that spooky season is best spent with friends

droptheguillotineplease:

Enjolras!!! (And co)

alicedrawslesmis:

Mermay - Day 14

theme today was ‘cozy’

oldbookist:

some enjolras + combeferre sketches for you..

Leader in red and black

…and Grantaire

ladies and gents, presenting, TELETUBBIES

I can literally see R singing this song in Musain, drunk walking with a silly smile on his face

ok so which les mis character is your fav and why?

Yeah, sure, I could be writing my grad thesis but I also could be sketching Les Amis in “draw the squad” poses, so….

Mermay - Day 25

‘Relaxed’

Green Card

My submission for 2022’s @lesmissamepromptficchallenge. This year we’re keeping it simple: E/R, modern AU, fake marriage. Because why not.

“Hey, asshole,” Combeferre called over the din in the backroom of the Musain, where everyone was beginning to gather ahead of that evening’s Les Amis meeting. Jehan, Feuilly, and Bahorel all looked up, guilty looks on their faces, and Combeferre rolled his eyes. “Not you,” he huffed, brushing past them to stop in front of Grantaire. “When the hell are you going to change your address so that you stop getting all of your mail delivered to my apartment?”

Grantaire leaned back in his chair, grinning. “That depends,” he said mildly, taking a sip of whiskey. “When is my apartment going to stop being so shitty that it refuses to be serviced by even the intrepid USPS?”

Combeferre rolled his eyes and shoved a stack of mail at him. “You’re just lucky I check it,” he informed him. “Because there’s something in there that looks serious.”

Grantaire’s smile flickered. “If it’s from my bank—” he started, but Combeferre shook his head.

“It’s not.”

Grantaire’s smile disappeared when he saw the envelope in question, and he paled when he saw the return address. He quickly tore it open, his eyes widening as he read what was inside. “Well, shit.”

Combeferre frowned. “What?” he asked, grabbing the letter from him, the color draining out of his face as well. “Oh. Shit.”

Courfeyrac ambled up to them, clapping a hand on Combeferre’s back and trying to read over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Grantaire just shook his head wordlessly, and Combeferre sighed. “Grantaire just got a notice to appear.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Oo, R, what’d you do now?” he teased. “Another public intoxication charge?”

“Worse,” Combeferre sighed.

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Inciting a riot?” he asked eagerly. “Conspiracy to commit terrorism? C’mon, you gotta give me something.”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “The U.S. Department of Homeland Security has issued me a notice to appear because they’re seeking my removal from the country.”

Courfeyrac immediately stopped smiling. “Oh shit,” he said, sinking down into a chair.

“Yeah.”

Combeferre sat down as well, his expression serious. “What did you do?” he asked. “As an immigrant from Canada, you know that you run the risk—”

“I’m well aware, thanks,” Grantaire snapped, before sighing. “Sorry. I just, I don’t know what I did. There must have been some kind of mix-up with my latest visa application.”

Courfeyrac glanced between them “Ok, so resubmit your application.”

“I can and I will, but…”

“But now that you’ve got ICE’s attention, the likelihood of your visa being approved given everything Les Amis does isn’t exactly great,” Combeferre said heavily.

Grantaire jerked a nod. “Pretty much.”

Courfeyrac winced. “Well, shit.”

Grantaire raised his glass of whiskey in a mock toast. “My sentiments exactly.”

“Ok, so what are we going to do?” Courfeyrac asked, glancing at Combeferre as if looking for backup. “I mean, we’re not just going to let them send you back to Canada.”

“I don’t know that I have much choice,” Grantaire said bracingly. “If I go through the proper channels and opt for voluntary departure, at least there’s a higher likelihood that I can come back once this all gets squared away.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Combeferre said sharply. “Once you’re out of the country there’s no way they’re going to let you back in.”

Courfeyrac frowned. “What about a green card?”

Grantaire shook his head. “I’m not eligible.”

Something shifted in Combeferre’s expression. “You could be.”

Grantaire looked sharply at him. “No. Absolutely not.”

Courfeyrac again glanced between the two of them. “What are you talking about?” he asked warily.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “If Grantaire marries a US citizen, he can apply for a green card that way.”

Grantaire made a disparaging noise in the back of his throat but Courfeyrac nodded slowly. “Ok, but what’s the likelihood of USCIS believing that Grantaire’s suspiciously timed marriage is legitimate?” he asked skeptically. “ICE has been cracking down, so if he’s going to do this, it has to be as plausible as possible. Someone where no one would question a hasty marriage.”

“And who the hell would that be?” Grantaire asked sourly.

“Well, Joly and Bossuet would be the natural choices, since they know you best—” Combeferre started, but Courfeyrac gave him a look.

“Except for the slight snag of the fact that they’re married to each other already and even if they were to agree to a hasty divorce, that’s definitely not passing muster.” He sighed before offering, “I suppose it could be any of Les Amis—”

Combeferre shook his head. “No, there’s really only one person who it could be. Who absolutely anyone would believe.”

Grantaire gave him a disbelieving look. “Who?”

“You know who.” Grantaire just looked at him blankly and Combeferre sighed before saying, as if he was dreading where this was bound to head,, “Enjolras.”

Grantaire let out a noise like a cat that had just been doused in cold water. “There is no way in hell that anyone would believe that Enjolras and I are married.”

But Courfeyrac just shook his head slowly, understanding Combeferre’s line of thinking exactly. “Grantaire, you get asked if you’re dating like three times a week.”

Grantaire shot him a betrayed look. “Ok, but dating and marriage aren’t the same thing.”

“Says who?”

Grantaire spluttered something incoherent before draining his glass of whiskey and muttering, “This is stupid. Even if anyone would believe it, there’s no way in hell that Enjolras would agree to it.”

Combeferre sat back in his chair. “Then what’s the harm in asking?”

Grantaire couldn’t meet either of their eyes. “I can’t.”

On any other day under any other circumstances, Courfeyrac would have been happy to leave Combeferre and Grantaire in their silent test of wills, but not that day. Instead, he pushed his chair back and stood. “Well if you won’t, then I will.”

Grantaire called something after him, but Courfeyrac ignored him, weaving through the crowd to sit down next to Enjolras. Grantaire worried his lower lip between his teeth, never once looking away, even when Enjolras glanced up at him, his expression unreadable. Only when Courfeyrac stood a few minutes later did he finally manage to tear his gaze away, transferring his panicked stare to Combeferre, who met it evenly.

Courfeyrac’s expression gave absolutely nothing away as he saw down next to Grantaire again. “He’s in.”

“He – what?” Grantaire managed weakly.

“Enjolras agreed to marry you.”

For a brief moment, something indescribably soft passed over Grantaire’s expression before being replaced by an attempt at his usual sardonic grin. “Well, I can’t say that’s how I ever imagined hearing those words. Someone pinch me, I think I’m dreaming.” Combeferre rolled his eyes and reached over to slug Grantaire in the shoulder. Grantaire winced. “Ouch, fuck, I said pinch, not punch.” 

“Sorry,” Combeferre said, though he didn’t particularly sound it, and his tone turned brisk. “Anyway, I’ll call Marius and put him to work on applying for the marriage license on your behalf, I’ll figure out how to get one of us ordained and Courfeyrac is in charge of planning the wedding.” He gave Courfeyrac a look. “Remember, it needs to look legitimate.”

“As if I would plan anything less,” Courfeyrac scoffed.

“And ideally it needs to be ready in 72 hours.”

Courfeyrac winced. “Ok, that might be a little harder to—”

“Enjolras is letting you use his AmEx card.”

Courfeyrac breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God.”

Grantaire scowled. “So, what, I just show up on the wedding day?”

Combeferre shook his head. “Not quite. You’ve got some work of your own to do.”

He nodded towards Enjolras, who was looking at the three of them expectantly, and Grantaire blanched. “I think I’d rather be deported.”

— — — — —

If Grantaire was being honest, marrying Enjolras, even for a fake, green card marriage, was everything he’d ever dreamed of. If he had known Enjolras in junior high, you could bet that he would have written ‘Mr. Grantaire-Enjolras’ on all his notebooks in gel pen with little hearts. And, sure, if he was normal, he’d have loved to have just dated him, if that was an option, but Grantaire, who did everything else in his life half-assed, would never have settled for just dating Enjolras. It was all or nothing for him.

Which is why it was a good thing that Grantaire wasn’t in the habit of being honest, especially where Enjolras was concerned.

Enjolras had suggested meeting to go over the list of potential USCIS interview questions, as well to more thoroughly develop their cover story, and Grantaire was certainly not going to turn down the opportunity to spend time with him. Even if it meant dragging himself over to Enjolras’s at the unholy hour of 8am the next morning. “I brought coffee,” he said by way of greeting, handing a cup to Enjolras, who looked surprised.

