kjack89:

Love is Blind (Part Four: The Wedding)

We have finally reached the end of our lovely little reality show. Thanks to everyone who’s read and encouraged this nonsense along the way!

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.Read Part Three here.

First, our couples fell in love in the pods, sight unseen. Then they made their connections physical in Mexico before confronting reality back home. Now, there’s just days left before they’re at their weddings, facing the toughest choice they’ve ever had to make.

Will they commit to spending their life with the person they fell in love with in the pods? Or will they part ways forever?

Is love truly blind?

On this final episode of Love is Blind, we’re about to find out.

Enjolras smoothed a hand down the front of his tux jacket and frowned at his reflection in the mirror before poking his head out of the dressing room curtain. “Are you ready?” he asked, a little impatiently, and not just because the idea of trying on clothes, let alone trying on clothes with a three-person camera crew in tow, was one of his least favorite activities.

The curtain in front of Grantaire’s dressing room twitched. “Give me a moment,” Grantaire said, sounding amused. “You can’t rush perfection.”

Keep reading

Love is Blind (Part Four: The Wedding)

We have finally reached the end of our lovely little reality show. Thanks to everyone who’s read and encouraged this nonsense along the way!

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.Read Part Three here.

First, our couples fell in love in the pods, sight unseen. Then they made their connections physical in Mexico before confronting reality back home. Now, there’s just days left before they’re at their weddings, facing the toughest choice they’ve ever had to make.

Will they commit to spending their life with the person they fell in love with in the pods? Or will they part ways forever?

Is love truly blind?

On this final episode of Love is Blind, we’re about to find out.

Enjolras smoothed a hand down the front of his tux jacket and frowned at his reflection in the mirror before poking his head out of the dressing room curtain. “Are you ready?” he asked, a little impatiently, and not just because the idea of trying on clothes, let alone trying on clothes with a three-person camera crew in tow, was one of his least favorite activities.

The curtain in front of Grantaire’s dressing room twitched. “Give me a moment,” Grantaire said, sounding amused. “You can’t rush perfection.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened as he glanced critically at his reflection one more time. “Yeah, unfortunately, I don’t think this one’s anything close to resembling perfection.”

Grantaire chuckled, and a few moments later, opened his curtain and stepped outside. Enjolras’s mouth went dry as Grantaire adjusted the cuffs of his shirt sleeve. “So?” Grantaire asked, with a grin. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a good thing we’re getting the so-called first look over with here and now, or else I’m going to be liable to forget my vows,” Enjolras said, drinking in the view with eager eyes.

Grantaire laughed. “Thankfully, there’s really only two words you need to remember,” he teased, before arching an eyebrow. “So are you going to come out and let me see?”

Enjolras made a face. “I’d rather not.”

Grantaire looked bemused. “Dare I ask why?”

“Because I look ridiculous.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “I very highly doubt that,” he said. “You look amazing in absolutely everything. Besides, don’t you think that I should be able to draw my own conclusion on this front?”

Enjolras heaved a sigh before finally stepping out of his dressing room, holding his arms out to the side. “See?” he said, a little sourly.

To his credit, Grantaire didn’t immediately laugh, though judging by the look on his face, he very much wanted to. “You look—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” Enjolras warned.

The corners of Grantaire’s mouth twitched. “I think the cumberbund was not a great choice,” he said tactfully.

Enjolras groaned, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Remind me again why we can’t just wear the same damn thing?”

“Because the point is to complement each other, not match each other,” Grantaire said, crossing over to the rack of tuxedos and thumbing through them. “How in God’s name am I the one explaining this to you?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes before saying, “Speaking of God—”

Grantaire glanced up at him. “I am fascinated to see where this goes.”

“Well, I know how you feel about a good segue,” Enjolras said lightly. “Anyway, we haven’t really talked much about religion, and since the wedding ceremony is coming up pretty quickly, I figured we should make sure we’re on the same page.”

Grantaire frowned. “Haven’t we already agreed on a justice of the peace? And getting married in not a church?”

“We have.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Then what are you really getting at?”

Enjolras sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been trying to write my vows,” he admitted.

“Ok,” Grantaire said slowly. “And?”

“And I’ve been trying to draw inspiration from a lot of different places, and a lot of vow examples that I’ve been able to find have had a pretty strong vein of Christianity running through them,” Enjolras told him. “And while I know we’ve both discussed that neither of us are really religious, I want to go a step further. With everything happening with Roe, I don’t want any Christian imagery or what have you in our wedding.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “And I certainly wasn’t planning otherwise. I mean, what, you want to opt for a pagan handfasting instead?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far—”

“I would,” Grantaire interrupted. “If that’s what you wanted, anyway.” Enjolras stared at him and Grantaire shrugged, half-smiling. “All I care about is saying I do and making this legally binding. The rest doesn’t matter to me.”

Enjolras felt a warmth spread through his chest, though he tamped it down to point out, with no small amount of amusement, “And yet us wearing matching tuxes is a step too far.”

Grantaire’s smile widened. “Ok, well maybe some of the rest does matter to me, at least a little.” He cocked his head. “But I’m more interested in why you’re bringing this up. I mean, have I somehow given you the impression that I’m going to start quoting the Bible at our gay wedding?”

Enjolras flushed slightly. “No, I guess not,” he mumbled.

“So what is this actually about?” Grantaire pressed. “Because I don’t really think it’s about our vows. Or our wedding.”

“Well it’s tangentially related to our wedding, I guess,” Enjolras hedged.

“Still waiting on that explanation.”

Enjolras sighed, beginning to wish he’d worked his way into this conversation from a different angle. “Ok, so you know how we’re supposed to be having our bachelor parties in a few days?”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “A toast to our last day of freedom before the ol’ heteronormative ball and chain, sure.”

Enjolras wet his lips nervously. “Well, what would you say to not doing that?”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, the idea of a day of debauchery and heavy drinking is normally my idea of a good time, so it depends on what you’re proposing as an alternative,” he said slowly. “And what connection it has to Christianity.”

“What connection it has to keeping Christianity out of our private lives,” Enjolras corrected. “And the alternative is probably not something as fun as debauchery and heavy drinking.” He took a deep breath. “There’s a protest that’s been planned regarding the Roe leak, and I thought…”

He trailed off. “And you thought it might be fun?” Grantaire supplied.

“Something like that.”

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable. “So to be clear, do you want to spend what should be our bachelor party working, or protesting as a private citizen?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Does it really make a difference?”

“It does to me,” Grantaire said evenly.

Enjolras sighed. “Fine, Les Amis was asked to participate, but even if they weren’t, I would still want to go.” He knew he sounded defensive, unnecessarily so, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Reproductive freedom is a vitally important issue, not just for cisgender women, and—”

“And you don’t need to lecture me on the subject,” Grantaire said. He was quiet for a long moment before asking,
“What if you went to the protest and I still had my bachelor party?”

Enjolras stared at him. “I mean, if that’s – if that’s what you want to do. I’m not going to make you come with me,” he said, though he couldn’t stop his heart from sinking in his chest. “That said, the point of agreeing to do a joint bachelor party is because we wanted to spend our last day together.”

Grantaire’s expression tightened. “Together having fun, not together working.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “Is it bad that going to a protest is my idea of both?”

He was aiming for a joke, but something in what he said seemed to resonate with Grantaire, who brightened. “Not necessarily,” he said. “Are you opposed to me finding a way to make going to a protest also both work and fun?”

Enjolras’s eye narrowed. “Only if your way of doing so involves public intoxication.”

Grantaire barked a laugh. “Surprisingly, no, not what I had in mind. For once.” 

“Then I say go for it,” Enjolras said, crossing to him and kissing him lightly. “As long as we’re together, that’s all that matters.”

Grantaire kissed him back for a long moment before pulling away. “Then I guess I better text Joly and Bossuet and tell them to lose the boas and body glitter, because we’re going to a protest instead of going on an extremely gay bar crawl.”

He didn’t sound as disappointed as Enjolras expected, and Enjolras decided to take it as a small win. “Who says you can’t have boas and body glitter at a protest?” he asked instead.

“Good point,” Grantaire said with a grin. “Now, how about we get back to the business of finding you something to wear to our wedding that doesn’t make you look like you’re attending a prom in 1982?”

Enjolras laughed. “Oh, but I had my eye on this ruffle-front shirt—”

“Absolutely not,” Grantaire said firmly, steering Enjolras back to his dressing room. “I will turn around and walk back up the aisle if I see that shit.”

Enjolras just laughed again as he accepted the tuxes that Grantaire shoved at him. “Honestly, I wouldn’t even blame you.”

— — — — —

“Women’s rights, human rights! Women’s rights, human rights!”

Chants filled the spring air, the bright sunshine a disconcerting backdrop to the masses of people gathering for the protest, many bearing signs. Enjolras couldn’t quite stop his smile, even if it was a little grim; as much as he hated what had necessitated this moment, it warmed his soul to see so many finally engaged.

Now if only the outrage would last.

As if reading his thoughts, Grantaire took his hand and squeezed it. “Think they’ll still be this fired up come November?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd. 

“We’ll make sure of it,” Enjolras told him. He caught sight of Combeferre and Courfeyrac conferring with the event organizers and glanced at Grantaire. “I should check in with them. Do you want to—”

Grantaire shook his head. “I’m working too, remember?” he said, hefting his camera in his free hand. “Besides, I should see if I can find Joly and Bossuet.”

Enjolras leaned in and kissed his cheek before letting go of his hand and heading over to Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He shook hands with the protest organizers, introducing himself and offering Les Amis’ help with anything that day or in the future, and the lead organizer thanked him before being pulled away to deal with something else.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “I like your t-shirt,” he said, nodding down at Enjolras’s ‘FUCK YOUR ABORTION BANS’ shirt. “It’s certainly to the point.”

“Yeah, well, I figured why beat around the bush, right?”

Courfeyrac snorted, and Combeferre gave him a withering look. “If you’re even thinking of making a bush joke right now—”

 “So where’s your shadow?” Courfeyrac asked brightly, clearly deciding that changing the subject was the best course of action.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, frowning slightly as the idea of Grantaire as his shadow. “He’s around here somewhere. He’s taking pictures of the protest as a freelance assignment.”

“Good for him,” Courfeyrac said sweetly, “but I was referring to your camera crew.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, flushing slightly, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “They, uh, they decided to give us the day off from having our lives taped.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “Meaning they didn’t want any footage of this protest,” he said, a little shrewdly. “I suppose that way they avoid any concerns about how they’d choose to edit it.”

