knees getting weak and my heart beating faster. I swear I was about to cry even before it started. This was the third Broadway musical I ever watched live, and my expectations were really high. I wasn’t dissapointed  - though I must admit that it was not perfect.

First of all, the song’s adaptation to portuguese was incredible. I was afraid they were going to screw up with the translations (like they did with Rocky Horror) but I was pleasently surprised to discover that the translations were actually pretty damn good. Some of them were more literal, and sticked to the original english lyrics (Look Down, for example, was very literal), and while others did change a bit from the original, their emotion and meaning was still the same (On My Own was one of those that had some parts distant from the original, but with the same intense feeling and meaning). Two songs I did not enjoy were Stars and Bring Him Home. Both of them were quite astray from the original, and in those cases, it did bother me a bit, because they became vague and not as impressive (those are probably two of the most meaningful songs of the musical, and loosing that did cause some damage - I’ll get to that in a minute). Specifically for Bring Him Home, I simply couldn’t understand what the actor was singing - and he was the brazilian actor, Leo Wagner and not Daniel Diges, the spanish actor who also plays Valjean here.

One of the things that this version brought to us and I don’t think was very clear on other editions of Les Mis was the parallels between Fantine (Kacau Gomes, who I believe was the best choice for the role. Her voice is soothing, pleasent, very maternal sounding) and Éponine (Laura Lobos, who played little Cosette at the first edition of the musical here). Both of them suffer from a frustrated love, in very different manners, didn’t live wealthy lives and also had a great attatchment to Cosette - willingly or not, both their deaths had to do with granting Cosette a happier life. And in the translations of their songs, there were some phrases or sentences that were repeated, and for me, as a fan of both the book and the musica, that was deeply satisfying and an interesting viewpoint. Also, both their ghosts greet Valjean when he dies, and I thought that was really nice - specially since Valjean and Éponine interact a bit. She is the one who delivers him Marius’s note from the barricade, and Valjean tells her to take care of herself.

Many things reminded me of the book. Marius (played by Filipe Bragança, who is only SIXTEEN years old) and Cosette (Clara Verdier) acted like very awkward teenagers when they first meet at the garden, and it was the cutest thing. Their chemistry was amazing, I almost forgot the actors weren’t actually a couple. Clara’s singing performance was a bit disappointing though. Her voice didn’t reach the high notes, that are very characteristic of her character, and that cause her to be off-key some times, which was noticed by many people I talked to. 

The Thénardiers were the comic relief, as usual, but they were also the most constant villains - their evil side was very clear to us and it was quite scary how much we could actually sympathize with Mr. Thérnardier, due to the actor’s witty and amusing performance. He kinda reminded me of the hyenas from The Lion King, who were always afraid of Mufasa - whenever Valjean would speak his mind, Mr. Thénardier hided behind his wife. All their scenes were funny but also had a more serious, deep tone beneath it, and that’s the whole point of their characters in the book. 

Now, focus on our favourite so called villain: Javert. Javert is the character we love to hate, and for me, he just didn’t do it in this version. He could sing very well, but his perfomance seemed kinda rushed at some moments. It happened very quick and we didn’t have time to appreciate his character’s purpose. “Stars”, which is the song in which we start to care and understand him a bit better, wasn’t very good as I already mentioned, and because of that his character just became sort of one-dimentioned and flat. The Confrontation scene was interesting, as were his other physical confronts with Valjean, because the actors would get very physically agressive and we could feel the tension. At times, they were yelling at each other and the whole theatre went silent. Those were certainly powerful moments I enjoyed. Javert’s suicide was a good scene/song too, because the actor expressed his emotions very passionately and it almost fixed the lack of empathy and interest during the previous scenes.

Let me please, highlight one of my favourite parts of the whole thing: The revolution. That has always been my favourite part of any Les Mis adaptation. And of course, my favourite character is Enjolras, and I was extremely excited to watch what they were going to do with my sweetheart. 

Enjolras. Was. Fucking. Awesome.