“Oh, thanks,” he said. “Of course, I do own a coffee maker, which you know because you broke my last one.”

“I had help from at least two other sources in breaking your last coffee maker if memory serves,” Grantaire said, plopping down on Enjolras’s couch, surprised and strangely gratified when Enjolras chose to sit next to him instead of in the adjacent chair.

“So I suppose it would stand to reason there was only a 33% chance you would remember,” Enjolras said, amused, and Grantaire snorted.

“Something like that.” He fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup before telling Enjolras, a little reluctantly, “So, uh, I guess I should start by thanking you. For agreeing to this.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of coffee. “What, for agreeing to meet to discuss our cover story?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “No, for agreeing to marry me,” he said impatiently, making a face and amending, “Well, fake marry me. I mean, the marriage itself is real, but like…” He trailed off, feeling himself flush. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Enjolras said before nudging him with his elbow. “I also knew what you were thanking me for originally. It’s called a joke.”

“Well hardy-har,” Grantaire said, a little sourly.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Anyway, are you ready to get started?” He set his coffee cup down on the coffee table and picked up a manilla folder full of printed pages. “I did some research on the process and common areas of concern, which is why I figured it would be best if we started with the interview portion.”

He looked expectantly at Grantaire as if waiting for him to agree, and Grantaire shrugged. “Um, sure.”

“Did you read through the list of sample questions that I sent you?” Enjolras asked, flipping the folder open.

Grantaire scratched the side of his neck. “I opened the email that contained the list of sample questions that you sent me,” he said.

Enjolras scowled. “Did you spend any time whatsoever thinking through what our story was going to be?”

Grantaire smirked. “I spent plenty of time thinking about you, Apollo, but I’m not sure you or the ICE agents who will be interrogating us will want to hear those particular thoughts.”

He winked, but Enjolras looked significantly unamused. “You seriously didn’t do any work to prepare for this.”

He said it flatly, a statement more than a question, and Grantaire just shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like this is a final exam or some shit. And you and I have known each other long enough that this should be a breeze.”

“Be serious,” Enjolras snapped, his favorite two words to say to Grantaire. “This is a hell of a lot more important than a final exam, because it’s not my ass that’s going to get sent back to Canada if we don’t get every detail right.”

Grantaire eyed him warily. “What are you talking about?”

“Tell me,” Enjolras said, derision clear in his tone, “how exactly did you think this worked?”

“I mean, I figured we get the legal paperwork out of the way, we cohabitated until after our interview, and then we’re pretty much free to carry on how we always have.”

“With you, as usual, putting in the least amount of effort,” Enjolras snapped. “But that’s not actually how this works. We have to actually pass as a married couple because if there is any hint that we are not married and sharing our lives, ICE will deport you. And for us to do so, that requires actually learning about each other. Hence the list of questions that I sent you with the expectation that you actually wanted to stay in this country.”

The sudden whiplash of Enjolras making jokes to acting like his usual disapproving self was making Grantaire’s head spin, and without the joy of having gotten blackout drunk the night before, and he forced himself to shrug unconcernedly and take a sip of coffee. “Well if that’s all this will take, I’m not worried. Because while you may be required to learn about me, I already know everything I need to know about you.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “You think you know everything about me?”

Grantaire smirked. “I know that I know everything about you.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Favorite color.”

Grantaire looked pointedly at the red hoodie Enjolras was wearing. “Red.”

“That was too easy,” Enjolras admitted. “Ok, favorite movie?”

Grantaire didn’t hesitate. “You tell everyone it’s All the President’s men, but really it’s Legally Blonde.”

Enjolras scowled, as if he hadn’t expected Grantaire to get that. “Fine, how do I take my coffee?”

“You mean the coffee that I brought for you this morning?” Grantaire asked, amused. “2 creams, 3 sugars, which is an abomination before God, if you ask me.”

“Which is why I’m not asking you that,” Enjolras muttered. “What brand of toothpaste do I use?”

Grantaire paused. “Is that from the list of USCIS questions? Or does my breath smell?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “The former.”

“Ok, well, last time I checked you used Crest 3D White toothpaste because you need those incisors to sparkle.”

He fluttered his eyelashes at Enjolras, who ignored him. “What was the first election that I ever voted in?”

That one made Grantaire pause to think – for all of thirty seconds. “In second grade, your class held a mock-election for the 1996 presidential election, and you were the only one to vote for Bill Clinton over Bob Dole.” 

Enjolras’s scowl deepened.  “What dorm did I live in in college?”

“Trick question,” Grantaire said, taking another sip of coffee. “Harvard has houses, not dorms.”

“Not for freshmen,” Enjolras said, just a little smugly.

“And freshman year your assigned dorm was undergoing renovations so you lived in an on-campus hotel.” Enjolras was silent, and Grantaire allowed himself a moment of triumph before asking, “Any other questions? Because I can do this all day.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “Just one.”

“Fire away,” Grantaire said breezily.

“Why did I agree to do this?”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “You– I mean, you’ve always said the immigration system is broken,” he said, a little weakly.

“And it is,” Enjolras said evenly. “But that’s not the answer.”

“And that’s not a question they’re going to ask,” Grantaire shot back.

Enjolras just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” He took a sip of coffee before adding pointedly, “Maybe you don’t know everything about me after all.”

Grantaire was silent for a long moment, before finally shaking his head and admitting defeat. “Evidently I don’t.”

Enjolras leveled a look at him. “So does that mean you’ll take this more seriously?”

“I guess,” Grantaire said. “Though it also doesn’t change the fact that you can’t answer any of those questions about me.”

Enjolras scowled. “That’s not true.”

“Oh?”

Enjolras pointed at Grantaire’s coffee cup. “You take your coffee black, like your soul, though when the peppermint mocha comes out at Starbucks in the winter, you’ve been known to get one now and then. And your favorite color is green.”

He sounded almost smug, and Grantaire gave him a golf clap for his effort. “Well color me impressed.”

Enjolras half-smiled before adding, “Also, though I don’t actually know what brand of toothpaste you use, I know that you tell people that you emulate Kesha and brush your teeth with a bottle of Jack.”

Grantaire laughed. “Ok, I haven’t told anyone that since, like, 2013.”

Still, it was enough to have Grantaire looking at Enjolras with a new appreciation. Perhaps the man was more observant than Grantaire had given him credit for in the past. As if sensing Grantaire’s train of thought, Enjolras cleared his throat, his cheeks suddenly looking a bit pink. “Anyway, you should get comfortable,” he said, turning his attention back to the manilla folder. “There’s a long list of things we need to talk about, and a lot less surface-level than what our favorite movies are.”

“Fair enough,” Grantaire said. “Though for the record, mine is When Harry Met Sally.”

Enjolras glanced up at him. “The rom-com?”

“The very one,” Grantaire said. “Though, uh, I wouldn’t get so high and mighty about it, seeing what your favorite movie is.”

“I wasn’t getting high and mighty,” Enjolras said, laughing lightly. “I’ve just never seen it.”

Grantaire gasped and clutched his chest. “How have you never seen it?” he demanded. “Honestly, I don’t think this marriage is going to work if you don’t watch it.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, just slightly. “Well, I’ll see if I can squeeze in a viewing between figuring out our backstory, going to get fitted for a tux, and drafting our pre-nup.”

“As if you don’t have a custom tailored tux hanging in the back of your closet.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how you know about that, but clearly I’m going to have to put a lock on my closet door the next time I have everyone over.”

Grantaire grinned. “Yeah, but in 72 hours, it won’t matter if I see what’s in your closet, right?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.”

— — — — —

Of course, Enjolras wasn’t entirely wrong – the next 72 hours were a whirlwind of preparations, half devoted to Enjolras and Grantaire working out their backstory, and half devoted to doing everything that needed to be done to have a convincing wedding ceremony.

The former was made easier by their mutual decision to stick to something simple that fit their history: they had been friends for so long that once they realized there was more between them, it didn’t make much sense to have a long, drawn-out engagement. 

The latter was made easier by the fact that with a clipboard and AmEx in hand, Courfeyrac turned into an authoritarian the likes of which was normally only found in a third world dictatorship.

How Courfeyrac had managed to convince the most sought-after chapel in town to let them use the facility on a Saturday in May no less was a secret he would almost certainly take to his grave, but Grantaire didn’t question it, or the out of season red roses that artfully decorated every surface as he made his way inside, his rented tux in a garment bag over his shoulder.

He dressed in record time, which left him with little to do but sit in the groom’s suite sipping champagne and thinking about what a monumental mistake they were probably making, not the least because this almost certainly cemented the fact that this would never happen for real. 