Enjolras shrugged, scanning the crowd for Grantaire. “I think their official statement is that it would be too difficult for production to get waivers from all the protesters, and, quite frankly, it’s probably better for everyone involved that the folks here aren’t captured on footage that a multinational conglomerate can do with as they please.” He didn’t see Grantaire and so turned back to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, shrugging once again. “They taped a little moment with Grantaire and I before we headed over to sort of explain what we’re doing today, and I’m sure they’ll tape something once we’re home tonight.”

Courfeyrac made a face. “So that they can bookend all their footage of the other couples getting shitfaced and fighting with you two social justice warriors.”

Enjolras snorted. “I mean…”

“At least one social justice warrior, anyway,” Combeferre said, something unreadable in his tone. “Are you sure Grantaire’s up for this?”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed and he searched Combeferre’s expression for a minute before telling him, “Of course. I told him I wasn’t going to make him come today if he didn’t want to, and he was the one who thought of reaching out to some of his editor contacts to see if they wanted anyone to cover the protest.”

Combeferre’s expression didn’t change. “Yeah but photographing a protest is very different from participating in it,” he said evenly. “Or does he plan to stay on the sidelines the whole time?”

“I’m sure he’ll join in,” Enjolras said, defensive without really knowing why. “He just needs to get warmed up to it, that’s all. Now can we please get back to discussing the logistics of this protest?”

Combeferre raised an eyebrow but chose not to say anything more on the topic.

Not that he needed to.

As things got underway and the rally started in full force, Enjolras couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Grantaire’s general lack of enthusiasm for the whole protest.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. He knew Grantaire well enough to know that the man wasn’t going to wholeheartedly jump into any political cause, at least not without his requisite layers of sarcasm and disbelief. But still, given the importance of the issue at hand, he’d expected…more. And he was beginning to think that Grantaire had no intention of giving anything more.

While the speakers took to the makeshift stage, Enjolras glanced around the crowd again, looking for Grantaire. While he didn’t see him, he did spot Joly and Bossuet. Bossuet, it seemed, had taken Grantaire’s point about boas and body glitter to heart, bedecked in a violently pink feather boa with his entire bald head seemingly encrusted in glitter. 

Next to him, Joly looked considerably more understated, but still waved with enthusiasm when he spotted Enjolras, grabbing Bossuet by the elbow and dragging him over. “Hey!” he said, greeting Enjolras with a hug.

“Hey,” Enjolras said, a little taken aback, and he hastily added, “Joly, Bossuet, meet Combeferre and Courfeyrac. They’re my best friends.”

“So you’re us to Grantaire, but for Enjolras,” Bossuet said, grinning, as he shook Courfeyrac’s hand. “I guess we’ll be seeing you both at the wedding, right?”

Courfeyrac beamed. “Of course,” he said. “We’ll be the ones heckling Enjolras.”

Enjolras scowled. “I think introducing you was a mistake.” He glanced at the growing crowd again before asking Joly, in what he hoped was a casual sort of way, “Did Grantaire find you?”

Joly nodded. “Sure, yeah, I think he’s walking around on the other side of the protest, or at least that’s where we saw him last,” he said. “Of course, knowing his dumb ass, he’s going to try to climb a tree or something stupid just to get a better picture.”

Enjolras’s face fell, just slightly. “He’s not protesting?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Bossuet shook his head. “At least he wasn’t when we saw him last, but you never know,” he said, somewhat bracingly, as if he had accurately judged Enjolras’s feelings on the topic. “Knowing Grantaire, he’ll get swept up in it eventually.”

“Yeah, but when?” Enjolras muttered under his breath.

Joly just shrugged. “When he feels like it,” he said. “Which is generally at the most inopportune time known to mankind.”

Even though Enjolras knew he was joking, he couldn’t find it in himself to laugh. Instead, he glanced at Combeferre, who was watching him with that same unreadable expression from before on his face. “I’m going to do a lap,” he said, jerking his head toward the crowd. “Make sure everything’s good.”

Combeferre nodded and Enjolras started off toward the edges of the crowd, though he didn’t leave quickly enough to miss Joly asking, “Is everything ok with him and Grantaire?”

That was certainly the question of the hour – or at least, whether everything was ok with him was the question. Enjolras doubted highly that Grantaire was wrestling with anything even remotely similar to what he was feeling at the moment.

He skirted the edge of the crowd, keeping his eyes peeled for both Grantaire and for any potential trouble. There was an unsurprisingly large police presence, though certainly not as many as he would expect at, for instance, a Black Lives Matter rally. Granted, the demographics of the crowd probably explained that, since despite the highly intersectional nature of the issue, the crowd was still predominantly white. And nothing would actually threaten the Chicago Police Department’s ever-ballooning funding like cops assaulting white women who took the Metra in from Naperville.

Still, the amount of police put Enjolras on edge, and even more so when he finally spotted Grantaire standing right next to a police officer. Every one of Enjolras’s instincts told him to pull out his phone, start recording, and go demand that the officer release Grantaire from his custody unless he was placing him under arrest.

At least, that was his instinct until Grantaire said something to the cop, who…laughed.

And it was only then that Enjolras realized that Grantaire wasn’t being detained. 

A normal person would probably have been relieved that his fiancé was not being detained by the police, but Enjolras had never been accused of being normal. And besides, Grantaire being detained meant that at very least he had said or done something, anything in support of the cause.

Instead, Enjolras watched with a pit in his stomach as Grantaire clapped the cop on the shoulder before moving to a different vantage point to take more photos.

Enjolras wrenched his eyes away, forcing his attention back to the crowd, even as his stomach worked itself into knots. When the speaker portion of the rally started winding down, Enjolras made his way back to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, trying to school his expression into something neutral.

It evidently didn’t work, as Combeferre caught his eye and frowned. “What happened?” he asked, and Enjolras just shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said shortly.

Combeferre looked like he didn’t believe him, but thankfully, he didn’t press the issue any further. “Well, it’s good thing you’re back,” he said instead. “Some of the advocacy group leaders want to turn this rally into a march once the speeches are done.”

“Let’s do it,” Enjolras said immediately, grateful for something that he could use as a productive outlet for the fury he could feel seeping into his veins. 

“Just one problem,” Courfeyrac said. “We don’t have a permit for a march.”

Combeferre nodded. “And with the amount of police here…” he started, a little uneasily.

But the reminder of the police at the event just riled Enjolras even further. “Fuck it,” he spat. “They can’t stop all of us.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glanced but Enjolras ignored them, instead crossing over to the lead organizer to offer his assistance in getting the crowd ready to march.

If there was one thing he was good at, it was getting a crowd incensed enough for direct action of some ilk.

Even if it was just marching and not firebombing CPD headquarters.

Enjolras joined the swell of the crowd, encouraging people to march, and was gratified to see that they were more receptive than he anticipated. At least some people had some fire in them.

He just couldn’t help but wish that Grantaire was one of them.

The crowd started to move toward the park exit, some starting to spill out onto the road, and Enjolras paused as the exit, keeping a wary eye out for the police. He caught sight of Grantaire keeping pace with the crowd, still taking pictures, still not joining in.

But Grantaire couldn’t keep his interest for long, no matter how much his chest clenched whenever he saw him. Enjolras had bigger problems – mainly, that the police were already trying to corral folks back into the park. “Either return to the park or disperse,” one of the cops shouted through his car’s speaker system, and it was then that Enjolras realized that the cops in the park weren’t the only ones.

He could see lines of additional police in full riot gear approaching the perimeter of the park, as if they were expecting violence.

Or, knowing the police, as if they were planning on creating some violence.

Enjolras quickly pushed to the front of the crowd. “Everyone get back in the park,” he urged, keeping himself between the people at the front and approaching police. “Do not give them an excuse to ruin this.”

“This is a peaceful rally!” one white woman at the front protested, eyes wide as she looked between Enjolras and the cops. “Why are they here?”

Enjolras hoped for a brief moment that this might be her wake-up call. “Because they’re the police,” he said sharply. “They don’t give a damn about ‘peaceful’.”

She looked like she wanted to argue further, but Enjolras didn’t stick around to listen further, mainly because he spotted a group of what looked like early-20s-something white men starting to push back against the police as they closed ranks. “Shit,” he swore under his breath, pushing through the crowd to force his way over to them.

Enjolras was no stranger to antagonizing and even, on occasion, provoking the police, but there was a time and place, and it was certainly not when the police were already looking for a reason to escalate things and, at absolute best, start making arrests. And absolute worst, take things out on the Black and brown women in the crowd especially.

“Hey!” he shouted, doing his best to get between the men and the cops. “Get back in the park.”

“Why should we?” one asked fiercely. “We have just as much right to be here—”

As much as Enjolras recognized something of himself in the younger man, as much as he felt something like pride that there were more people willing to take on the fight, he also knew that one of the most important things he had learned over the years was when to fight, and when to not. “Because this fight isn’t about us,” he said, trying his best to keep his voice calm and even. “And the last thing we want is to give them an excuse.”

For a moment, it looked like he might argue further, but then, grudgingly, the group started moving back into the park. But evidently, not quickly enough for one of the cops, who grabbed one of the guys by the arm. “Hey, get the fuck off me—” the man protested, trying to wrench his arm out of the cop’s grip.

“You can let him go,” Enjolras said, years of deescalation training keeping him calm when every instinct in his body told him to do something immensely stupid, like punch the sneering cop directly in the face. “He’s not resisting—”

Without warning, a different cop grabbed Enjolras’s arm, twisting it behind his back. “Just like you’re not resisting, pretty boy?” he growled in Enjolras’s ear.

Despite the situation, Enjolras couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Pretty boy?” he asked, incredulous. “Are you serious—”

He should have realized that mocking an office was not the wisest choice, especially in the position he was in, but he still hadn’t expected the office to shove him face-first down onto the ground, his knee planted firmly in the middle of Enjolras’s back. “You wanna try that again?” the cop asked, and he had the audacity to actually smirk at him.

Enjolras gritted his teeth, only just managing to hold himself back from trying to buck the officer off of him, knowing that it would only make things worse. “You know, I really thought this was gonna be a boring day,” the cop told him, “but you just made it a lot more interesting.”

“Hey!” someone shouted, and Enjolras felt the pressure on his back ease up, just a little. “Smile for the camera, Officer.”