The actor who plays him, Pedro Caetano, is basically what book-Enjolras should be: passionate, intense, idealistic, charismatic. As soon as he walked on stage, he caught everyone’s attention and he stole my poor heart. His voice fits the character perfectly and, should Hamilton for some miracle reason ever be translated and acted in Brazil, I want Pedro Caetano as Laurens. Not only does he look like Anthony Ramos, but his voice also resembles his. It’s like Aaron Tveit, Anthony Ramos and Daveed Diggs had a beautiful son. That was our Enjolras. He was not only the cold asshole that leads the revolution, he was also a friend to his fellows barricade boys. He seemed to care about every single one of them, and was basically restless during the whole thing. During Bring Him Home, while Valjean is singing, Enjolras could be seen sleeping standing up. He picked Gavroche up during Red and Black, and in his death, his body was put next to Gavroche’s in a wagon.

Also, GRANTAIRE. He is also one of my favourite character, and brazillian Grantaire was simply sad. There’s no other way of describing this portrayal of our drunk revolutionary: Grantaire was sad, depressed even. His skepticism was clear throughout all the songs, he just sat in a corner, drank and made annoyed/sarcastic faces while Enjolras talked (also- Grantaire standed very close to Enjolras during the entire Red and Black, quietly hoping for his attention). Drink With Me is one hell of a song, and Bruno Girst (the actor who was performing Grantaire the day I saw it) did a great job making me cry like a baby. He sang his lines not as someone who was in love and realised he was going to loose his muse in a few hours. No, he was angry at Enjolras, but yet hated himself for not being able to disobey him. I could have sworn they were going to start a fist fight during that song, because as Grantaire is singing “Will the world remember you as you fall/Could it be your death means nothing at all?”, Enjolras approaches him looking pissed and three guys have to hold them so that they don’t punch each other. Right after that, Enjolras goes to talk to Grantaire, calmer and worried, but Grantaire just runs to the corner of the stage and fucking weaps. And you know what’s best? Gavroche is the one holding Grantaire and comforting him.

Also, kudos for Gavroche! That kid was AMAZING! He showed his middle finger to Javert, Grantaire and Enjolras basically act like his dads during the entire play. When Éponine dies, he stands beside her with Grantaire. He takes her little hat and gives it to Marius. The revolutionaries sing “We’ll fight for Éponine”, and that’s when I started crying and I didn’t stop until I was inside the taxi going back to my hotel. Gavroche’s death was pretty impactful, as usual, specially beacause it was Grantaire who cared for him, and Taire just holds Gavroche’s body during half of the battle scene, before laying him down, still weeping, and going back to fight.

As I mentioned, the actor who plays Marius is sixteen. He does look older, and his voice is very deep for a 16 year old, but he was great in the role. It somehow made the whole thing sadder - during Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, we can see how hurt he is, yet he is very young. It’s the very impact we get from his character in the book and it was heartbreaking. Also, in the translation, he sings “My friends, don’t fade away”, as the ghosts of the revolutionaries blow out their candles (I couldn’t stop thinking about Rent during that scene, but that’s off topic).

Well, that’s basically what I have to say in the more technical/deep analysis of the play. Now, some random notes:

- Master of the House was downright dirty. Lots of cursing and bad words that made me laugh like an idiot. Madame Thénardier makes lots of dick jokes and says that Mr Thénardier has a “butthole brain”. Classic Thénardier.

- Éponine kicks Montparnasse in the balls. Twice. Great hommage to book Éponine.

- Cosette and Éponine quickly interact at the garden.

- One Day More gave me the chills. I thought I was going to faint, it was SOOO GOOD.

- A weird/questionable translation during Drink With Me was right at the first verses. The boys sang “Here’s a toast to the lips I’ve kissed/ Here’s a toast to the breasts I’ve touched” and I was almost laughing because that’s SO RANDOM AND YET WEIRDLY ACCURATE. Though I can’t imagine Prouvaire grabbing a girl’s boobs.

- Do You Hear The People Sing was split between all of the ABC’s friends, not focused only on Enjolras, and it was quite awesome.

- “Grantaire, put the bottle down” changed to “Grantaire, STOP DRINKING!”

- Honestly, Pedro Caetano is one of my favourite Enjolras. I reccomend you follow his instagram because he is a beautiful guy and very talanted too.