After all, people didn’t get real-married after getting fake-married and then fake-divorced, right?

A knock on the door sounded and Courfeyrac poked his head into the room. “You about ready?” he asked, a bite of impatience in his voice.

“I didn’t realize I was the one holding proceedings up,” Grantaire said mildly.

Courfeyrac sighed. “You’re not. But we have exactly forty-five minutes to get this done and some people—“ Knowing their friends, Grantaire had a pretty good idea which ones Courfeyrac was referring to. “—don’t seem to understand that.”

Grantaire nodded. “So I have plenty of time to chat with Enjolras before we get hitched, right?“

Courfeyrac threw his hands up. “You might as well at this point,” he huffed before stalking off.

Grantaire hid his laughter and instead snuck across the hall to knock lightly on the door of Enjolras’s dressing room. “It’s me,” he said.

“Come in,” Enjolras called.

Grantaire pushed the door open, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras standing there, adjusting his cuff links. “Holy shit.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

Grantaire shook his head. “That good,” he said. “You look – wow.”

Enjolras half-smiled. “Thanks. You clean up pretty nicely yourself.”

As much as Grantaire wanted to just stand there drinking in the sight of Enjolras in a tux, he had come over here for a reason, and he finally tore his eyes away to tell Enjolras, “Thank you, again, for all of this. You didn’t have to—“

“I know,” Enjolras interrupted. “But I wanted to.”

“Why?”

The question was out of Grantaire’s mouth before he could stop it, and Enjolras frowned. “Why what?”

Even if Grantaire hadn’t meant to ask it, now that he had, he knew it was the only one he wanted answered. “Why did you want to do all this? Hell, why’d you agree to this in the first place?” Enjolras shook his head but Grantaire didn’t let him interrupt. “You said that was one thing I didn’t know about you, and I still don’t. I’ve got half your family tree memorized at this point, and I still don’t know why you agreed to marry me.”

“It’s not important,” Enjolras said quietly. “Like you said, USCIS isn’t going to ask that.”

“It’s important to me.”

Enjolras searched his expression for a moment. “I’ll tell you later. I promise. For now, if we’re even thirty seconds late getting out there, Courfeyrac will murder us both.”

He held his hand out to Grantaire, who stared at it for a minute as if not sure what exactly he was supposed to do with it. Then he took it, and the feeling of how perfectly Enjolras’s hand fit in his was enough to occupy his mind entirely as they made their way to the chapel doors, and even all the way down the aisle.

But nothing could have distracted Grantaire as he stood in front of a hastily-ordained Jehan and all of their friends, staring up at Enjolras as they prepared to say their wedding vows. “I understand you have opted for the traditional vows, correct?” Jehan said, looking between the two of them.

Grantaire nodded, but Enjolras took a breath before saying, “Actually, there’s something I wanted to say first.”

Grantaire’s heart stopped in his chest, then started beating double-time when Enjolras turned to take his hands in both of his. “Grantaire,” he said, his voice low, his words meant for no one else besides Grantaire, whose mouth went dry, “you asked me why I agreed to do this. And the truth is, when Courfeyrac told me that you might be deported – it was like the entire world stopped. The idea of not having you in my life was something that I knew I couldn’t live with.”

Grantaire’s throat felt tight. “Enjolras—”

“Normal people might do things differently. They might date and move in together before deciding to get married. But luckily, no one’s ever accused either of us of being normal.” Their friends all laughed lightly in agreement, though Grantaire was pretty sure he saw Joly wipe a tear from his cheek. “The truth is, I love you. And—” Enjolras took another deep breath. “And when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

Despite himself, Grantaire laughed, even though to his own ears, it sounded more like a sob. “You watched When Harry Met Sally.”

Enjolras half-smiled. “I did.”

“And?”

Enjolras squeezed his hands. “And I decided that maybe it does work this way. Because I love you. I love that you show up to every protest, and every rally, even when you’re half-asleep or hungover or still drunk. You always make it. I love that you tell terrible jokes at the worst possible time because you can’t stand to see anyone upset. I love that you know so much about me, and I love that if this all works out, I’ll get to spend the rest of my life learning everything there is to know about you. Including and especially what brand of toothpaste you use.”

Grantaire was crying for real now, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Instead, he did the only thing he could, surging forward to kiss Enjolras, one hand wrapped in the label of his fancy, custom tailored tux jacket as if he would never let him go. “You see, that’s the thing about you, Enjolras,” he whispered, his nose brushing against Enjolras’s, neither man wanting to pull back any further. “You say things like that and you make it impossible for me to hate you.”

Enjolras smiled, and the sight was even more beautiful up close than Grantaire had ever thought it could be. “Yeah, but you have to admit, you never tried very hard.”

“No,” Grantaire agreed, kissing him again. “I definitely didn’t.”

Jehan cleared his throat. “Um, not to ruin a beautiful moment, but we’ve still got a wedding to finish.” Grantaire snorted a laugh and Enjolras wrapped an arm around his waist as they turned to again face Jehan. “I’ll take it you both take each other to have and to hold, etcetera?”

“I do,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras turned to press a kiss to his temple.

“So do I.”

“Then by the power vested in me by the internet, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss— And you already are.”

They certainly were, kissing like it was just the two of them, wrapped up in each other. When they finally broke apart this time, their friends cheered and applauded, not that Enjolras or Grantaire saw them – the only thing they saw were each other.

Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand again and squeezed it. “So what do you think?”

Grantaire grinned. “I think we’re going to ace that interview.”

Love is Blind (Part Three: Living Together)

This thing just continues to be the beast that will not end.

E/R, Modern AU, Love is Blind AU (bad reality TV AU for anyone unfamiliar with the source show). Established relationship at this point, but like. Still a speedrun.

Read Part One here.Read Part Two here.

In our blind love experiment, our couples chose each other, sight unseen. They fell in love, and then they got engaged to the person who is now their fiancé, before ever seeing one another.

In Mexico, they had an amazing opportunity to begin to grow their emotional connection into a physical one. But now it’s time to leave paradis and start building their lives together. Each of our couples will move into a new home, a neutral space for them to deepen their relationships. 

In the real world, their love is going to be put to the test. How are they going to integrate their lives? Their friends, families, careers, homes? With their devices back and their weddings just three weeks away, will they allow the opinion of family and friends, the allure of other people, the distractions of social media, to sabotage their weddings and their happiness?

Will they judge one another for their looks, their race, their age, their family, or their circumstances? Will any of that really matter? Or will love be enough? Ultimately, that is what they will decide in front of their friends and families: will they say ‘I do’ to the person they chose sight unseen? Or will they walk away from them forever?

Is love truly blind?

We hope that they prove it is.

Grantaire let out a low whistle as he glanced around the living room of their new apartment. “So this is it,” he said, dropping his bag on the floor. “The new place.”

Enjolras followed suit, setting his bag next to Grantaire’s, before wrapping an arm around Grantaire’s waist and kissing his cheek. “Welcome home.”

Grantaire turned to kiss him properly before pulling away, wandering towards the window and glancing outside. “Seems weird to be moving into an apartment that’s literally, like, two neighborhoods away from the apartment that I am still nominally paying rent on.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “It isn’t any less weird knowing that this is like an hour from my place.”

“I always forget you live in Milwaukee,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, I’m not insulting Milwaukee – at least, not much.” Enjolras rolled his eyes and Grantaire smirked before adding, “But what I really mean is, the work you do is so politics-centric that I keep assuming you live in DC.”

Enjolras snorted. “You’ve been watching too much of the West Wing.”

“Excuse you, take that back,” Grantaire said, sounding insulted.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Fine, you’ve been watching too much Veep,” he amended.

Grantaire smirked. “Thank you. But no matter which TV show I clearly take all my political acumen from, you have to admit that DC makes more sense for a political hack than Milwaukee.”

Enjolras laughed lightly, reaching out to pull Grantaire to him. “A, I’m not a hack,” he said, kissing Grantaire’s forehead. “But even if I was, you’re not entirely wrong. I lived in DC for a long time and will probably end up back there eventually. But right now my organization is focused on Midwest organizing, and Wisconsin is ripe for it.”

He tried not to sound too enthusiastic, knowing that Grantaire didn’t care nearly as much as he did, and to his credit, Grantaire refrained from rolling his eyes. Mostly. “Is that why you’ve barely looked up from your phone since we left Mexico?” he asked instead.

Enjolras didn’t even bother to look shamefaced. “Yeah, we just had local elections.”

“And?” Grantaire prompted.

Enjolras frowned down at him. “And what?”

“How’d you do?”