Enjolras turned his head to see Grantaire, holding his press pass up in one hand, his camera in the other. “Oh, yeah,” Grantaire said, with a grim sort of smile. “This is for sure going to viral on Twitter.”

The cop grumbled something but stood up, allowing Enjolras to scramble to his feet. Grantaire took a few more pictures of the cop before grabbing Enjolras by the arm. “Thank you for your service,” he said sarcastically, yanking Enjolras along with him as they quickly headed back into the park.

When they were finally clear of the cops, their pace slowed down and Grantaire finally let go of Enjolras’s arm. “Are you ok?” he asked quietly.

Enjolras couldn’t quite seem to meet Grantaire’s eyes. “Did he scratch up my face?” he asked roughly. “I wouldn’t want to look bad for the pictures tomorrow.”

Grantaire reached out, brushing his fingertips across Enjolras’s cheek. “Just a little red,” he said quietly. “No lasting damage.”

Enjolras let out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he said. “No lasting damage.”

Grantaire searched Enjolras’s expression for a moment. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine.” Enjolras said it harsher than he perhaps intended to, and Grantaire’s hand fell back to his side. 

“Right,” Grantaire said. “Well, should we, uh…”

He trailed off and Enjolras shook his head. “No, uh, you should head home,” he said. “I need to check in with Combeferre and Courfeyrac.”

“You don’t want me to wait for you?”

Enjolras shook his head again. “No,” he said. “I think you’ve done enough.” He didn’t wait for Grantaire to say anything else, walking away and leaving him standing there, staring after him.

— — — — —

Enjolras wasn’t surprised when he walked through the door later that afternoon to find Grantaire sitting on the couch, waiting for him. He had a glass of whiskey in front of him, but it didn’t look like he had touched it. “Hey,” Enjolras said.

“Hey,” Grantaire echoed, his tone unreadable. “Did you eat anything?” Enjolras nodded and Grantaire picked up the glass of whiskey and took a sip before saying tonelessly, “Good, because I already canceled our dinner reservation.”

Enjolras winced. He had forgotten that Grantaire had planned a dinner for them in lieu of their previously planned bachelor party. “Where’s, uh, where’s the camera crew?” he asked instead. “I figured they’d be begging for some footage.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I sent them away,” he said. “I didn’t really think anyone else needed to be a part of this.”

“Dare I ask what this is?” Enjolras asked cautiously, sitting down across from him. 

Grantaire met his eyes evenly. “You tell me,” he said. “Because I thought everything was fine, and then when the protest went to hell…” He trailed off. “You could barely look at me. You can still barely look at me.” Enjolras didn’t bother trying to deny it. “So something happened, and I think we should talk about it. Seeing as how we’re getting married tomorrow.” He paused. “If we’re still getting married tomorrow.”

Enjolras sighed. “I’m sorry for leaving like that,” he said, a little grudgingly. “Today just…” He sighed again. “Today wasn’t what I expected.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “In what way?”

Enjolras wet his lips, trying to find the right words to begin. In the end, he decided to just tell the truth, no matter how blunt it may be. “You were talking to the cop.”

“What?”

Grantaire sounded confused, and Enjolras swallowed. “I saw you,” he said, trying and failing to control the anger he could feel welling in his chest. “Just casually chatting to the pigs like you were old friends.”

“I was introducing myself,” Grantaire said slowly, staring at Enjolras, “which is generally a good idea if you’re a member of the press who doesn’t want to get arrested for covering a protest.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I didn’t realize introducing yourself normally invited laughter,” he said sourly.

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire was going to make one of his usual clever retorts, but then he paused, tilting his head slightly. “What is this actually about?”

“I’m pretty sure—”

“Because you’re talking as if you caught me flirting with another man,” Grantaire continued, as if Enjolras hadn’t tried to interrupt him, :and not having a polite conversation with someone.”

“Not just someone!” Enjolras burst. “A fucking cop! You spent more time at an abortion rights rally chatting with the police than you did talking to the actual protesters.”

Grantaire’s expression tightened. “I assure you, I didn’t.”

Enjolras’s lip curled. “Well it sure looked like it. And maybe—”

“Maybe what?” Grantaire asked quietly.

“Are you actually pro-choice?” Enjolras asked sharply.

‘

Grantaire recoiled. “Excuse me?

“You told me you were when we met in the pods, but it occurs to me you may have been telling me what I wanted to hear,” Enjolras said. “So are you?”

“Of course I am,” Grantaire said, his voice low. “Pro-choice, pro-abortion, pro-people with uteruses making their own damn health decisions, however you would prefer I word it.”

“And are you pro-police?”

“Am I—” Grantaire broke off, exasperated. “Enjolras, when I discovered my niece was watching Paw Patrol, I taught her to say ACAB every time Chase the fucking police dog comes on screen!”

Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You could have fooled me.”

Grantaire took a deep breath, his face tight. “Do you want to know why the cop was laughing?” he asked abruptly. “I introduced myself, said what publication I was there taking pictures for. And then I asked about the police presence because it seemed a little high for simple crowd control, almost like they were there hoping for a fight.” His expression twisted. “Bit of a change of pace from beating Black and brown teenagers to assaulting predominantly white women, which I suppose was probably part of the appeal.” He scrubbed a hand across his face before continuing, “Anyway, the cop I was talking to made a comment that his stepdaughter was there in the crowd. And I mentioned that it would probably be a little bit awkward if he ended up having to arrest her. And he laughed.”

His voice shook, and Enjolras swallowed and looked away. “He laughed, and he told me it wouldn’t be the first time. This is a man who has arrested his own family for peacefully protesting, and found it funny.” Grantaire shook his head. “You can’t reform that.”

“Then why the hell weren’t you protesting?” Enjolras demanded.

“Because I was doing my job,” Grantaire snapped. “And honestly, I don’t understand why you’re this surprised.”

Enjolras blinked, taken aback by that, and it took him a moment to respond. “I’m not surprised,” he said finally. “I guess I’m just disappointed. I thought, when the time came—”

“What, I was going to become an entirely different person?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras shook his head and looked away. “I just thought you might actually find it in yourself to care,” he said, a little bitterly.

“I do care,” Grantaire said, his voice low. “And I sure as shit cared enough to stop you from getting arrested or worse.”

Enjolras looked back at him, a muscle working in his jaw. “That’s not good enough.”

Grantaire didn’t look away. “Then maybe I’m not good enough,” he said, lifting his chin with something like defiance.

“I didn’t say that,” Enjolras said tiredly.

“You didn’t have to,” Grantaire told him. “I’ve been honest about who I am from the beginning. And you’re the one who has to decide if that’s good enough for you.”

He stood, and for the first time Enjolras noticed that there was a duffel bag next to him on the couch. His heart dropped. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Out,” Grantaire said shortly, picking up the duffel bag. “I’m spending the night at my apartment. My actual apartment.”

“You can’t just leave—”

“When things get tough,” Grantaire finished for him. “I know that. But this isn’t about me.” Enjolras glanced up at him, and Grantaire met his eyes evenly. “This is about you, and if you can spend the rest of your life with someone who is never going to be the person you secretly want them to be. And I figure that’s a decision best made alone.”

Enjolras’s chest felt tight. “Grantaire—”

But Grantaire just shook his head, shouldering the duffle bag and brushing past Enjolras toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He was almost out the door when Enjolras told him, a little desperately, “I still love you.”

Grantaire paused, but didn’t turn back. “I know. And I love you too. But you have to decide if that’s enough.”

Then he left, closing the door behind him.

And for the first time in weeks, Enjolras was alone.

His first instinct was to rage, or to throw something. He didn’t do either of those, instead crossing over to pick up the half-drunk glass of whiskey Grantaire had left on the coffee table and picking it up, draining it up in a single gulp.

It burned and he choked, coughing against the fire in his throat. But it didn’t hurt as badly as the pain in his chest, the pain at the realization that for the first time in weeks, in addition to being alone, he had no idea if he was going to stand in front of the justice of the peace and say yes.

Grantaire was right – he had to decide if it was enough, if Grantaire was enough.

He had told Grantaire before that he didn’t mind his cynicism, that he welcomed it, even, as a reminder of everything he was working for. But now, when faced with the reality of it…

He didn’t know if could live with it. If he could wake up every day next to a man who just didn’t want to try to make the world better.

And if he was being honest, he had hoped that he would change Grantaire. Maybe that was a selfish thing to say, or egotistical, but maybe he had thought spending time with him, loving him, would rub off on Grantaire. That all of their time spent together might mean something. 

Because if Enjolras couldn’t even convince his fiancé, where the hell did he get off thinking he could convince anyone else?

And wasn’t that really the crux of why he was feeling this way? Because after the day they’d had, he felt like seeing Grantaire every day for the rest of his life would be a daily reminder of how he had failed, was continuing to fail.

Enjolras didn’t know if he could take it.

But he also didn’t know if he could go the rest of his life without waking up next to Grantaire every day. He didn’t know if he could say no when asked if he took Grantaire to be his husband.

Because he loved him. And he just didn’t know if that was enough.

He sighed and ran a tired hand across his face, glancing up at the clock. It was too early for bed, but he had a feeling he was going to be lying in bed staring up at the ceiling for a few hours anyway. He bent to pick up the empty glass and caught sight of Grantaire’s sketchbook, where it must have fallen out of Grantaire’s bag. He sighed and went to pick it up, glancing automatically at the sketch it was opened to.

It was one he hadn’t seen before, and he realized that it was him, from today, his arms outstretched, shouting something. It was a remarkably good likeness of what Enjolras imagined he must have looked like when he tried to head off the police. ‘Apollo’s Sacrifice’, Grantaire had scrawled in the corner, and Enjolras half-smiled.

He couldn’t imagine Grantaire sketching something like this before they’d met.

As unsure as Enjolras was, as much as the decision he had to make felt absolutely impossible, he had this to hold onto. An actual tangible, physical reminder that no matter what Grantaire had said, what he’d done or, more accurately, not done, he still saw Enjolras this way. 

And maybe, just maybe, that could be enough.

Maybe he had been right all along. Maybe Grantaire didn’t have to be a sign of failure. Maybe he could be a bellwether of hope.

If Enjolras could let him, at least.

— — — — —

The car ride down to the Pullman National Monument was a long one early the next morning, but Enjolras didn’t mind it. It gave him more time to think, and to figure out what he was going to say to Grantaire.