- Actually, the whole cast is adorable. They hang out together and are basically the Modern AU I dreamed of.

[kjack89]

Way More Than I Bargained For

First and foremost, thank you to everyone who has kindly donated to help my cat. Y’all have donated over $200 and I can literally never thank you enough. To everyone who asked for a status update, Henry is feeling MUCH better. The steroid shot that the vet gave him helped with the pain and redness, and hopefully over the next couple of weeks the antibiotics will do their work on the infection.

Anyway, the first requested fic, for the anonymous Cat Lover and their incredible generosity. Title comes from Chapter 3 of R. Kelly’s “Trapped in the Closet”, for obvious reasons.

Modern AU, Mature rating. I won’t say anything else, so you’ll have to check the tags if you’re curious (though there are no tw for this).

Combeferre shrugged out of his winter coat and winced at the sound of raised voices coming from the upper room. With a sigh of something close to reluctant acceptance, he went to hang to his coat in the broom closet of the Musain, letting out a shocked squeak when a hand seized his wrist and pulled him into the closet. “Grantaire?” he asked, accidentally knocking his head against a mop handle.

“Shh,” Grantaire said, leaning against the door. “I’m trying to eavesdrop here.”

“I can see that,” Combeferre said, slightly miffed, and he made a show of brushing off his clothes. “But I just...I sort of assumed it was you up there, fighting with Enjolras.” Grantaire snorted but didn’t seem offended by the assumption, and Combeferre asked, “So if it’s not you, who is?”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Who do you think? Marius.”

“Oh, dear,” Combeferre said, wincing when he heard a dull thump, as if Enjolras had just slammed his hand against the table. “Have they been going at it long?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Pretty much since Marius made the mistake of that he understood Trump supporters’ fears of Muslims.” Combeferre scowled and Grantaire smirked. “In his defense, he was planning on following that up with ‘but I completely disagree with them’.”

Combeferre raised an eyebrow at him. “How do you know that?”

Grantaire’s smirk turned sly. “I may have recommended that he discuss the subject with Enjolras.”

Combeferre looked appalled. “You mean you’re the reason for this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely in the direction of upstairs.

Grantaire looked far too satisfied with himself. “Maybe, but if you say anything to Enjolras, I’ll deny it.” The shouting from upstairs grew louder, and Grantaire shook his head disapprovingly. “The problem is that Marius led with his disagreement. You can’t do that when arguing with Enjolras. You have to head him off by leading a point of agreement.”

“What do you mean?” Combeferre asked.

“Well, instead of saying, ‘I understand where Trump supporters are coming from, but I completely agree with you’ -- because let’s be honest, Enjolras is never going to let you get past the comma -- you have to say, ‘I completely agree with you that the Muslim ban is unconstitutional at worst and plainly in violation of federal immigration law at best, and while I understand but don’t agree with the fear that some Trump supporters have of Muslim immigrants, a ban would only do more harm than good.”

“Huh,” Combeferre said. “If you know how to lay out an argument like that, why don’t you ever do that when you fight with Enjolras?”

Grantaire stared at him like it was obvious. “Because that’s for diffusing an argument with Enjolras -- where the hell is the fun in that?”

“Fair point.”

They both went silent for a moment before Combeferre pulled out his cellphone. “What are you doing?” Grantaire asked.

Combeferre didn’t look up. “Texting Courfeyrac,” he said.

Grantaire looked horrified. “Are you going to have him go to Marius’s rescue?”

“Of course not,” Combeferre said. “I wouldn’t voluntarily send anyone to break up what’s happening upstairs and interrupt Enjolras when he’s in the middle of a rant like this. But I want to gauge Courfeyrac’s mood because if he’s feeling Mama Bear, he might go up there anyway.”

Looking at Combeferre with something like new respect, Grantaire said accusingly, “And you’re worried he’s going to break up the fun.”

Combeferre looked affronted but didn’t deny it. “Either way, he’ll meet us in here and we’ll figure out what to do.” Grantaire just grunted in response, fishing his own phone out of his back pocket. “Now who are you texting?”