There were a lot of ways to answer that, and Enjolras weighed them for a moment. He knew that Grantaire was trying to be supportive, but also knew that if he went too far, it would turn into them bickering about Grantaire’s lack of convictions. “That’s a hard question to quantify but better than anticipated,” he said finally, which had the benefit of being both true and not nearly as nuanced as reality. “No ‘Red Wave’ at least.”

Grantaire wrinkled his nose. “I hate that phrase, by the way,” he said off-handedly. “I know it’s a GOP co-opt of the Blue Wave but it reminds me of how my sister used to talk about her period.”

Enjolras barked a laugh before shaking his head. “Speaking of your sister—”

“Hell of a segue.”

“—We haven’t really talked about if we’re going to be meeting each others’ families,” Enjolras said. “Or if we’ll be inviting them to the wedding.”

Something darkened in Grantaire’s expression. “If my sister lived closer, we could meet her, but she’s out in California.”

“And your parents?” Enjolras prompted quietly.

“My mother’s dead,” Grantaire said shortly. “My father might as well be.” His tone indicated he had no wish to discuss it further, and Enjolras didn’t pry. “What about your parents? I know you’re an only child.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “Did I tell you that, or did you just assume it?”

Grantaire managed a small smile. “I plead the Fifth.”

“Uh-huh,” Enjolras said, a little skeptically. “Anyway, my parents live in Connecticut and I haven’t seen them in six years so I wasn’t exactly planning on inviting them.”

Grantaire’s expression softened. “I’d rather we invite our found families instead,” he said lightly, and Enjolras nodded in agreement.

“Is that who I’ll be meeting?” he asked, crossing over to the kitchen counter and the bottle of champagne the production team had left for them. “Your found family?”

“Part of them, anyway,” Grantaire said, taking the champagne from him and opening it with deft hands. “You’ll be meeting Joly and Bossuet. I have more friends than that, I promise, but most of them wouldn’t sign the consent forms to appear on camera.” He poured them both a glass before raising his in a toast. “My friend Éponine claims that the camera will steal her soul, which is a good one, considering that she claimed in the same breath not to have one.”

Enjolras laughed lightly, clinking his glass against Grantaire’s. “I know what you mean. My friend Jehan said he refused to allow his image to serve as a tool of corporate greed.” He took a sip before shrugging. “But at least Combeferre and Courfeyrac agreed, which is good, because they’re my best friends and the closest thing I have to brothers.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “So I’ll have to earn their approval.”

“Of course not,” Enjolras scoffed. “The only person whose approval you have ever needed it mine.” He took another sip of champagne before adding, “But I can’t imagine they wouldn’t approve regardless.”

Grantaire didn’t look nearly as convinced. “How do you know that?”

“Because they want me to be happy,” Enjolras said simply. “And you make me happy.”

“Sap,” Grantaire whispered, leaning in to kiss him before draining his champagne and straightening. “Shall we explore our new digs?”

“Digs?” Enjolras repeated with a snort. “Might as well, I suppose.” He took Grantaire’s hand as they strolled down the hallway, pausing in the doorway of the bedroom. “Only one bedroom.”

He said it deliberately casually, and Grantaire arched an eyebrow as he glanced up at him. “Good think the couch looks comfortable,” he said, matching Enjolras’s tone.

Enjolras smirked. “You planning on sleeping on it?”

“No,” Grantaire said, saccharine sweet, “I was thinking about you for when I decide to kick you out of bed for being an asshole.”

Enjolras just laughed. “Now who’s being an asshole?”

“Speaking of assholes—”

Enjolras raised both eyebrows. “Now that is one hell of a segue.”

Grantaire ignored him. “What do you say we take this new bed for a test drive?”

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” Enjolras said, kissing him slowly before adding, “No matter what segue got us here.”

“Say the word segue one more time and I’ll make you regret it,” Grantaire said, his voice pitched low.

Enjolras smirked. “Is that a promise?”

Grantaire kissed him. “It’s a guarantee.”

— — — — —

“Your apartment building has a doorman,” Grantaire said, with something like awe, for the third time in as many minutes as he stood in the entryway of Enjolras’s condo.

“You said that already,” Enjolras said, a little uncomfortably, sliding past him to dump the months’ worth of mail from his mailbox on the kitchen island.

Grantaire ignored him. “I didn’t even know apartment buildings in Milwaukee came with doormen, let alone that you lived in one. That’s like—” He broke off, casting around for the correct phrasing. “That’s like the 1% shit.”

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Technically, it’s a condo building, not an apartment building,” he muttered. “And I don’t know that I’d call it ‘1% shit’.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Condo building and doorman would say otherwise,” he said, crossing through the sparsely-decorated living room to the balcony door. “Now if this is a view of the parking lot, then maybe—” Again he broke off, this time to make a strangled noise in his throat. “That is Lake Michigan.”

“I’m not sure what other lake it would be,” Enjolras said.

Again Grantaire ignored him, instead shaking his head slowly, not tearing his eyes from the view. “You rent a lakeview condo in a building with a doorman.”

“Own.”

Grantaire swiveled to stare at him. “Sorry?”

His tone was incredulous, and Enjolras winced before correcting in a somewhat delicate tone, “I own a lakeview condo in a building with a doorman.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re rich.”

Enjolras snorted. “I’m not.”

“In this economy, for a millennial?”

“Sorry, I mean—” Enjolras broke off with a sigh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “I’m not personally rich. I make, like, 35k a year. But my family is wealthy, and some of that wealth, despite my best efforts to the contrary, is mine to access.”

Grantaire’s expression didn’t change. “That’s some impressive mental gymnastics to get out of just admitting that you’re loaded.”

Enjolras sighed again. “It’s really not,” he said, plopping down on the couch. “I don’t consider it my money because I didn’t do a damned thing to earn it besides being born.”

Grantaire sat down next to him. “So then get rid of it,” he suggested.

“I do,” Enjolras told him. “But do you know how hard it is to get rid of money? It makes interest faster than I can donate or spend it.” He shrugged. “Besides, I use it to supplement my salary so that I don’t drain organizational resources from more deserving recipients.”

Grantaire gave him a bemused look. “Which you could do just as easily from a shared two-bedroom on far less prime real estate.”

Again Enjolras shrugged. “I like my privacy.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Grantaire’s mouth. “Is this like a 50 Shades of Grey thing?” he teased. “Is there a sex dungeon or red room of pain in here I should know about?”

Enjolras barked a laugh. “Don’t you think if I were into BDSM or kink it would’ve come up by now?”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened. “I mean, you’re a little into it, and anytime you’d like me to tie your wrists to my headboard with a tie, all you have to do is ask.”

Enjolras flushed. “That’s a conversation for a different time,” he said. “No, there is no sex dungeon in here. As a matter of fact, besides my friends, you’re the first guy I’ve ever brought over here.”

Grantaire traced a finger across the pattern of the couch. “Because you don’t want them to know you’re loaded?”

Enjolras didn’t bother denying it. “Because people treat you differently when they know you have money.”

“And you’re not worried I’m going to treat you differently?”

Enjolras didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Grantaire didn’t seem surprised, though he still asked, “Why not?”

“Because I know you love me,” Enjolras said simply, “and you loved me before you knew that I had money.”

“I mean, yeah,” Grantaire agreed, “but I might love you a lot more now that I know you can single-handedly pay off my student loans.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “Sure, I can move some money around, how much do you—” He broke off when he saw the look on Grantaire’s face. “You were joking.”

“At least I wasn’t fully serious,” Grantaire said, a little faintly. 

Enjolras sighed. “Can we at least agree to table the continuation of this conversation until after meeting Combeferre and Courfeyrac?” he asked, standing and offering Grantaire his hand. “Because otherwise we’re going to be late.”

Grantaire let him pull him up from the couch, even though he told him, “Fine, but if it comes up in the interim, that’s not my fault.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I highly doubt it’s going to,” he huffed.

He was half-right, anyway, but had vastly underestimated Courfeyrac’s capacity for being an asshole, since after meeting them in the park across from Enjolras’s place and casual introductions, Grantaire had told them that they’d just come from Enjolras’s condo, and Courfeyrac had asked, far too innocently, “And what did you think?”

“Bigger than expected,” was all Grantaire had replied, but it was enough. Courfeyrac had grinned like a maniac and launched into Kanye West’s ‘Gold Digger’. Enjolras glowered at him, but Grantaire just laughed. “I have a feeling we’re going to be friends,” he said, which made Courfeyrac beam.

Combeferre, however, didn’t seem as easily convinced, and Enjolras waited until Grantaire and Courfeyrac went off to get a drink, one camera crew trailing after them as the other stayed with Combeferre and Enjolras, to ask, “So what’s wrong?”