He had dressed at home, since there wasn’t really a dressing area at the venue, but that also meant there wasn’t really anything to do once they arrived.

And while he was happy to see Combeferre and Courfeyrac and the rest of his friends, there was really only one person he wanted to see or talk to.

He knocked on the door of the office Grantaire was holed up in, holding his breath until he head Grantaire call, “Come in.”

Enjolras poked his head in. “Are you decent?”

“Would it stop you if I wasn’t?” Grantaire asked, giving him a slightly tired smile.

“Probably not,” Enjolras said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to show up today.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “I could say the same to you.”

Enjolras sighed. “I know I deserve that,” he said. “But I did hope that you’d know me enough to trust that I would.”

“I think we both know each other pretty well at this point,” Grantaire said quietly. They were both quiet for a long moment before Grantaire sighed. “I’m not going to ask what you’ve decided,” he said, and Enjolras looked sharply at him. “I’ll find out with everyone else in short order. And I’m not going to try to change your mind.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Enjolras asked, a little surprised.

Grantaire shook his head. “No,” he said. “We both know what our differences are, and there’s nothing I can say that’ll change that.” He reached out and Enjolras stepped over to him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “We do have some things we agree on.”

Enjolras nodded. “We do.”

“For instance, I think that you and I can agree that the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends towards justice.”

Enjolras laughed lightly. “It does tend to be hard to disagree with Dr. King.”

But Grantaire didn’t laugh, searching his face for a long moment before saying, almost hesitantly, “But I think where we differ is that I think the arc is longer than you do. And I’m not convinced that some of the things you do have any impact on its bend.”

Enjolras sucked in a breath. “Well that’s…”

“Harsh?” Grantaire supplied.

“Maybe,” Enjolras said. “But it’s honest, and I appreciate honesty.”

“I have always tried to be honest with you, Enjolras,” Grantaire said quietly. “Even if it means that we’re all dressed up with nowhere to go, so to speak.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “I don’t know if I’m ready to say that.”

Grantaire lifted their hands to his mouth, kissing Enjolras’s knuckles. “Well, you’re going to have to make your mind up soon.”

“And you don’t?”

“Enjolras, my mind was made up a long time ago,” Grantaire told him gently. “Since that very first day in the pods. I love you. And for me, that’s enough. But I know that may not be enough for you. And I just want you know—”

“Grantaire—”

Grantaire shook his head. “I just want you to know that even if it’s not enough for you, the time we’ve spent together has been the best time of my life. You may not be able to see it, but you have made me a better person. Or at least, you’ve made me want to be a better person.” He squeezed Enjolras’s hand. “You’ve sure as hell made me want more than just to know the answer to top, bottom or vers.”

Despite himself, despite everything, Enjolras laughed. “Though you have to admit, we did have a really good time establishing the answer to that question.”

Grantaire grinned. “We sure did.”

Enjolras leaned in and kissed him. “I love you, too.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, letting go of his hand. “And I’ll see you at the altar.”

It was a dismissal if ever Enjolras had heard one, and he took a few steps back. “Is it still called an altar if it’s in front of a justice of the peace?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes affectionately. “Well, you’re the one who referred to the Pullman National Monument as a temple to the contributions of African Americans to the American labor movement when you picked the Clock Tower as the venue, so…”

Enjolras smiled. “Fair enough.”

He started towards the door, though he paused when Grantaire asked, something almost desperate in his voice, “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

Enjolras didn’t turn back around, just squaring his shoulders as he told Grantaire, “Yeah. I think I do.”

— — — — —

The venue was decorated beautifully, and there were so many familiar faces in the crowd, but Enjolras didn’t have eyes for any of them. The only person he saw was Grantaire, waiting for him.

The justice of the peace gave some introductory speech, but Enjolras didn’t hear a word of it. He only started listening when he heard his name. “Enjolras, the time has come to answer the question: is love blind, and do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

He swallowed, and looked in Grantaire’s eyes. “I want to answer the second question first.”

Grantaire blanched. “Oh fuck,” he whispered.

“Because I do,” Enjolras continued. “I absolutely, one hundred percent do take him to be my husband. But I can only take him to be my husband because the answer to the first question is no.”

He could hear the crowd murmur something, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t saying this for them. He wasn’t even really saying this for Grantaire.

He was saying this for himself.

“Love is not blind,” he said, “because I didn’t really fall in love with you until I got to see the whole you, imperfections, idiosyncrasies, and all. What this experiment has taught me is that love can’t survive if we pretend it’s blind to those things or if we ignore those things. It’s only by acknowledging them and growing from them and with them that our love has grown and strengthened and gotten us here today.” Grantaire was beaming at him, and Enjolras smiled as well. “So I may have picked you blind, but I am choosing you today and everyday because I have seen you for who you truly are and I love you for that. So yes, Grantaire, I take you to be my husband, and I will fight every day for you, and for us.”

Grantaire took a deep, shaky breath as the justice of the peace turned to him. “Grantaire, it’s time for you to answer the same questions: is love blind, and do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire was just going to blurt yes, but then he wet his lips, and he took Enjolras’s hands and squeezed them. “To everything there is a season,” he recited, “and a time to every purpose, under Heaven – a time to gain, a time to lose, a—”

Enjolras scowled. “I thought we agreed, no religion,” he hissed, not caring that he was interrupting Grantaire’s wedding vows.

Grantaire just smirked. “And I’m quoting the Byrds quoting Pete Seeger.”

“Who adapted the song from Ecclesiastes!”

Grantaire laughed, a bright sound that filled Enjolras with warmth. “And see, this is why I love us,” he said. “Because we know that there is a time for us to fight, even if it’s in front of a justice of the peace and all of our friends and however many millions of people are watching us at home. And we also know that there is a time for us to make up, and we don’t let our fights ruin we have. Because before I met you, I thought that I would never find the kind of love that made people lose their minds and fight wars—”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, even though he was crying, just a little. “And now you’re misquoting Taylor Swift.”

Thankfully, Grantaire ignored him. “But I did. I found you. So it just wasn’t the right time before, but it is now. It’s our time, and I am so lucky that I get to spend it with you.” He smiled that crooked smile that Enjolras had fallen in love with before he had ever even seen it. “I know that we’re supposed to be answering the question ‘Is love blind’, but I guess what I’m trying to say is I don’t care. Because blind or otherwise, I found you and I love you and against all odds known to man, you love me, too. So yes, I absolutely, unequivocally do.”

Enjolras didn’t wait for the justice of the peace to pronounce them, surging forward to kiss Grantaire, the first kiss that would begin the rest of their lives together. Nothing else mattered, not the reality tv show that had somehow brought them together, or the thousand and one things that would always threaten to tear them apart.

Love was not blind, and Enjolras’s sight had never been clearer.

And he was going to spend every single day with the love of his life.

“I love you,” he told Grantaire, when they finally broke apart. “I love you.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, grinning. “I love you, too.”

“And it’s enough,” Enjolras said, his voice low, for only Grantaire to hear. “You’re enough.”

Grantaire kissed him once more. “I’m just glad you finally saw it.”

“Finally saw you,” Enjolras corrected. “I finally see you, and I love you. All of you. Even the parts I may not always like very much.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together, “like I said when we first talked, you strike me as someone who enjoys a challenge.”

Enjolras laughed, pulling Grantaire to him and kissing his temple. “I absolutely do.”

kjack89:

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.”

Keep reading

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.

kjack89:

Love is Blind (Part Two: Mexico)

Remember when I was like, the next parts will definitely be shorter! Yeah, I lied.

E/R, Modern AU, Love is Blind AU (bad reality TV AU for anyone unfamiliar with the source show).Developing relationship speedrun,with all the misunderstandings that follow.

Read Part One Here.

In the pods, our couples fell in love and got engaged – sight unseen. After finally seeing each other for the very first time, they’re now with us in Mexico for a romantic getaway.

Here, they’ll discover if their physical connection is as strong as their emotional one. Up until this point, the only thing that’s mattered is who they are on the inside. Now, their love will be put to the test.

Their weddings are just four weeks away. Will their looks, backgrounds, and real world insecurities be too much for them to overcome?

Or will love be enough to get them to the altar – and to their happily ever after?

Enjolras didn’t even bother trying to stop his grin when he saw Grantaire get out of the cab at the resort. He ignored the producer off-camera trying to get him to wait for Grantaire to come to him, instead crossing the lobby of the main hotel building in three long strides and pulling Grantaire into a hug. “Careful now,” Grantaire said, his voice a little muffled against Enjolras’s shirt. “My fiancé might see you.”

“Careful yourself,” Enjolras returned, still grinning, “I resemble that remark.”

Keep reading

Love is Blind (Part Two: Mexico)

Remember when I was like, the next parts will definitely be shorter! Yeah, I lied.

E/R, Modern AU, Love is Blind AU (bad reality TV AU for anyone unfamiliar with the source show).Developing relationship speedrun,with all the misunderstandings that follow.

Read Part One Here.

In the pods, our couples fell in love and got engaged – sight unseen. After finally seeing each other for the very first time, they’re now with us in Mexico for a romantic getaway.

Here, they’ll discover if their physical connection is as strong as their emotional one. Up until this point, the only thing that’s mattered is who they are on the inside. Now, their love will be put to the test.

Their weddings are just four weeks away. Will their looks, backgrounds, and real world insecurities be too much for them to overcome?

Or will love be enough to get them to the altar – and to their happily ever after?

Enjolras didn’t even bother trying to stop his grin when he saw Grantaire get out of the cab at the resort. He ignored the producer off-camera trying to get him to wait for Grantaire to come to him, instead crossing the lobby of the main hotel building in three long strides and pulling Grantaire into a hug. “Careful now,” Grantaire said, his voice a little muffled against Enjolras’s shirt. “My fiancé might see you.”

“Careful yourself,” Enjolras returned, still grinning, “I resemble that remark.”

Grantaire smiled crookedly at him before leaning in and kissing him, a sweet, gentle kiss. “Yeah you do,” he agreed. “It’s really good to see you, Apollo.”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “Still on the nickname thing?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Well, the last time I called you that, the conversation ended in a marriage proposal, so I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“Maybe we’ll have to work on finding a better nickname while we’re here,” Enjolras said, frowning slightly as he looked down at Grantaire. “Did you get taller?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”

Enjolras flushed slightly. “I just remember being a little taller than you, that’s all,” he said. “But we’re almost the same height.”

“You just like the idea of me looking up to you,” Grantaire teased.