“Joly and Bossuet. I just remembered they were supposed to meet me before the meeting. We were going to get a bottle of tequila and play a drinking game.” Grantaire didn’t even have to look up from his phone to feel the disapproval emanating from Combeferre. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s shaping to be a long four years, and I’ve already marched more in the last week than I have in the past year. I need a break.”

“Leaving that aside for the moment, what exactly are you telling them?” Combeferre asked.

Grantaire shrugged. “I don’t know. To meet us in here, I guess.”

Combeferre frowned at him. “We’re in a broom closet. It’s already crowded with just the two of us, and it’ll be even more crowded when Courfeyrac gets here. If you add Joly and Bossuet, we won’t be able to move.”

Without warning, the closet door opened and Courfeyrac slid inside, beaming at them both. “I hear Enjolras’s dulcet tones of rage from upstairs and unless my ears are mistaken, Combeferre’s lecturing disapproval from in here which means it’s just about a party.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “Just get in here and keep your voice down,” he said, tugging Courfeyrac further into the closet and reaching out to close the door.

He had barely touched the door when it sprang open again, this time to admit Joly and Bossuet, who just managed to squeeze inside the closet, Bossuet somehow managing to knock every broom and mop off their hooks on the wall as he went. “Did I hear someone mention a party?” Bossuet asked brightly, producing a bottle of tequila that was miraculously unbroken. “Sorry we’re late, but Joly insisted on chopping the limes.”

“Right, because I was going to let you handle a knife,” Joly grumbled, pulling a baggie of lime wedges and packets of salt from his coat pocket and passing them around. Grantaire eagerly took a lime and salt packet, Courfeyrac grinned when they came his way, and Combeferre sighed heavily and gave everyone a disapproving glance before taking a lime and salt packet of his own. “I don’t suppose you thought to bring shot glasses?”

Bossuet glared at him. “You barely trusted me with the bottle. Do you really think I was going to risk eight glasses.”

“Eight?” Combeferre asked, as Grantaire snatched the bottle from Bossuet and took a swig, clearly needing no glass. “Who else are we expecting?”

“Who do you think?” Bahorel asked, shouldering the door open, since his arms were full of beer bottles. “Did you honestly think that we were gonna miss out on a party in the broom closet?”

Combeferre sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before reaching out to accept a beer from Feuilly, who was distributing Bahorel’s beers. “Does anyone else notice or care that we no longer fit in the closet, which basically defeats the purpose of using it to hide from Enjolras?”

Jehan snorted. “Oh, lighten up,” he said, but a look of realization crossed Grantaire’s face along with a slow grin.

“Wait a minute,” he said, peering at Combeferre as if seeing him for the first time. “Listen, I’m no literary analyst or anything like that, but the words ‘hide from Enjolras’ seem to stand out to me. Because, hide from, well…” His grin turned smug. “You’re afraid of Enjolras, aren’t you?”

Combeferre looked offended. “I am not,” he protested, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Enjolras is my best friend, and has been for years. And frankly, I don’t appreciate--” He broke off when there was a particularly loud yell from upstairs, his expression tightening, and when Grantaire just continued to smirk at him, sighed. “Fine. I’m a little bit afraid of Enjolras. But you can’t tell me that you’re not also afraid of him!”

It took Grantaire a moment to work through the double negatives. “Hardly,” he scoffed, taking a swig of beer. “I’m not the one in here hiding. I was only in here because I was eavesdropping. Curious and nosy, yes. Scaredy cat, no.”

“Not to interrupt this fascinating look at your psyches,” Courfeyrac said loudly, holding up his cellphone, “but our darling Marius just texted me.” Everyone fell silent, all eyes on Courfeyrac, whose expression went from excitement to confusion as he scanned the text. “Marius said that he snuck out ten minutes ago, and wants to know if it’s safe to come back in.”

“Hang on,” Joly said, swallowing the sip of tequila he had just taken. “If Marius is outside, then who the hell is Enjolras yelling at?”

Combeferre’s eyes widened with realization. “Oh no. Enjolras is in a rage spiral. He’s yelling just to yell.”