Combeferre shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“But you don’t like him.”

Enjolras didn’t state it as a question, not that Combeferre had ever needed him to explicitly ask for his opinion on anything. And this time was no different. “I like him just fine!” Combeferre protested. “Is he who I would’ve picked for you? No, but that’s why I’m not in charge of your love life.”

“And yet you’re not excited for me,” Enjolras said evenly.

Combeferre sighed and jerked his head towards a bench a little ways down the path. Once they had sat down and the cameraman had gotten into place, Combeferre continued, “I would be absolutely over the moon for you if I thought this was even remotely what you wanted.”

Enjolras frowned. “This is exactly what I wanted.”

“Is it?”

Combeferre sounded more than skeptical, and Enjolras’s frown deepened. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, exactly, so why don’t you spit it out?” he said, as pleasantly as he could manage.

Sighing again, Combeferre shook his head, glancing over at the lake. “I’ve known Grantaire for all of 30 seconds and I can tell that he is in love with you.”

Enjolras blinked. “I know.”

“And not the kind of flash in the pan, hot while it lasts love,” Combeferre continued. “Truly, madly, deeply in love with you.”

“Is that a Savage Garden reference?” Enjolras asked, aiming for a lighthearted joke to ease the tension. “Because that’s a deep cut if so.”

Combeferre scowled. “Would you be serious for a moment?” Enjolras barked a laugh and Combeferre frowned. “What?”

“Nothing, just—” Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “That sounds like something I would say to Grantaire.”

Combeferre’s expression softened, just a little. “Look, I can tell that you care about him, probably as much if not more than any of your previous boyfriends. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re you, and I highly doubt your priorities have changed in the past month.”

Enjolras knew what he was referring to, and his heart sank, just a little. “They haven’t, but—”

“And Grantaire isn’t a houseplant that you can shove in a corner and hope it survives on its own,” Combeferre said, a little sharply. “He needs love and attention, and all the things that you normally have in short supply.”

“I know that,” Enjolras said quietly.

Combeferre gave him a searching look. “So then do you blame me for being skeptical?”

Enjolras shook his head. “Of course not. And I know there’s really no good way to explain this so I’ll just say it – Grantaire’s different.” Combeferre made a noise of something like disbelief and Enjolras set his jaw, feeling unexpectedly defensive. “Or maybe I’m different because of him, I don’t know. What I do know is this – until him, whenever someone talked about being heads-over-heels in love, I always kind of thought they were joking. But when I met him, I finally understood.” Despite himself, despite feeling indignant at being questioned, even if he understood exactly where Combeferre was coming from, he couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face as he talked about Grantaire. “It’s not like all the pieces suddenly, magically fell in place, or anything like that, but it’s like for the first time I understood why I should bother putting the pieces together in the first place. He makes the work that it takes to be in this relationship worthwhile.”

Combeferre let out a low whistle. “Wow.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “In that case, my answer to your next question is yes.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “And what question is that going to be?”

“If I’ll be your best man.”

Combeferre said it so casually that it took a moment for Enjolras to realize what he said. Once he did, he grinned. “Do you mean that?”

Combeferre nodded. “Yeah.” He hesitated before adding, “And like I said, I am ecstatic for you if this is what you want.”

“But you’re still not convinced.”

Combeferre shrugged. “More than I was before.” He nudged Enjolras companionably. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to convince me fully before the wedding.”

“I’m sure that I will,” Enjolras said firmly. “Grantaire’s absolutely worth whatever effort it takes.”

— — — — —

Grantaire hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. “Ok, so it’s not exactly a lakeview condo with a doorman,” he started, and Enjolras just barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes.

“I know that by the fact that we’re a good three miles away from the lake,” he said patiently.

“And I don’t have the money to spend on, like, a housekeeper or maid or whatever—”

“Grantaire.”

Grantaire muttered something under his breath that Enjolras couldn’t quite catch before telling him, “I just want to make sure your expectations are sufficiently lowered.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “You know that I wouldn’t care if you lived in a hole in the ground, right?”

Grantaire met his look with one of his own. “That’s not true and you know it.”

“Maybe not,” Enjolras allowed, “but I wouldn’t care much.”

“Fine,” Grantaire sighed, finally opening the door to his apartment and stepping back to let Enjolras in. 

Enjolras’s first thought was that it was very Grantaire, which was perhaps a dumb thing to think, considering it was his apartment. But something about it just suited Grantaire, from the mish-mash of decorative styles to the bright colors to various knick-knacks that crowded seemingly every available surface. It was what he imagined the inside of Grantaire’s mind must look like. 

Grantaire hung back, something almost nervous in his tone as he asked, “So what do you think?”

“It’s cute,” Enjolras told him.

Grantaire made a face. “Cute means small.”

“Cute means cute,” Enjolras corrected, crossing over to where several photographs were hung on the wall, their subjects ranging from portraits to streetscapes. “Are these your photographs?”

Grantaire shrugged, dropping down on his slightly delapidated couch. “Most of them, yeah.”

Enjolras paused in front of one that he recognized. “Is this one?”

“Yeah.”

Enjolras turned to give Grantaire a measured look. “This wasn’t taken in Chicago.”

Grantaire shook his head. “No, it’s—”

“From Ferguson,” Enjolras said. “I recognize it.” He frowned slightly at the picture of the protests, one of several such pictures, and turned again to Grantaire. “What were you doing in Ferguson?”

He was aiming for curious but probably sounded more accusatory, though Grantaire didn’t seem to notice. “When I heard the Michael Brown shooting, I knew that whatever happened was something that needed to be documented, so I joined a few friends who were heading down to St. Louis to protest,” he said. Enjolras opened his mouth to agree but Grantaire cut him off with a derisive snort. “Fat lot of good it did, since it’s been six years and absolutely nothing in this country has changed.” He let out a slightly bitter sigh before running a hand across his face and giving Enjolras a rueful look. “Sorry.”

Enjolras frowned. “What are you apologizing for?” he asked. “It’s not like you’re wrong.”

Grantaire shrugged. “No, but I promised to try not to be so cynical.”

Enjolras raised both eyebrows. “When did you make that promise?”

“Maybe I only made it to myself,” Grantaire admitted with a small half-smile.

Enjolras nodded slowly, glancing around Grantaire’s apartment before offering, “For what it’s worth, I don’t mind your cynicism.”

It was Grantaire’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Oh really?”

“Well, at the very least it’s a tangible reminder of everything I’m working towards.”

Grantaire laughed, standing up to cross to Enjolras and give him a kiss. “I love being hashtag inspo for you,” he teased.

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “Please don’t ever say that again.”

“You know I can’t promise—”

Without warning, his apartment door banged open and two men Enjolras didn’t know burst in, both wearing identical smiles even if otherwise they couldn’t look more different. The slightly burlier and significantly balder of the two bellowed, “R!” before all but tackling him to the couch.

“Oh, Jesus,” Grantaire managed, his voice slightly muffled, and he let out a groan mixed with laughter as the other man piled on.

All three seemed to be talking at the same time, and Enjolras gave them a moment before saying, with no small amount of bemusement, “Um, hi.”

Grantaire struggled to extricate himself from the pile of limbs, red-faced and out of breath from laughter. “Enjolras, these two are my best friends, Joly and Bossuet.”

The bald one, Bossuet, stood up and offered Enjolras an enthusiastic handshake. “And you must be the man who has won our dear R’s heart!”

The other, Joly, scowled. “Why the fuck are you talking like that?” he asked as he also got up to shake Enjolras’s hand.

“Like what?” Bossuet asked, clearly put out.

“Like you just walked out of some period romance.”

Bossuet scowled. “I am not—”

Grantaire nudged Enjolras as Joly and Bossuet continued bickering. “They’re going to be like that for awhile,” he said in a slightly fond undertone.

Enjolras shook his head,deciding not to question it. “Can I ask what’s up with the whole ‘R’ thing?” he said instead.

“Oh, it’s a play on my name,” Grantaire said with a laugh. “Doesn’t work so well in English.”

Enjolras considered it before realization hit. “Grand Aire, Capital R…oh, that’s clever.”

He chuckled and kissed Grantaire’s temple. “I thought so,” Grantaire said, a little smugly.

Enjolras wrapped an arm around his shoulders before nodding towards Joly and Bossuet, who were still bickering. “So, uh, are they always like this.”

“Pretty much,” Grantaire said, still fond, though he glanced up at Enjolras and asked, “Not quite like what you’re used to, huh?”

Enjolras snorted and shook his head. “On the contrary. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were on their best behavior when you met them. 95% of the time, they’re worse than this.”

Grantaire winced. “Yikes.”

“Pretty much.”