The producer cleared her throat. “Why don’t you two go check out your suite?” she suggested, in a tone of voice that suggested there was a schedule, and the longer Enjolras and Grantaire stood making small talk in the lobby, the more delayed that schedule became.

“We might as well,” Grantaire told Enjolras, his smile turning dirty. “I want to see what our options are, after all.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes before offering Grantaire his hand. “Sure,” he agreed, “let’s go see how much unusable footage we can film for them.”

Grantaire laughed, and Enjolras grinned, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

This was just like the pods, only better, because now he got to see Grantaire laugh instead of just hearing it through the wall.

He could definitely get used to this.

— — — — —

“I could definitely get used to this,” Grantaire said with a happy sigh, leaning against the railing on their balcony, the sea breeze tousling his hair. 

Enjolras wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. “The suite, the view, or the free drinks?” he asked.

Grantaire turned to face him, grinning. “All of the above,” he said. “Though I think the view is better from this angle.”

Enjolras laughed, leaning in to kiss him before letting go of him to cross over to where the hotel staff had brought their suitcases. “So which bedroom do you want?” he asked.

Grantaire made a face as he picked up his drink, some tropical monstrosity in a tiki glass, from where he had left it and took a sip. “Kind of strange of them to give us a suite with two bedrooms, don’t you think?” he asked. “Considering I doubt most couples will be spending their time doing much other than consummating their relationships.”

“Consummating their relationships?” Enjolras repeated with a snort. “Well, when you put it as romantically as that, I guess it does seem a little strange.”

“On the other hand, I suppose it is practical to have one room to bone in and another to sleep in,” Grantaire said evenly. “Less messy that way, though I sure hope the show is tipping the cleaning staff extra.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Are you ever actually going to get to the point where you ask if we’re spending the night together or not?” 

Grantaire’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “I’m not the one who decided to broach the question by asking which bedroom I wanted in the first place,” he said, taking another sip of his drink.

Enjolras’s lips twitched and he shook his head slowly. “Should’ve known better than to try to pull one over on you,” he said, a little ruefully, sitting down next to Grantaire. 

“You would think, after the crash course in the pods, yeah,” Grantaire said, nodding. He offered Enjolras a sip of his drink, and Enjolras shook his head, his stomach already doing somersaults without the aid of rum, or tequila, or whatever liquor was disguised by sugar and fruit. “So what are you thinking in that pretty head of yours?”

Enjolras hesitated. “Honestly?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “That’s pretty much all I’ve asked from you, yeah.”

“I’m not a prude,” Enjolras said, unsure if he was trying to convince Grantaire or himself. “I’m definitely not a virgin. I’ve had sex on a first date many times over.” He hesitated again. “But somehow this feels too soon.”

“Even though we’re literally engaged?” Grantaire asked, not looking at Enjolras as he stirred his drink. “And have spent countless hours talking to each other?”

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Is that – is that going to be a problem?”

Grantaire pursed his lips. “You know there’s no way for me to say yes to that without sounding like a complete asshole, right?”

“Sure there is,” Enjolras said. “Because all I want from you is honesty, too.” Grantaire didn’t quite look convinced, and Enjolras sighed. “And if you’re worried about pressuring me or whatever, it’s not going to change my mind to know that you’re, I don’t know, disappointed that I’m not ready yet.” 

“I’m not disappointed,” Grantaire said quickly – a little too quickly, and when Enjolras gave him a look, he added,
“I’m not! I’m horny as hell and would really like to have sex with my incredibly hot fiancé, but I’m not disappointed that you’re not ready because I want this to be good.”

Enjolras couldn’t quite stop his smile. “Oh yeah?” he asked, pitching his voice low.

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah. I want this to be better than good, especially since this very well may be the only dick you get for the rest of your life.”

Enjolras snorted. “Again with the romance. Stop, a man can only take so much.” Grantaire laughed and Enjolras took his hand and squeezed it. “I want it to be better than good, too. I want it to be perfect for you.” He leaned in to kiss Grantaire. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Grantaire told him before setting his drink down. “Ok, so sex is off the table for tonight. How about sleeping together?”

Enjolras frowned. “Didn’t we just have that discussion?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Not euphemistically sleeping together, literally sleeping together. You know, sharing a bed. Maybe some spooning if we’re feeling up to it.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“Are you the big spoon, or the little spoon?”

He said it teasingly, but Grantaire looked like he was considering it. “I can go either way, depending on what my partner feels like,” he said, before nudging Enjolras. “Speaking of, big spoon or little spoon?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras admitted. “I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever spooned with anyone.”

Grantaire blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Really,” Enjolras said. “I’m not opposed to it or anything, but very few of my past relationships were really like that.”

“Like that meaning…”

Enjolras shrugged. “Openly affectionate, I guess,” he said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I – well, this probably won’t surprise you but I don’t exactly have a reputation as a warm person, and I suspect that discouraged my past partners from trying to be physically affectionate with me other than when we were having sex.”

He said it plainly enough, but something in Grantaire’s expression darkened. “That does surprise me, actually. You’ve been nothing but open and warm with me.”

Enjolras barked a laugh. “That is entirely untrue, or else you have a pretty selective memory.”

“Well, that may very well be, but I stand by it.” 

Enjolras just shook his head. “As much as I appreciate the perhaps misplaced loyalty, you should know that I can be cold. Indifferent to the point of being borderline cruel. Capable of being terrible.”

He meant it to sound joking, but judging by the look on Grantaire’s face, he hadn’t quite succeeded. “You say that as if you’re quoting someone,” Grantaire said quietly, and Enjolras nodded. “If I ever meet whoever told you those things—”

“What, you’ll kill them?” Enjolras asked, with another sharp, dry laugh.

Grantaire smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No, but I will hurt them,” he said, almost pleasantly. “And I will enjoy doing so.”

“Why?”

“Because I have known you for less than two weeks and I already know you’re a good man,” Grantaire said simply. “A man whose sole question after I brought up trying to kill myself was to make sure that I’m ok now. A man who cares so much about strangers and friends alike, and has an equal desire to protect and fight for them.” He shook his head. “I don’t think someone like that could ever truly be a cold person.”

“Maybe not, but you haven’t spent any time around me when I’m focusing on other things,” Enjolras said quietly. “I meant what I said in the pods: I haven’t always prioritized romantic partners, and that can absolutely make me come off as cold to someone who expects more.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Then that’s a problem of expectation management. And believe me, my expectations are not that high.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Yes, but as we’ve established, it’s because you think you don’t deserve to be showered in love and affection so you therefore don’t expect it.”

“And on the flip side, I rather suspect that since you seem to think I do deserve to be showered in love and affection, you’ll try more than you may have in the past which will subsequently exceed my expectations and make us both happy,” Grantaire told him, a little smugly.

Enjolras just shook his head slowly. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

“Yes, we will,” Grantaire said firmly. “And now that we’ve gotten thoroughly off-track… Big spoon or little spoon?”

Enjolras laughed again, but it was a gentler laugh. “Honestly, I don’t think it’ll matter much. Because no matter which way we go, we’ll find a way to make it fit.”

“Sap,” Grantaire whispered, but he was grinning. “Still, I admire your confidence. And if it’s all the same to you…” He hesitated, suddenly shy. “I’d really like to be the one to hold you tonight. To feel you in my arms, so I can remind myself that this is real.”

Enjolras swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “I think I can manage that.”

“But we’re not going to bed yet, right?” Grantaire asked. “Because it’s still sunny out.”

“Very true,” Enjolras said. “Which is why I thought we could sit out on the balcony and engage in some good, old-fashioned necking.”

“Goodness gracious me,” Grantaire murmured, his grin turning dirty. “I just didn’t think you were that kind of man.”

Enjolras leaned in, whispering in Grantaire’s ear, “How about I show you just what kind of man I am?” before sucking almost languidly on his earlobe.

Grantaire let out a noise like a mixture between a moan and a growl. “I like the sound of that.”

— — — — —

Enjolras rolled over in bed the next morning, blinking sleepily at Grantaire, who was already awake, lying on his side in the sunlight streaming through the window. “Good morning,” Grantaire murmured, leaning in to kiss him.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“You know, I’m surprised,” Grantaire remarked. “You always struck me as an early riser.”

Enjolras shifted to be closer to him. “I am when I need to be. But we’re on vacation, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to sleep in a little.” He ran a hand through his curls. “How’d you sleep?”

Instead of answering the question, Grantaire drew his fingers up Enjolras’s side, smiling slightly when Enjolras shivered at the touch. “Remember how you said we would work on finding you a better nickname? Well, I think I have one.”

“Do tell.”

Grantaire grinned. “I was thinking maybe foghorn.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Foghorn?”

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah, or, like, freight train.”

Enjolras scowled. “Do I want to know?”

Grantaire’s grin widened. “I’ll take it that you had no idea that you snore?”

“I do not,” Enjolras said, affronted.

“You really, really do,” Grantaire told him. “Don’t worry, I find it cute…mostly.”

“Cute enough to put up with it for the rest of your life?” Enjolras asked, only half-joking.

Grantaire pretended to consider it for a moment. “Well, let’s just say I find you cute enough to put up with it until I’m able to buy myself a pair of ear plugs.”

“Ass.”

“Yeah, but you love me.” 

Enjolras sighed. “Yeah, I do.” He kissed him once more before asking, “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Agenda?” Grantaire repeated. “Didn’t you just say we were on vacation?”

Enjolras sat up and stretched. “Yes, which applies to things like sleeping in. But it doesn’t mean we need to throw all order out the window.”

Grantaire followed suit a little slower, shaking his head almost ruefully. “Wow you really are a control freak, aren’t you.”

“No!” Grantaire gave him a look, and he amended, “Ok, well, maybe a little. I just don’t like being bored. And to be entirely honest with you, the idea of doing whatever it is people do at a resort, of sitting in the sun doing nothing is kind of my worst nightmare.”

“Well, yeah, look at how pale you are,” Grantaire said reasonably. “You’re bound to get sunburned even with some SPF 200 applied every half hour.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Inevitable sunburn aside, I don’t do well when I have nothing to do. I go a little stir crazy.”

“So I guess a trip to the beach is out of the question?”

“Not out of the question,” Enjolras hedged. “I’m sure I’ll find something to do.”

Grantaire nodded. “You know, I bet the hotel has a library or some books that you can borrow, and you can bring something with you to read.”

