en souriant: an exr fanzine | issue 1 by ENJOLTAIREFANZINE

an ENJOLRAS x GRANTAIRE fanzine

EN SOURIANT no. 1 a christmas/new yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s edition

EDITORSâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; NOTE ~

This first issue of en souriant: an exr fanzine is dedicated to: Every single wonderful person who has contributed their words and art; to those who have supported this project from the start to the finish; and to those who will read, share and enjoy! We thank you! <3 with love, em (@softegrantaire) and clarisse (@enjols)

TABLE OF CONTENTS ART, rintaire, p.1 ART, msprongsie, p.4 FIC, patroclae, p.5-p.11 POETRY, apieceofsunburned, p.12 ART, alicemalaika, p.13 POETRY, enjols, p.14-p.15 ART, marcellin-e, p.16 ART, juanjoltaire, p.17 POETRY, softegrantaire, p.18-p.21 ART, weisbrot, p.22 FIC, godlingcaptainchristina, p.23-p.29 ART, marloart, p.30

by: msprongsie

Secret Santa a fanfic by patroclae

Secret Santa was just the fucking worst. Joly was already on the verge of tears, Enjolras was ready to burst into a dramatic speech, and Grantaire was sulking in the corner – though not much was new there. Courfeyrac had snatched the hat off Joly’s head, even though they were outside – and yes he knew perfectly well it was cold and Joly was liable to get a cold. Inside the hat were 13 names, one for each of the Amis, plus Cosette, Eponine, and Gavroche – who insisted upon being included. Enjolras, of course, disagreed about the whole affair and, though not remotely religious, was talking about how Christmas no longer had it’s ‘true meaning’ and was nothing but a Capitalist cash-grab. ‘Is that Cynicism, Enjolras? I haven’t been a bad influence, have I?’ Grantaire spoke up, he wasn’t all too cynical about Christmas, who would complain about presents, food, and copious amounts of mulled wine? He was just pissed off that his dad had sent him a Christmas card, for the first time in years. That and Enjolras was giving him a headache. Enjolras was about to retort when Courf slid in and shook the hat under Enjolras’ nose. ‘Pick a name! Pick a name! Don’t pick me though, okay? I want a good present.’ ‘I’m great at giving presents!’ Enjolras replied, affronted. ‘Yeah, I for one would love to get a handwritten speech, or maybe a pamphlet of some sort’ Eponine smirked from behind Courfeyrac. Enjolras didn’t reply but faked a frown and fished around in the hat for a name, swirling his hand through the pieces of paper. ‘It’s not the fucking hunger games, Enjolras, just pick one!’ Bahorel shouted from his seat. Enjolras ignored him and eventually picked one from the hat, he opened the tightly folded piece of paper and looked at the name, his forehead creased a little. ‘Uh oh! I just saw a crinkle! Who did you get?’ Courf, who had earlier preached the importance of the ‘Secret’ aspect of secret Santa, attempted to snatch Enjolras’ piece of paper. Enjolras lightly smacked him on the back of the head and tucked the paper into the pocket of his jeans. ‘Alright then let me get mine.’ Eponine reached over Courf’s shoulder and picked up the first bit of paper her hand touched. She hastily unfurled it before crumpling it back up and shoving it into her handbag. It went on like this until everyone had picked a name out of the hat. Joly who was second to last, took his hat with him and Courfeyrac, holding the last name in his hand went over to Grantaire and dropped it on his table. ‘I don’t think anyone has got themselves yet, tell me if you do.’ ‘I’d love to get myself, then I don’t have to worry about getting a thoughtful present and I can just buy myself some food.’ ‘Not wine?’ ‘That’s what I meant by food.’ Grantaire opened his bit of paper carefully, he raised an eyebrow slightly and muttered under his breath ‘Just my luck’. Then slightly louder ‘No I don’t have myself, I wish.’ Grantaire sighed and stood up. ‘Thanks Courf, I need to go. When are we doing the present-giving?’