Grantaire kissed Enjolras before pulling away to clap his hands together, the sudden noise startling Joly and Bossuet from their back and forth. “Alright, kids, time to break it up,” he said loudly. “We got shit to do.”

Joly brighteed. “Good point. Bossuet, want to take Grantaire to go stock up on drinks while I talk to Enjolras?”

Grantaire frowned. “I don’t need to stock up on drinks.”

Joly smiled sweetly at him. “No, but you do need to leave me alone with your fiancé.”

Bossuet had already looped his arm through Grantaire’s and was tugging him toward the door. “Remind me why we’re friends again?” Grantaire said sourly.

“Because you love us and couldn’t live without us,” Bossuet said promptly.

“True,” Grantaire admitted with a sigh, giving Enjolras one last pleading look to rescue him before the door closed after them, one of the cameramen hurrying to follow.

Personally, Enjolras thought if anyone needed rescuing, it was him, since Joly was currently eyeing him like he was sizing him up for a fight. “So,” Joly said, gesturing for Enjolras to take a seat. “Enjolras.”

“Joly,” Enjolras said cautiously.

Joly leaned forward. “I’m supposed to be giving you the ‘hurt him and we hurt you’ speech.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “Supposed to be?”

Joly waved a dismissive hand. “Grantaire’s a big boy, and frankly, between the three of us, he’s the one most likely to beat the shit out of anyone.”

Enjolras’s lips twitched. “I hadn’t noticed.”

A sharp smile flickered across Joly’s face. “Liar. And not even a good one at that.” He gave Enjolras a measured look. “Let me guess, he got in a fight with someone?”

Enjolras shrugged. “He and a friend may have had a run in with each other in Mexico.”

“And why’d they do a thing like that?”

Enjolras cleared his throat. “They were both under the mistaken impression that their fiancés were flirting.”

“Ah.”

“With each other.”

Something darkened in Joly’s expression. “Oh.”

“Which we weren’t, for whatever that’s worth,” Enjolras hastened to add.

To his surprise, Joly laughed lightly. “That I actually don’t doubt, if only because you don’t strike me as the type to flirt with anyone, let alone someone you’re not engaged to.”

Enjolras couldn’t really deny it, so didn’t bother trying. “But it’s also why I have no intention of ever actually doing anything to hurt Grantaire,” he told Joly, whose smile faded.

“Maybe not, but if that was a lesson in anything, it’s how sometimes intentions aren’t enough.” He gave Enjolras a look. “Since I doubt you intended on making him jealous enough to question your relationship either.”

“No, I didn’t,” Enjolras said, defensive despite himself. “But he and I talked about it, and agreed that we needed to talk things through before either of us goes off the deep end, and for what it’s worth, we’re both trying.”

Joly nodded slowly. “Which is a start, at least.”

“But not enough of one to get your blessing.”

Enjolras wasn’t sure why he said it, but the moment he did, he knew it was true. Joly cocked his head slightly. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Joly took a long moment to answer, and when he did, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Bossuet and I have known Grantaire a very long time. And what you have to understand about Grantaire is that beneath the attempts at cynicism is a man who cares so very deeply. And he’s gotten himself hurt from lesser situations than this.”

Enjolras nodded. “I don’t doubt that.”

“And I’m afraid that if this thing between you ends badly, it will break him for good.”

Joly didn’t say it harshly, but Enjolras still flinched. He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before telling Joly, “I’m not sure what you want me to say to that. I can’t promise that things won’t end poorly, just that I have no intention of them ending at all, let alone badly.” He took a deep breath. “But as you said, intentions aren’t enough. So all I can tell you is that I love him. I may not have intended on falling in love with him, but I did. And I made a promise to him, one I intend to uphold in just a few short weeks when I make him my husband. I don’t break promises easily, and I certainly don’t do it without good cause.” He paused before adding, somewhat fiercer than intended, “And before you ask, Grantaire filled me in on his mental health history, not that any of that would be considered good cause anyway. And none of it scared me off.”

To his surprise, Joly grinned at that. “I can see why Grantaire fell for you.”

Enjolras blinked. “Oh yeah?”

“He’s always had a thing for righteous indignation,” Joly told him. “And blonds.”

Enjolras laughed. “Well, we all have our weaknesses.”

“And mine is automatically liking anyone who cares about Grantaire that deeply,” Joly said, giving Enjolras a genuine smile. “I’m sure you don’t need it, but you have my blessing.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras told him.

Joly hesitated before adding, “Just – do your best to make sure that righteous indignation is always for him, not aimed at him.”

Enjolras thought of all the times already that Grantaire had all but driven him crazy, whether with his cynicism or refusal to be serious or whatever else. It was a hard promise to make, as much as he knew he wanted to. “I will do my best,” he said.

Joly nodded. “And that’s all I can ask.”

— — — — —

“Can we talk?”

Enjolras didn’t glance up from his computer, though he automatically tucked his toes under Grantaire’s thigh as he sat down next to him on the couch. “I have fifteen minutes before you told me I better have my ass in bed or you’re starting without me.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Not about that.”

Now Enjolras did look up, frowning slightly. “Why don’t I like the tone of your voice?”

Grantaire sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t know how to say this, but—”

“Are you breaking things off?” Enjolras interrupted. Not that he thought Grantaire was, by any stretch, but he figured it might add some much-needed levity to the moment.

But Grantaire just looked startled. “What? No, of course not.”

“Ok, well then, if I may, in the future, don’t start a conversation like this with ‘I don’t know how to say this’.”

His tone was teasing but Grantaire didn’t smile. “I’m hoping there won’t really need to be a conversation like this in the future. But our trips to each other’s places, and meeting our friends—” He took a deep breath before telling Enjolras,  “We still have a lot that we need to work out before we actually get hitched.

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I’m ignoring your use of the term ‘hitched’, only because I can tell you’re not in the mood. So what do we need to decide?”

“For starters, are we going to have kids?”

The question was so out of the blue that Enjolras was temporarily speechless, and he looked at Grantaire cautiously before telling him, “Kids were never in my plan. If that’s something that you feel strongly about—”

Grantaire shook his head. “It’s not,” he assured him. “That’s a relief, actually. I definitely do not want kids. I’ve babysat for my friend Éponine before, and that is as much contact with kids as I need in my life.”

While normally Enjolras would be inclined to celebrate a major agreement like this, he had a feeling this was only the tip of the iceberg. “So we’re in agreement on that. What else do we need to decide?”

“Well, there’s the question of where we’re going to live,” Grantaire said. “I know that Milwaukee and Chicago aren’t that far apart, but you mentioned going back to DC eventually, so…”

He trailed off and Enjolras frowned, setting his computer down on the coffee table. “Eventually means eventually. I don’t exactly have a timeline for it. But yeah, my work will probably take me back there at some point.” He hesitated before asking, “Is that a dealbreaker?”

“I don’t know,” Grantaire said. “I’ve never really thought about moving somewhere else.”

“Ever?”

“Well, I mean, when it’s the dead of winter and cold as balls out, I’ve thought about fucking off to California or Hawaii or wherever, but not seriously.” Grantaire shook his head. “I don’t know. Chicago is my home. I love it here.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “More than you love me?”

Grantaire flinched. “That’s not fair.”

Enjolras knew in an instant that he had overstepped, and he reached for Grantaire’s hand, squeezing it once as he told him, “I know. I’m sorry. Bad joke.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “Well, while we’re on the subject of how much we’re willing to sacrifice for each other, there is something else.”

“What?” Enjolras asked warily.

“We need a pre-nup.”

Enjolras knew in an instance that this was what Grantaire had been after from the beginning, and that he had brought up the other stuff to soften the blow. It hadn’t worked. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Enjolras—”

Enjolras dropped his hand. “This entire experiment is supposed to be about finding love, not turning it into a business transaction!”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “And I’m forced to once again steal your line – be serious.”

“I thought I was,” Enjolras shot back.

“Then be realistic, at least,” Grantaire said. “You’re fucking loaded. And I am…not. I joked about you paying off my student loans and you were ready to do it.”

Enjolras winced. “I didn’t say that, I said I could move around some money…”

It wasn’t exactly the stellar point he’d hoped to make, and Grantaire took it as an opportunity. “See?” he said. “You don’t even know how much money you have at your disposal, let alone invested or whatever it is rich people do with their money. I live paycheck to paycheck and stagger my bills throughout the month to make sure I don’t overdraw my checking account. I know exactly how much money I have.”

“So?”

“So I shouldn’t be the one to have to tell you that we need a fucking pre-nup.”

“And I shouldn’t have to be the one to tell you that I don’t want a pre-nup,” Enjolras snapped. “I don’t want to go into our wedding prepared for it to fail.”