Enjolras brightened. “That doesn’t sound terrible,” he said. “But what will you do?”

“What else?” Grantaire said, grinning. “I’m going to sketch you.”

— — — — —

At first, Grantaire’s plan worked.

Emphasis on ‘at first’.

But by the second hour of sitting on the beach, Enjolras so bored that he was tempted to shred the shitty novel he’d grabbed into confetti just to give himself something to do. “Are you allowed to talk to us?” he asked the cameraman hopefully, having already been shushed four separate times by Grantaire.

The cameraman hesitated. “We’re really not supposed to,” he hedged. “I mean, we can offer suggestions for what you should do if we think it’ll help your story arc—”

“Our what?” Enjolras asked.

“You know, like what kind of story the show is going to tell about you.” Enjolras stared blankly at him, and the cameraman sighed before elaborating, “Like if you’re the couple that fights all the time, we can suggest a good shot for shooting an argument or something like that.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “And what is our story arc?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to tell you that,” the cameraman said. “It might make you act differently.”

Enjolras just looked flatly at him. “Isn’t it mostly about the editing anyway?”

The cameraman laughed and shook his head. “Fine,” he relented. “At the moment, the producers are leaning towards you two being the ‘meant to be’ couple of the season.”

“Meant to be, huh?” Enjolras nudged Grantaire. “Did you hear that? We’re apparently meant to be.”

“That’s nice,” Grantaire murmured, not looking up from his sketchbook.

Enjolras sighed. “Can I ask how much longer you’re planning on doing that?”

“Sketching?” Grantaire asked, finally looking up. “Honestly I could do this all day, provided the drinks keep coming.” He glanced carefully at Enjolras. “But I’ll take it you’re about 30 seconds away from losing your mind?”

“Something like that,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire nodded and added one last bit of shading to his sketch before closing his sketchbook and tossing it down onto the sand. “Ok,” he said, stretching. “So how about we take advantage of the sun and the heat and the proximity to the ocean and go swimming?”

Enjolras made a face. “I’m not a huge fan of swimming,” he said.

Grantaire winked. “For what it’s worth, by swimming I more meant making out in the water, but if you’d rather not get those gorgeous curls wet…” Enjolras scowled and Grantaire laughed, holding his hands up defensively. “Point taken. How about we go for a walk, then?”

“Walk to where?” Enjolras asked, knowing that he sounded petulant but unable to stop himself. “We can see a mile down the beach in either direction and there’s nothing to walk to.”

For a brief moment, a look of frustration flashed across Grantaire’s face, so quickly that Enjolras half-thought he might’ve imagined it, especially since it was replaced by Grantaire’s usual smile. “Well, in that case, there’s only one thing left to do.”

He leaned in, kissing Enjolras, cupping his cheek and opening his mouth against Enjolras’s to turn the kiss hot and heady. For a moment, Enjolras returned the kiss, but then he saw the cameraman shift out of the corner of his eye and he was suddenly keenly aware that they were surrounded by other people. 

Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have bothered him – ordinarily, he’d enjoy the moment even more knowing it would undoubtedly make some homophobes squirm – but something about it threw him off and he pulled back. Grantaire frowned, searching Enjolras’s expression for a moment before asking, “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, fine, just – not here, y’know?”

This time there was no mistaking the frustration in Grantaire’s expression. “So is there anything you would like to do here?” he asked, a little sourly.

“Right here on this beach?” Enjolras asked. “Not really. I’d kind of rather be anywhere else than here.”

Grantaire recoiled, his expression darkening. “Wow, ok,” he muttered.

Enjolras frowned. “What?”

Grantaire shook his head, reaching for his sketchbook. “Nothing. Just, you’d rather be anywhere else than here with me.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I said—”

“You know what?” Grantaire interrupted. “I have an idea of what you can do. You can follow me as I go to the bar and get a fucking drink.”

The sudden change in tone took Enjolras by such surprise that Grantaire was on his feet and twenty feet down the beach before Enjolras scrambled to follow him. He trailed silently after him, trying to find something to say, but he couldn’t seem to find the words.

He waited until Grantaire had ordered a drink at the bar and taken a sip before asking, his voice low, “Are we going to talk about what happened back there?”

“What do you mean?” Grantaire asked.

“I mean you getting irritated and needing a drink to deal with it.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I always need a drink, Apollo.”

Enjolras hesitated. “Should we talk about that, too?”

“No.” Grantaire’s voice was sharp, and Enjolras flinched. “This is not a cry for help. This is an acknowledgment that sometimes life is shitty and sometimes it’s easier to deal with that shittiness when you’re not fully sober.” Given the look Grantaire gave him, Enjolras could only imagine what his own expression looked like. “And I can see I’ve done exactly nothing to put you at ease.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “Not to much, no.”

Grantaire made a face. “Well let me put it to you this way – of all my coping mechanisms, my shrink isn’t particularly concerned about this one, ok?”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s as reassuring as you think it is.”

Grantaire held his drink out to Enjolras. “Have one yourself and maybe you’ll be more reassured.”

Enjolras frowned and shook his head again. “No thanks.”

Grantaire shrugged and took a sip before asking, “What are you, some sort of teetotaler?”

“Not really, no,” Enjolras said. “I just personally don’t enjoy being drunk.”

Grantaire let out a dry, humorless laugh. “And I don’t enjoy being sober, so I’m not entirely sure where that leaves us.”

Enjolras jerked a shrug. “About the same place we started in, I guess.”

“Yeah. I guess so,” Grantaire said noncommittally.

They weren’t, of course. The day had started so well and now it felt like there was a mile of space between them, and Enjolras wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten to this point. He cleared his throat. “Well, I think I’m going to go back to the hotel room, maybe take a quick nap or something. 

Anything to get away from the situation.

Grantaire took another sip of his drink and leered at Enjolras. “Want some company?”

In past relationships, Enjolras might’ve taken him up on it, attempting to clear the tension with sex, but he had meant what he had told Grantaire yesterday. He wanted to do this right. And this certainly wasn’t it. “Not when you’ve been drinking, no.”

“Wait, seriously?” Grantaire said, incredulous. “I’ve had like a sip, it’s not like I’m too drunk to consent.”

“Still,” Enjolras said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I would just prefer that we were both sober for our first time.”

Grantaire let out a low whistle. “So I guess we’re just never going to have sex, then.”

He said it almost snidely, and Enjolras flinched. “At this rate, probably not.”

Grantaire’s expression hardened. “Well, if it bothers you so much to be around me when I’m drinking, I’ll make myself scarce.”

Enjolras sighed. “I didn’t say that—”

“And I can sleep in the other bedroom tonight.”

Enjolras felt stung. “I– That’s your prerogative,” he managed, even though he felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Yeah, it sure is.” Grantaire raised his drink in a mock-toast. “I’ll see you later.”

Enjolras stared after him as he walked away, completely at a loss for how they had gotten to this point, and, perhaps more importantly, how they were going to find a way to move forward. He glanced over at the cameraman, who had followed them from the beach. “So much for the meant to be couple, huh,” he said, his own voice sounding hollow to his ears.

— — — — —

True to his word, Grantaire spent the night in the other bedroom, not that Enjolras would have noticed since he stayed out well past when Enjolras finally went to bed.

Given how late he’d stayed out, Enjolras was surprised when he got out of bed the next morning and found Grantaire sitting in the kitchen of their hotel room, cradling a mug between his hands. “Hey,” Enjolras said, a little cautiously.

“Hey,” Grantaire returned.

“How long have you been up?”

Grantaire shrugged. “A half hour, maybe,” he said, jerking his chin over his shoulder as he added, “I made coffee.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras said. He poured himself a mug before joining Grantaire at the table. He took a long sip of coffee before asking, a little hesitantly. “Do you want to talk about yesterday?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Grantaire asked mildly, before making a face. “Ok, dumb question, I guess.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “We promised each other honesty, so I have to tell you: yesterday was the first time I thought we might not make it.”

Grantaire’s eyes snapped to his. “Because of my drinking? Because no offense, but you already knew about that.”

“No, not because of that,” Enjolras said, though he paused before adding, “Or at least, not just because of that.” He shook his head. “You shut down and you shut me out, and if you do that everytime we don’t agree on something—”

“I won’t,” Grantaire said, a little too quickly, and when Enjolras gave him a look, he told him, his voice low, “I promise. Yesterday was just…it was a lot.”

“You’re telling me,” Enjolras muttered. He took a deep breath before asking, “So we’re ok?”

Grantaire gave him a hesitant smile. “We are more than ok.”

Enjolras nodded before asking, a little awkwardly, “So what did you do yesterday after we…”

Grantaire shrugged. “Not a whole lot. Went for a walk, sat in the hot tub for a bit…and I signed us up for sightseeing tour of Chichen Itza.”

“You – what?”

Grantaire managed a real smile. “Well, I got the message yesterday. You’re not really a sit around and do nothing kind of guy, so I thought at least this way, we could look at a cool pyramid while roundly abusing the conquistadors for ruining everything.”

Enjolras laughed. “That does sound like a good time.” He hesitated before adding, “And to be clear, I’m perfectly happy sitting around and doing nothing, at least, when I have my phone or my computer. Believe me, I can doomscroll with the best of them.”

Grantaire laughed. “Now that I do believe.”

Enjolras drained the rest of his coffee and stood. “Well then, I guess we should get showered so that we don’t miss our tour.”

“Good call,” Grantaire said. “Do you want to shower first, or…”

Enjolras shrugged. “I was thinking we could save time,” he said casually, and when Grantaire just stared blankly at him, he added pointedly, “And share.”

A slow grin spread across Grantaire’s face. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard yet.”

“I thought you’d be amenable,” Enjolras said smugly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes so hard it looked like he pulled a muscle. “Amenable, Jesus Christ, who the hell talks like—”

He broke off as Enjolras pulled his shirt off. “Are you joining me or not?”

“Oh yeah,” Grantaire said, stariing at Enjolras’s bare chest. “I’m right behind you.”

He stood, crossing to Enjolras in two long strides and kissing him hungrily. Enjolras just laughed as he and Grantaire stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom together, unable to keep their hands off each other, the events of the previous day at last behind them.

— — — — —

Between the shower and the trip off of the resort, Enjolras felt much better when they returned to their room that afternoon, in no small part because their trip had been entirely unaccompanied. “You can’t just leave the property without telling us,” one of the producers had told them, exasperated, as they waited to board the tour bus.