For a moment, everyone was silent again, then Grantaire snorted loudly. “Christ, a psychiatrist would make a fortune if they could study us,” he said, sighing, and held his hand out. “Give me the tequila.”

“Why?” Bossuet pouted, about to take a sip.

Grantaire grabbed the bottle, took a huge swig, made a face and managed, “Liquid courage.” He handed the bottle back to Bossuet, clapped Bahorel on the shoulder and pushed past him to head upstairs.

“What are you doing?” Combeferre demanded while Feuilly shouted, “Don’t sacrifice yourself on our account!”

“Someone’s got to go tame the wild best,” Grantaire told Combeferre, giving Feuilly the finger and disappearing upstairs.

As the door at the top of the stairs closed, the group seemed to hold their collective breath, and after a long moment, the yelling stopped. “That seemed surprisingly civil,” Joly said, surprised and a little disappointed.

Bossuet smacked him. “Don’t tell me that you wanted Enjolras to start yelling at Grantaire.”

Joly smacked him back. “Better him than me.”

Bossuet considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “Fair.”

Suddenly, they heard a noise coming from upstairs again, but it wasn’t yelling that time. “What is that?” Courfeyrac asked, curious, and they all looked at each other as if daring someone to go up and investigate.”

Bahorel drew himself up to his full height. “Well, if you all are gonna be a bunch of babies about it, I’ll go show you how a real man handles eavesdropping.” With a self-confident swagger, he practically bounded up the steps, pausing at the top to press his ear against the door, clearly listening to whatever was going on inside.

Even in the dim light of the stairwell, they could see all the color drain from Bahorel’s face, and he sprinted down the stairs, yelping, “Abort mission, abort mission!”, and slamming the closet door behind him.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Feuilly asked, having slopped his beer on himself.

Bahorel pointed a shaking mission toward the ceiling, which was beginning to creak. “Enjolras…and Grantaire…” he managed, gulping. “Doing the nasty.”

For a moment, everyone looked shocked, then Combeferre took a sip of beer. “Well, that’s certainly one way to distract Enjolras from his rage spiral,” he remarked calmly.

Joly gave him a scandalized look. “Yeah, but Grantaire? And Enjolras? And worst idea ever?”

Combeferre shrugged. “Better him than me.” When everyone continued staring at Combeferre, he said defensively, “What? It’s not like we weren’t all expecting this to happen at some point.”

“At some point, sure,” Jehan said, clearly put out. “But I had two months to go before I would’ve won the pool.”

Bossuet brightened. “Oh, good point. Which one of us is the winner?” he asked, pulling out his cellphone and scrolling through something. “It looks like our winner is...Huh. Marius. Who’d’ve guessed.”

Suddenly, they heard the unmistakable sound of someone coming into the Musain and heading toward the stairs, and Courfeyrac paled. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Combeferre asked.

Courfeyrac gestured weakly towards the door. “Speaking of Marius...I texted him to tell to him it was ok to come back in.”

They all stared at each other in horror, wincing as the footsteps clomped up the stairs and cringing in collective silence as the door at the top of the stairs opened. Enjolras and Grantaire both started yelling simultaneously. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Marius shrieked shrilly as he ran back downstairs and out of the Musain.

For a moment, no one said anything, then they all looked at each other and started laughing. “How long do we give them?” Jehan asked, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

Combeferre picked up the bottle of tequila and looked at it critically. “I say until we finish the bottle.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Fair enough.” He grabbed the bottle of tequila from Combeferre just as the grunts and moans started up from the upstairs again. “Though we might need another bottle of tequila.”

Bossuet winced as someone from upstairs let out a pornography-worthy moan. “We might need to make that two.”

“Frankly, my dear,” Joly said, taking a pull from his beer bottle, “I don’t think there’s enough tequila in the world to get through this.”

Jehan cleared his throat. “So this does beg the question -- should we tell Grantaire and Enjolras that we, uh, know what they were doing?”

“Well, Grantaire will already know, or at least assume,” Feuilly reasoned.

“And Enjolras?” Bahorel asked.

Combeferre answered what all of them were thinking. “Fuck no.”