Grantaire threw his hands up in frustration. “Oh my God, this isn’t about it failing—”

“Yes it is!” Enjolras said. “You don’t sign a pre-nup thinking it’s going to work out, you sign one to plan for it to not.”

“You sign one to protect your ass,” Grantaire shot back.

Enjolras gave him a look. “I think you mean assets.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “I said what I said.”

Enjolras sighed and shook his head. “We are getting married, and once we are, everything that I have is half yours,” he said firmly. “I don’t want it any other way. I refuse to live with separate bank accounts and different trust funds and money squirreled away that you can’t touch in case of a divorce or thinking you’re only sticking around for the requisite number of years so that you can get what’s coming to you. I won’t live like that.”

Grantaire was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I’ll assume that’s how your parents lived?” he asked finally.

Enjolras swallowed and looked away. “My father filed for divorce two days before their tenth wedding anniversary to try to stop my mother from getting half of his assets,” he said, his tone turning bitter. “They finally finished their divorce proceedings just in time for my fourteenth birthday, which I spent alone because they had scheduled vacations with their new lovers.”

Grantaire reached out to take his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Enjolras squeezed his hand before telling him, his voice low, “I have seen first-hand what happens to a loving relationship when it’s treated like a business agreement, and I don’t want that for us. Even if that means you take me for all I’m worth if we were ever to get divorced.”

Grantaire’s expression softened. “I would never do that.”

“I know.”

“Half of what you’re worth, but never all of it.”

Enjolras laughed. “C’mere,” he said, pulling Grantaire to him and kissing him, a slow, sweet kiss, before telling him, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Grantaire said.

“And as soon as we are back from our honeymoon, I’m paying off your student loans.”

Grantaire stiffened. “Enjolras—”

“It’ll be my wedding present to you,” Enjolras told him. “And before you protest, or ask me why, because I want to, and because I can.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might protest further, but then he sighed and raised his hands in defeat. “Well, I may be stubborn, and occasionally too proud for my own good, but I’m not stupid enough to turn that offer down.”

“Good,” Enjolras said, a little smugly.

Grantaire kissed him once more before standing and stretching almost languidly. He peeled his shirt off before asking Enjolras, fully aware of what he was doing, “Now do you still need your 15 minutes?”

Enjolras eyed him hungrily. “Maybe just 5,” he hedged.

“I’m setting the alarm on my phone, and I was not joking about starting on my own,” Grantaire warned him, unbuttoning his jeans.

Enjolras wet his lips. “In that case, I’ll be there in two and a half minutes.”

Grantaire smirked. “You better be.”

He started to head back to their bedroom but Enjolras stopped him. “Are we ok?”

Grantaire half-turned, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t know, I just want to make sure we’re leaving this conversation in a good spot.”

Grantaire hesitated. “We’re leaving it in as good of a spot as it can be.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

“It’s as real of an answer as you’re going to get,” Grantaire told him.

Enjolras frowned but decided not to press the issue further. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll see you in two and a half minutes.”

But he wasn’t able to concentrate anymore, and not just because he was thinking of Grantaire getting started without him in their bed. Something about the conversation had driven home how real this all was, and how soon they were going to have to make the biggest decision of their lives.

He had thought he was ready for it. Now he knew he was ready, but he wasn’t quite as convinced about Grantaire.

He stood, heading into their bedroom and pausing in the doorway to watch Grantaire, who was muttering something to himself as he pulled out the lube and condoms from the bedside table drawer. “You about ready?”

“Jesus Christ,” Grantaire huffed, turning around to glare at him. “Give me some warning, would you?”

“Sorry,” Enjolras said, feeling anything but, and he crossed over to Grantaire, cupping his cheek with one hand and smoothing a thumb across his cheekbone before kissing him.

Grantaire bit down lightly on Enjolras’s bottom lip before murmuring, “That was a fast 80 seconds.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Are you complaining?”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened and he pushed Enjolras down onto the bed. “Absolutely not.”

— — — — — 

“What are you doing?” Grantaire asked, dropping a kiss on the top of Enjolras’s head as he passed him, heading to the fridge.

Enjolras didn’t look up from his computer. “End of quarter fundraising numbers are out,” he said.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?”

Enjolras sighed. “It means a lot of campaign disclosures to go through to see who’s potentially more vulnerable than we thought, at least monetarily.”

“Because that would be a good person for your organization to go up against,” Grantaire said, grabbing a beer from the fridge and twisting the top off.

Enjolras jerked a shrug. “Potentially. Depending on other factors, of course.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “So then does that mean—”

“Look,” Enjolras interrupted, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. “Ordinarily, I would be happy to play twenty questions with you and tell you all about the ins-and-outs of being a political operative, but I really don’t have time right now. Combeferre is working on a strategy pitch for some major investors, and we need solid numbers by tomorrow.”

“I didn’t realize asking basic questions about your job was playing twenty questions,” Grantaire said coolly.

Enjolras sighed, feeling a headache coming on. “And I appreciate your interest,” he said between clenched teeth. “But this has a deadline.”

“Ok,” Grantaire said. “I’ll leave you alone.”

He brushed past Enjolras on his way back to their bedroom, and Enjolras was so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn’t even notice that this time, Grantaire didn’t pause to kiss the top of his head.

In fact, he was so absorbed in combing through D-2s that it was a few hours before he realized that he hadn’t seen Grantaire in awhile. It took him fifteen minutes more to find the note that Grantaire had left for him on the counter. Gone out. Be back late. Good luck with your work. xo, R.

Enjolras scowled, glancing over at the clock above the stove. “Be back late?” he repeated out loud to no one. It was already one in the morning – how much later could he be?

For a moment, he was half-tempted to sulk off to bed, but he remembered that Courfeyrac had told him once not to go to bed angry. Of course, at the time, Courfeyrac had been referring to trying to get him to make up with his idiot roommate Marius over some nonsense, but Enjolras figured the theory still held.

At the very least, he wanted to have this conversation tonight instead of waiting for the morning.

It was almost 2 before the door opened and Grantaire stumbled inside. He lit up when he saw Enjolras. “Apollo!” he said brightly. “What are you still doing up?”

“Waiting for you,” Enjolras said shortly. “Since you didn’t exactly give me any details besides ‘gone out’.”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “And yet there’s this magical invention known as a phone where you could’ve texted me to ask where I was,” he returned, with an arched eyebrow. “Which leads me to believe this is about something else.”

Enjolras flushed, knowing he was right that he could’ve texted or called, and hating Grantaire a little bit for it. “You’re drunk,” he said instead, saying the words flatly and dismissively, a preemptive way to end the conversation.

“So?”

“So we should have this conversation when you’re sober.”

Grantaire just shook his head. “But I’d prefer it now,” he said, crossing over to practically collapse on the couch, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling as he said, “So spit it out. What the fuck did I do wrong?”

“You really have to ask me that?” Enjolras demanded. “You disappeared without even a word to me just because I was too busy with something really important to pay attention to you.”

Grantaire rolled over onto his side. “I disappeared without a word because I knew that your work is important and I didn’t want to distract you when you had a deadline,” he said. “I don’t need you to pay attention to me 24/7. I’m a big boy who can keep myself entertained.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Yeah, by going out and getting shitfaced.”

“By going out and having fun,” Grantaire corrected. “Not that you would know what that looks like. Just like you apparently don’t know what common courtesy when you live with someone looks like.”

“You call this common courtesy?”

Grantaire sat up, frowning. “I call it better than sitting silently in an apartment waiting for you to be done. Because you can’t tell me that if I had stuck around, you wouldn’t have found something else to get irritated at me about. Probably breathing too loudly.”

“I—” Enjolras broke off, realizing in an instant that Grantaire was absolutely correct, and he slowly sank down into the chair. “Am I really that bad?”

Grantaire just shrugged. “That might’ve been an exaggeration for dramatic effect.”

Enjolras winced. “Was I that big of a dick to you earlier?”

“No. But you were enough of a dick for me to know that I was better off fucking off for a few hours than hanging around here.”

Enjolras nodded slowly, finally understanding what Grantaire had been saying. “You were trying to be helpful.”

Grantaire nodded as well. “I was trying to let you get your work done.”

As much as Enjolras knew he should just apologize and call it a night, he couldn’t help but add, “You promised that you would be annoying when you need attention.”

Grantaire cocked his head slightly. “That promise still holds, but I didn’t need your attention tonight.” He gave Enjolras a look. “So are you mad that I chose to let you work, or are you mad that you needed my attention and I wasn’t here?”