“Not according to our contracts,” Enjolras had replied, just a little smugly. “There’s nothing about not being allowed to take resort-sponsored trips offsite.”

“But we don’t have permission to shoot offsite!”

“Damn, that sucks,” Grantaire had said, in a tone that suggested he could not possibly care less about their filming permissions. “See you when we get back, I guess.”

To his credit, their cameraman didn’t look too put out when he rejoined them after their bus returned and followed them up to their hotel room. Enjolras pulled out his key card, glancing back over his shoulder at Grantaire as he opened the door. “I was honestly half-expecting them to kick us out,” he confessed.

Grantaire laughed. “What about our contracts?” he asked. “You sounded so sure earlier.”

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, I mostly made that up, but—” He broke off as they caught sight of the gift basket waiting for them on the table with a bottle of champagne and a note. “Oh, boy. What do you think that says?”

“Only one way to find out,” Grantaire said bracingly, picking the card up and reading out loud, “Gentlemen, now that you’ve gotten to know your partner, it’s time to get to know the other couples. Please join us for a party by the beach this evening.”

They both looked at each other. “Could be fun,” Enjolras said cautiously.

Grantaire made a face as he tossed the card back down on the table. “Relaxing on the beach may be your idea of hell, but this is mine,” he said.

“Really?” Enjolras said. “I’d’ve thought you’d enjoy the free drinks.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Free drinks, sure, but a cocktail party means small talk. And I hate small talk.”

“That surprises me.”

“Why?”

“Because normally you love to hear yourself talk.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Ha, ha,” he said dryly. “What about you? I can’t imagine small talk is something that engages your mind.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “Maybe not, but I’m used to it. In my line of work, I have to attend a lot of networking events, campaign fundraisers, and the like, so mastering the art of small talk was kind of necessary if I wanted to actually get anything accomplished.”

Grantaire looked like Enjolras had just told him he enjoyed getting bamboo shoots shoved under his fingernails. “Well then in that case, you can do the small talk for me while I just stand there, looking cute and drinking drinks.”

Enjolras laughed. “Deal.”

An hour later, both men were showered, dressed, and ready to head to the party. Grantaire had managed to finish the entire bottle of champagne in this time, but Enjolras knew he was trying to calm his nerves and so decided not to make a comment about it.

And when they arrived at the party, he began to regret that he hadn’t had the same idea. 

“I need a drink,” Grantaire muttered, eyeing the tiki bar set up in the corner, and Enjolras took his hand.

“For once, I agree with you,” he said, letting Grantaire lead the way to the bar.

Once they both had a drink in hand – some brown liquor in a glass with no ice for Grantaire, something bright blue that tasted like coconut for Enjolras – they made the rounds, introducing themselves to the other couples. Most were folks that Enjolras barely remembered even meeting in the pods – and in one case, someone he had hoped to never meet in real life, which, judging by the side-eye Grantaire gave the man as they brushed past, was a sentiment he thankfully shared. But then they stopped to introduce themselves to a couple hovering in the background, and even before he spoke, Enjolras knew who one of them was.

“Feuilly?” he asked, and the man in question lit up.

“Enjolras? Oh, man, I didn’t expect to see you here!”

Ordinarily, Enjolras wasn’t much one for hugging, but Feuilly was the person he had spoken with in the pods most besides Grantaire, so he couldn’t help but reach out and pull him into a one-armed hug. They had realized within about the first fifteen minutes of talking that there wasn’t going to be a romantic connection, but Feuilly’s life journey was fascinating to Enjolras, and he had assured him that he was going to track him down once the show was over so that they could be friends in real life.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, either,” he said, releasing him. “How are you? How have things been going?”

The person next to Feuilly cleared his throat, and for the first time Enjolras looked at the frankly menacing-looking man standing at Feuilly’s shoulder. “I’m Bahorel,” he said, holding a hand out for Enjolras to shake, “since it seems like my fiancé doesn’t plan on introducing me.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes, but it was with obvious affection. “Last I checked you didn’t need anyone to speak for you,” he said, and Bahorel laughed.

His grip was surprisingly gentle as he shook Enjolras’s hand, and Enjolras quickly added, “Oh, and of course, I should introduce my fiancé, Grantaire.”

Bahorel looked Grantaire up and down. “You box?” He asked.

The question seemed entirely out of left field to Enjolras, but Grantaire just half-smiled. “Sometimes.” He nodded toward the empty glass in Bahorel’s hand. “You drink?”

“Sometimes,” Bahorel shot back, his smile widening. “Refill time?”

Grantaire threw back the remainder of his drink. “Refill time,” he agreed. He wrapped an arm around Enjolras’s waist and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You’ll be ok?” he asked, glancing at Feuilly, an unreadable look on his face.

“Of course,” Enjolras told him with a smile. “Feuilly and I will just catch up while you’re gone.”

Grantaire’s smile seemed brittle. “I’m sure you will,” he muttered, and was gone before Enjolras had a chance to ask him what that was supposed to mean. But he put it from his mind as he and Feuilly started talking again, picking up exactly where they had left off in the pods. 

In fact, they were so caught up in talking to each other that it took them both an embarrassingly long time to realize their respective fiancés had never returned with their refills. Enjolras glanced down at his watch, surprised to see that well over an hour had passed, and he glanced at Feuilly. “Any idea where they ran off to?”

Feuilly shrugged as he finished his beer. “Knowing Bahorel? Nowhere good, that’s for sure.”

Enjolras laughed. “You seem to know him pretty well already.”

Feuilly shrugged again, a slow smile creeping across his face. “Yeah, well, he’s…” He trailed off as if looking for the right words. “Honestly, he’s kind of my best friend already, which is insane considering I didn’t know him all of twelve days ago.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I know what you mean,” he said. “I genuinely didn’t think that feeling like this was possible in this timeframe, if ever.”

“Well, I’m happy for you,” Feuilly told him.

“Me too,” Enjolras said. “And now I suppose we should go try to find them.”

“Probably,” Feuilly agreed, before adding, a little archly, “Good luck.”

For lack of anywhere better to look, Enjolras headed back to their hotel room, fully expecting to find Grantaire either passed out or waiting for him, but to his surprise, the room was dark and Grantaire was nowhere to be seen. For half a moment, he considered going to look for him, but considering how large the resort was, and without having any idea where he’d gone, he figured his best course of action was just to wait for Grantaire to return.  

He wasn’t particularly worried, at least not at first, but as the time stretched from fifteen minutes of waiting to a half hour to an hour to three, Enjolras had surpassed worried and gone straight to panicked. He was just about to contact the production team and demand that they hunt Grantaire down when the door to their hotel room opened with a bang. “Oops,” Grantaire said with a laugh, a little too loudly. His smile faded slightly when he saw Enjolras sitting on the couch. “Thought you’d be in bed by now.”

“And I thought you’d be back here long before now,” Enjolras said, frowning slightly. His frown deepened when Grantaire stumbled into the light, revealing the beginnings of what promised to be a magnificent black eye, as well as a split lip. He was up on his feet before he knew it, crossing to Grantaire’s side instantly. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, reaching out to cup Grantaire’s cheek, surprised when the other man jerked away.

“You know, it’s not the good of a story,” Grantaire told him, and for the first time, Enjolras recognized the stench of alcohol that seemed to emanate from him. “And if it’s all the same, I’d rather it waited until morning.”

“And I’d rather you explain why you smell like a distillery and look like you got your ass kicked,” Enjolras said sharply.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Please,” he scoffed. “I gave as good as I got.” Enjolras didn’t look remotely amused and he sighed, brushing past him to flop down on the couch. “If you must know, Bahorel and I went down to the beach and, after several more drinks, we decided to beat the shit out of each other.”

He said it casually, as if it was as normal as deciding to play video games or watch a movie, but Enjolras just stared at him. “You – what?” he said in disbelief. “But you two seemed to hit it off.”

“Oh, we did,” Grantaire assured him. “Though obviously not as well as you and Feuilly.”

Something about the way he said it made Enjolras pause. “Feuilly and I are friends,” he said cautiously. “And I don’t see what that has to do with deciding to get in a physical altercation with each other.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, drawing the word out slowly, a horrible smile twisting his expression, “it seemed like a better idea than watching our fiancés flirt with each other all night.”

Enjolras stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Spare me,” Grantaire practically spat. “You could barely take your eyes off of him.”

“I – that is not true,” Enjolras spluttered.

“Oh yeah?” Grantaire said, smiling that horrible smile again. “How long did it take before you realized that I was gone?

“That’s – that’s not—”

Grantaire barked a laugh. “Sure it’s not.”

Enjolras took a deep breath, trying very hard not to lose his temper and make the situation even worse. “Look, I don’t have to defend talking to a friend to you, but even if we were flirting, which we weren’t, that doesn’t excuse you getting drunk and getting in a fight. I mean, Christ, do you have any idea what I’ve been through, not knowing where you were or if you were ok?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Grantaire’s eyes flashed as he snapped, “And do you have any idea what I’ve been through? To watch the person you love flirting with another man without even sparing a second thought to the person he’s committed to spending the rest of his life with?” Enjolras flinched and looked away as Grantaire added, “Because if this is what the rest of my life is going to feel like, I’d rather get the shit beaten out of me, thanks.”

“And if this is what the rest of my life is going to be like, sitting at home and waiting to see if you make it back alive or not, maybe we shouldn’t bother.”

The words were out of his mouth before Enjolras could stop them, and he knew from the look on Grantaire’s face that he had crossed a line. “Then maybe we shouldn’t,” Grantaire said quietly.

Enjolras sighed. “I’m going to bed before I say something that I regret,” he said, before adding, “You should put some ice on that eye.”

Grantaire’s expression twisted. “It’s not like a black eye is going to detract from anything my face has to offer.”

Enjolras threw his hands up in frustration. “You know what – do what you want. You always seem to, anyway.”

With that, he turned and left Grantaire in the living room, heading for the bedroom he had claimed as his own. It took all his self-control to not slam the door after him, and took even more self-control to stay in bed staring up at the ceiling for the next few hours without going to check on Grantaire.

— — — — —

Needless to say, Enjolras didn’t sleep well, and was out of bed well before the sun, making a pot of coffee and waiting for Grantaire to join him.

Eventually, the man emerged from his bedroom, looking even worse in the morning light than he had the night before. “Good morning.” Grantaire just grunted, and Enjolras watched him shuffle over to the coffeemaker to pour himself a cup. “Are you ready to talk about last night?”

Grantaire groaned. “Can I at least get some coffee in me before you start yelling at me again?” he asked.

“I wasn’t planning on yelling,” Enjolras said, as evenly as he could. “But we do need to talk.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he huffed, “then talk if you want to so fucking badly.”

“That’s now how this works. I’m not going to sit here and lecture you. This is a conversation.”

Grantaire took a sip of coffee. “Sure sounds like a lecture to me.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Then maybe it is a lecture, because maybe a lecture is what you need. I was scared last night, Grantaire, and if this is going to work—”

“Maybe we both need to be honest about the likelihood of this working,” Grantaire said flatly.

Enjolras stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I mean, maybe we are just too different. Maybe the things that you thought you found charming are actually just irritating now.” He took another sip of coffee before adding, “Maybe we’re not actually meant to be.”

Enjolras swallowed, hard. “Is that actually what you think?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know. But at this point, maybe it’s worth discussing.”

Enjolras’s chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, and he took a moment before telling Grantaire carefully, “I know we both said some things last night but that doesn’t mean—”

“Then what the hell does it mean?” Grantaire asked tiredly. “Because you knew what you were getting into and for you to say last night that you don’t want to spend the rest of your life like this—”

“I don’t!” Enjolras snapped, frustrated. “But I also don’t think that things have to be like they were last night. How things were last night was, I don’t know, not normal for either of us, and I don’t think we—”

“Was it, though?” Grantaire interrupted. “Abnormal, I mean? Because thus far, outside of the pods, we’ve spent more time fighting than anything else. Maybe that’s not what a lifelong relationship is built on.” He shrugged. “Besides, you seemed pretty ready to end things last night.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “If that’s the impression that I gave you, then I’m sorry, but—”

Grantaire’s expression hardened. “It’s not the impression you gave me. It’s exactly what you said.”

“No, it’s—” Enjolras broke off, frustrated. “I need a break,” he said. “This conversation is clearly not working, so—”

“So you’re done,” Grantaire said, his expression twisting. “Great. Well, do you want the ring back now or later?”

He stood, not waiting for a reply, and Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That’s not—” he started impatiently, breaking off when Grantaire ignored him, heading toward the door. “Grantaire. Grantaire!”

But Grantaire was already gone, the hotel room door slamming after him. Enjolras swore under his breath before running a hand through his hair.

Half of him was tempted to just let Grantaire go, to just call it quits and go back to his life without having to deal with this. And truthfully, if it was anyone but Grantaire, that’s exactly what he would do.

But it was Grantaire, and despite everything, Enjolras knew that if he let him go, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Which meant the only thing left to do was to go after him.

— — — — —

It didn’t take long to find him, perched on top of a sandy dune down by the beach. It was too early for the beach to be crowded yet, which Enjolras thought was probably a good thing as he trekked over to him.

Grantaire didn’t look away from the gulf as Enjolras approached. “What are you doing here, Apollo?” he asked tiredly.

“We didn’t finish our conversation,” Enjolras told him, sitting down in the sand next to him. “Should I read anything into you once again trying to use that inane nickname?”

Grantaire glanced over at him. “Only that you looked more like a vengeful God than ever before, coming down from on high to smite a mere mortal.”

Enjolras didn’t smile. “I didn’t come here to smite anyone.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“I told you, we didn’t finish our conversation.”

Grantaire huffed a sigh. “It sounded pretty final to me.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Enjolras said, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “That’s not something you get to unilaterally decide. And from here on out, you don’t get to just leave when things get hard or complicated. Not if we want this to work.”

Grantaire shook his head. “And as I told you, maybe it’s time we were honest about the likelihood of this working.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “And I’m telling you that I am. I’m not saying this is going to be easy, but I still think it can work.” He hesitated before adding, “Provided you still want it to, anyway.”

He didn’t know what he expected Grantaire to say, but it warmed his entire body when Grantaire looked over at him, surprised. “Of course I still want it to.”

As much as Enjolras wanted to leave it at that, he knew he couldn’t. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

Grantaire sighed. “Want it to and think that it’s going to are two very different things.”

Enjolras nodded slowly, beginning to see where Grantaire was going. “So you want us to work but you don’t think we’re going to?”

“I haven’t seen a whole lot of evidence to the contrary,” Grantaire said, looking back out at the water, his shoulders tense. “So I guess I just figured…I don’t know. Maybe it’s easier this way.”

“Easier what way?”

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “If we just call it quits now.”

Enjolras took a moment to answer. “I know you’re a cynic, but I never got the impression from the pods that you were this self-defeatist,” he said finally. “Don’t you think this is worth fighting for?”

Grantaire shrugged again. “Only if this is a fight we can win.”

“What makes you think that it’s not?”

Grantaire managed a faint smile. “Where do you want me to start?”

“At the very beginning, a very good place to start,” Enjolras said, though he sighed when Grantaire didn’t laugh. “C’mon,” he said, nudging him. “Why do you think that this isn’t a fight we can win?”

“Because I know I’m not good enough for you!” Grantaire burst, and Enjolras stared at him. “And I have just been waiting for you to figure it out and leave.”

Enjolras felt like he had just been blindsided. “What are you talking about?”

“On the beach, and then last night—” Grantaire shrugged miserably. “I’m not enough for you. You were bored hanging out with me, and then you were so excited to talk to Feuilly. And you barely want to even touch me in public, and you don’t want to have sex with me—” His voice broke and Enjolras was so tempted to reach out and hold him, but he he hesistated, not sure if it would do more harm than good. “I told you, in the pods, that I was scared that you wouldn’t be attracted to me when you saw me and I guess, I guess I just feel like maybe that worst fear is coming true. And so I figured I might as well help it along.”

“No,” Enjolras said fiercely, and now he did reach out, pulling Grantaire to him and wrapping his arms around him. “Oh my God no, no, absolutely not.”

Grantaire shook his head, though he didn’t try to pull away. “It’s ok, you can be honest with me. I want you to be honest with me. I know I’m not exactly a catch.”

Enjolras clenched his jaw. “Remember a few days ago, when I was quoting what someone said about me, and you said if you ever meet them…”

Grantaire half-smiled. “What, if you ever meet whomever told me that I wasn’t a catch, you’ll hurt them?”

“No, I will kill them.”

Enjolras said it unflinchingly, and Grantaire’s smile faded. “Be serious.”

“That’s my line.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might smile again, but he settled for shaking his head. “Look, whoever said that to me isn’t important. What’s important is that they weren’t wrong, especially compared to someone like you. No one in their right mind would find me attractive or want to be with me.”

His words had turned bitter, and Enjolras took a deep breath. “I really wish you wouldn’t talk that way about me.”

Grantaire looked at him, startled. “What?”

“Saying that I’m not in my right mind,” Enjolras said gently. “Because I do find you attractive and I do want to be with you.” Grantaire opened his mouth to argue but Enjolras didn’t let him. “I love you.”

Grantaire’s expression flickered. “In spite of everything?”

“Because of everything.” Enjolras stated it plainly, like he was stating a fact instead of trying to convince Grantaire. “I fell in love with you in the pods and that hasn’t changed since getting to finally see you. The only difference is that now I can kiss you whenever I want.”

“But you haven’t seemed to want to do that very much lately.”

For the first time since they had started talking, Grantaire sounded unsure, and Enjolras’s heart clenched. “Look, I’m not good at this,” he blurted. “At relationships. I don’t always read the signs correctly, if at all, and I’m really bad at knowing without being told when my partner needs more from me. So you have to tell me, at least at first. You have to tell me when I’m doing something that makes you feel bad, at least at first. It’s the only way this is going to work.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “I’ll try,” he offered, a little tentatively.

“And I will try to be better,” Enjolras told him. “But you also can’t just walk away or pick a fight when things get hard. We have to both put in the work to keep going.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, hesitating before adding, “but when you said you needed a break, I thought you meant from this, from me, from us.”

Enjolras winced, regretting his previous choice of words. “Maybe break was the wrong word to use. I needed a time out.”

Grantaire managed a shaky smile. “To keep from throttling me with your bare hands?”

Enjolras returned his smile. “Something like that.”

Grantaire leaned over to rest his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “So where does that leave us?”

“At the moment?” Enjolras asked. “Well, right now I’d very much like to kiss you. And past that, I meant it – I love you and I want to make this work.”

“I love you, too,” Grantaire said quietly. “And I also want to make this work.”

Enjolras glanced over at him. “And do you actually think that it’s going to?”

Grantaire hesitated. “I think that it could,” he hedged, and when Enjolras just arched an eyebrow, he laughed and said, “It’s as good as you’re gonna get from me.”

“That’s ok,” Enjolras said. “If I have to, I’ll believe in us enough for the both of us.” He laced his fingers with Grantaire’s before raising their joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to Grantaire’s knuckles. “I love you.”

Grantaire smiled. “I love you, too. Now about that kiss…”

Enjolras laughed, leaning in and kissing him. It was almost tentative at first, both men holding back, but then Grantaire sighed against Enjolras’s mouth and Enjolras cupped his cheek, licking into his mouth as if he was trying to drink him in.

Because he was. Because he wanted this – because he wanted Grantaire.

And he wanted Grantaire to never again doubt that.

But Grantaire pulled back, just slightly, just enough for Enjolras to hesitate, though he stopped when he saw the soft look in his eyes. Then Grantaire leaned in again, his nose just brushing against Enjolras’s before he again captured his lips in a soft, unhurried kiss. As if they had all the time in the world, as if they could live forever on that beach in Mexico, the warm sea breeze as their only companion.

Grantaire nipped lightly at Enjolras’s bottom lip and he let out a groan that was probably not appropriate for a television audience. That thought was enough to ground him, and enough to force him to pull away before they went too far. “You know what I’m thinking?” he asked, a little breathlessly.

“What?” Grantaire murmured, his eyes not leaving Enjolras’s lips.

“We should move this somewhere more comfortable.”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened. “Your room or mine?” he asked.

“Ours,” Enjolras told him simply. “Let’s go back to ours.”

The time for sexy beach parties and cocktails is over – we’re throwing our couples back into reality. They have their devices back, and they’re headed home, where they’re going to be living together in a new, shared apartment.

Will they judge each other based on what they discover in the real world? Will looks, age, race, family, even financial circumstances matter?

They started with love, a true, emotional connection, and now they’re just three weeks away from the altar. Will they prove that love is blind?

We’ll find out – on the next episode.