The question hit Enjolras like a ton of bricks as he realized that was exactly what he had been mad about, that he had gotten done with work and was ready to spend time with Grantaire, only for Grantaire to be gone. “How—”

“In vino veritas, babe,” Grantaire said breezily. “I’m always more perceptive when I’ve had a few.”

Enjolras barked a laugh. “The time you tripped over four different things on the walk back to our hotel room would say anything.”

“More perceptive of emotions, ok?” Grantaire said, scowling. “Physical space can get fucked.”

Enjolras just shook his head, his own amusement fading. “I’m not mad that you weren’t here,” he said, before making a face and amending, “I mean, I guess I was, a little bit. But I also don’t want this to feel like we’re living separate lives, that we’re just two ships passing in the night.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Well I don’t know about ships, but we are living separate lives. Being a couple, even a married couple, doesn’t suddenly mean that we have to do everything together.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” Grantaire asked. “Because some days, I will want to go out at 10pm on a Tuesday and blow off some steam, and I love you enough to not expect you to come with me, just like I imagine you will have early morning meetings and I sure as hell hope you love me enough to not expect me to also be awake at 5am to deal with them.”

He was clearly aiming for a joke but Enjolras didn’t laugh. “And what happens when you’re still out when I go to bed, and I’m awake and out of the house before you even wake up?”

“Then we make up for it later.”

Grantaire said it like it was the simplest, most obvious thing, but Enjolras shook his head. “How?”

“Date night,” Grantaire said. “Once a week, just you and me. No work, no friends, just us.” He paused before adding, “And it doesn’t have to be at nighttime, either, just whatever time on whatever day works best for both of us.”

Enjolras nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I like the sound of that.”

Grantaire gave him a smile as well. “You and I both knew this was going to take work, and this is just one more piece of it.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, standing and crossing over to the couch to crouch down next to Grantaire, brushing his hair out of his face. “Yeah, it is.” He leaned in and kissed him before asking, “How about we have our first date night tomorrow?”

Grantaire grinned. “That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all night.” He kissed Enjolras once more before pushing him away and standing, swaying slightly. “Now, if we’re good, I’m about one tequila shot away from either taking off all my clothes or puking. Or taking off all of my clothes and then puking on them. So I think it’s time I put my ass to bed.”

Enjolras laughed, standing as well. “You’re not even going to try propositioning me?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Even if I thought I could pull it off, I don’t think I can manage it.” He gave Enjolras a smile. “I’d settle for cuddling, though,” he said, turning to wrap his arms around Enjolras’s waist. “Lots and lots of cuddling.” He kissed him. “Maybe some light petting.” He kissed him again, a heady, open-mouthed kiss this time. “Third base, no further.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and pushed him gently away. “Go get ready for bed.”

“See, you’re already ordering me around,” Grantaire said, grinning again. “I can work with this.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I love you,” he said.”

Grantaire gave him a wave over his shoulder. “Love you, too.”

Enjolras watched Grantaire amble towards the bedroom, feeling like an idiot for picking a fight when Grantaire was trying so hard. In fact, between this and the pre-nup and everything else, Enjolras felt like Grantaire was trying a hell of a lot.

Maybe more than he was.

Which meant that maybe it was time he showed just how much he was trying, too.

— — — — —

Grantaire glanced around the room, looking a little amused. “Do you know, in all my years of living here, I’ve never been to the top of the Hancock?” he asked, referring to the formerly second tallest building in Chicago, where they were eating dinner on the 95th floor for their date. “Also did you bring me here just to hear me say ‘cock’ repeatedly in my sexy Chicago accent?”

“I don’t think it’s the called the Hancock building anymore,” Enjolras said mildly, “and I am not taking the bait on accent sexiness. Sitting through your rant about the Boston accent being voted sexiest was a performance I don’t need a repeat of.”

“Coward.”

Enjolras chose to ignore that comment. “Also, how have you never been up here before?”

Grantaire shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Probably because it’s for tourists.” He paused before adding, “Or because I’ve been to the top of the Sears Tower like five times.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “What is it with you people and refusing to call things by their current name?” he asked fondly.

“Hey, I called it Jean-Baptiste Point DuSable Lake Shore Drive just earlier today,” Grantaire protested.

Enjolras gave him a look. “You did that to piss off a guy wearing a MAGA hat off.”

Grantaire smirked. “Which just proves I have good timing.”

Laughing, Enjolras glanced out the window before asking Grantaire, “Well, now that you’re up here for the first time, what do you think?”

Grantaire took another sip of his drink. “It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

Grantaire shrugged again. “The drinks are overpriced, the food is almost certain to be mediocre tourist fare, and the necessity of our camera crew means we don’t even get to do any quality people watching.”

The latter part was especially true, as the crew had to close off an entire section of the restaurant just for them. “So a terrible date,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire smiled at him. “I didn’t say that. After all, I’m with you.” He reached across the table for Enjolras’s hand. “And besides, it’s a hell of a view.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Me, or the lake?”

“Both.” Grantaire turned to glance out the window. “But you have to admit this view is stunning.” He arched an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Almost as good as the view from your condo.”

“That it is,” Enjolras agreed. “And it’s nice to be able to see something from a different view.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “That sounds like a segue.”

Enjolras didn’t deny it. “I just think it’s important to see what you’re getting yourself into before you decide to call a place home.”

It took a moment for Grantaire to realize what he was saying, but when he did, his eyes widened. “Does that mean—”

“I’ve decided to move to Chicago after we’re married,” Enjolras told him, unable to stop his smile.

Grantaire just stared at him. “Wait, seriously?”

Enjolras nodded. “Seriously,” he said. “I can still do work in Wisconsin as needed and Illinois actually provides easier access to Indiana and Michigan. Besides, Chicago’s angling to get the DNC bid in 2024, so I may end up needing to spend a lot of time here anyway.”

It looked like Grantaire was torn between excitement and concern. “You don’t have to do this for me,” he said.

“I’m not,” Enjolras said immediately, and when Grantaire gave him a look, he said, “I’m not! I’m doing this for us, and for our future together.” He took Grantaire’s hand and squeezed it. “Besides, whether or not I need to, I want to. I want us to build a life together. And it doesn’t hurt that you happen to already live in one of the greatest cities in the country.”

“Not the world?” Grantaire asked.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Just you wait,” he said. “Soon you’ll be saying ‘Da Bears’ and eating an Italian Beef while telling anyone who will listen that Chicago’s the greatest city in the world.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “If I ever say ‘Da Bears’ with anything resembling sincerity, you have my full permission to euthanize me.”

Grantaire just grinned. “Nope, I’m stuck with you now.”

“Yeah you are,” Enjolras murmured, raising his hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “Besides, I figure future date nights will be a lot easier when we’re living in the same city.”

“Probably,” Grantaire agreed. “But on the other hand, I was already looking forward to having sex on the Amtrak up to Milwaukee.”

Enjolras considered it for a moment. “Well, Combeferre and Courfeyrac are still going to be in Milwaukee.”

Grantaire grinned. “That is an excellent point.”

Enjolras picked his glass up and raised it in a toast. “To Chicago,” he said simply.

“To sex on the Amtrak,” Grantaire returned, and when Enjolras just gave him a look, he chuckled and added, “To starting our life together.”

Enjolras clinked his glass against Grantaire’s. “To us.”

In just a few short days, our couples will be standing at the altar, ready to answer the question we’ve all been waiting for: Is love truly blind? Will they marry the person they fell for in the pods, spent time with in Mexico, and moved in with in Chicago? Or will they say no, and end what started just a few short weeks ago for good?

We’ll find out, on the next episode.

lessnearthesun:

Thinking about how Combeferre who ‘preferred the word man to citizen’ died helping a soldier— someone whose side was trying to kill him and his friends! Thinking about how Combeferre ‘the good must be innocent’ still tried to spare the artillery sergeant Enjolras killed. Thinking about how he died with his eyes on heaven.

Combeferre: What’s the first thing you notice when a person approaches you?

Enjolras: The audacity.

Courfeyrac: I know you think my judgement’s clouded because I like Combeferre a little bit.

Enjolras: You doodled your wedding invitation.

Courfeyrac: No, that’s our joint tombstone.

Enjolras: My mistake.

Combeferre: Enjolras is at that age where there’s only one thing on his mind.

Courfeyrac:Revolution?

Combeferre: That’s what he wants people to believe. But, actually…

*Both look at enjolras staring at grantaire*

Combeferre, whispering: it’s the cat boy.

lafcadiosadventures:

Marius, about to be être libre’d

(he doesn’t even list the pc motives to like Napoleon huh)

the crying eagle! the sad pear!! grantaire’s bullshit!!! javertas!!!! every detail brings joy

Combeferre is like “I’m gonna put this kid out of his misery before he embarrasses himself any further”