‘On Christmas Eve, we’re meeting up for a drink at the Musain. Oh, and the spending limit is £15 by the way.’ ‘Fab. Okay I’ll see you later!’ Grantaire stuffed his hands, still clutching the name, into his pockets and walked off towards his flat. Enjolras. Of course. It really was just his luck. What did you buy the man who had everything and hated Christmas? The Communist Manifesto? Das Kapital? It was useless, anything that seemed Enjolras-y, Enjolras already had. He could paint something but no – it just felt too personal. He didn’t want to let Enjolras know how he felt about him, not now, not ever. How about an engagement ring? Or how about he just spent £15 on a sturdy rope to hang himself, that would probably be easier than all this Secret Santa bullshit. Something light brushed Grantaire’s cheek, causing him to look up and snap out of his reverie. It was snowing. That was unusual to say the least, it rarely snowed in England, and certainly not in December. It would make his walk home a little more interesting at least. The romantic possibilities of snow and Enjolras filled his mind, snowball fights, burning red cheeks under golden hair, snowflakes melting on a red jacket, gloved hands holding each other. This was all preposterous of course. People like Enjolras just weren’t interested in people like Grantaire, and especially not Grantaire himself. Getting a present for Enjolras wasn’t just getting a present for a friend, it was getting a present for Enjolras. He didn’t want the man to have any more disdain for him than was usual. Grantaire didn’t even have the privilege of having only Enjolras on his mind, his father had sent him a Christmas card. This pissed him off to no end. His father, who he had had no contact from in years, apart from one look from across a churchyard at a distant cousin’s funeral, had sent him a Christmas card. It asked him to join him, his new wife, and his new stepson at Christmas. It seemed that whoever this new wife was, she had changed his father’s mind about his son. Maybe it was this new kid, maybe he’d reminded his father about what he had once had. Maybe it was all some fleeting fancy or whim, Grantaire would show up, Christmas present for his shiny new stepbrother in hand, and receive a slammed door in the face in return. Grantaire was a fucking coward. He readjusted his wooly hat, and hands re-shoved in pockets, continued the walk home. * Enjolras on the other hand was in his flat, lying face down on the sofa. What on earth would he buy Grantaire? What had he done in some past life that was bad enough to make him get Grantaire? Courfeyrac and Eponine were right, he really was terrible at getting presents. One year he’d gotten Jehan a poetry book which had turned out to be a children’s joke anthology. He just could never find the right item, of find something that really fit the person it was being given to. He loved his friends, and he knew them well. He knew Marius liked old books and Jehan liked poetry and Eponine liked leather and Cosette liked pretty notebooks. But somehow this knowledge never helped him when picking items, he’d end up getting his friends something that he himself would like, or what he thought was the right thing but was actually completely wrong. And of all the people he could have picked he had picked Grantaire. He wanted to get Grantaire something good, something great in fact. God knows the man deserved something great. Besides, it was Grantaire, Enjolras felt different about Grantaire, not quite how he felt about the others. Of course there was the slightly antagonistic quality of their relationship but there was so much more besides that. Something richer, and unspoken, something that made it feel like Enjolras was drawn to him.

So yeah, there were plenty of reasons why Enjolras wanted to get Grantaire something really good. He got up from the sofa and shuffled over to his desk (shuffling because of the blanket he had wrapped around his legs). If there was one thing Enjolras was good at, it was planning and organization- the man was essentially a high quality CV. He took a pen and some paper from a drawer and began to construct a list. PRESENT FOR GRANTAIRE: 1.

Paint/ art supplies?

A hat, maybe scarf

?????

?????????

This was not going as well as he had hoped. He didn’t want to get Grantaire something obvious, he wanted to show how much he cared. Unfortunately, no ideas whatsoever were coming to him. Enjolras sighed, crumpled up the sheet of paper and chucked it in the bin. He took the little scrap of paper from out his pocket and spread it open on the desk. He was presented with a ‘Grantaire’ in a messy scrawl. Fantastic. Enjolras got up from the desk and flopped back on the sofa, giving up for the day. * It was the day before Christmas Eve, or Christmas Eve-Eve, and Courfeyrac and Eponine were sitting in a coffee shop on a busy high street. ‘Jesus, everyone looks frantic. Have you bought all your presents yet?’ Courfeyrac finished sipping his coconut milk, caramel cream Frappuccino, with whipped cream and cocoa powder sprinkled on top, before answering. ‘Yep! I’m surprised, I usually leave everything last minute. I mean I basically feel like I’ve left it all last minute though’ ‘Why?’ Eponine sipped her double espresso. ‘Enjolras keeps texting me every ten seconds about Secret Santa. He didn’t want to tell me who he got earlier but now all he can talk about is what to get Grantaire. I’m stressed for him.’ ‘Oh shit!’’ ‘What?’ ‘Grantaire’s texting me all the time too. About what to get Enjolras!’ ‘That’s hilarious! I couldn’t have planned this better myself’ ‘Courf, you did plan it. ‘I didn’t know they’d get each other though! I just hoped they would. It’s a Christmas miracle! Maybe now they’ll both stop being idiots and finally snog’ Eponine scoffed ‘I can’t imagine Enjolras snogging anyone.’ Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. ‘Firstly, you have not seen him drunk. Secondly he would snog Grantai-aaiire’, he ended the statement in a lilting sing-song voice. ‘Enjolras and Grantaire sitting in a

tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G’ ‘Not quite yet. No need to be too optimistic.’ ‘Christ Ep, stop being such a Grantaire!’ Courfeyrac raised both hands to his heart and looked upwards, ‘They’re in love!’ Eponine smirked, ‘Yeah well, we’ll see. They’re both pretty stupid’ * Grantaire sat nervously as Courfeyrac announced that the gift giving ceremony would commence. They were in the Musain and Grantaire had already had a couple beers, unfortunately his nerves had not yet calmed. His present for Enjolras had cost nothing (and he had £15 in his pocket just in case Enjolras hated it) and in a way had cost everything. Besides destroying his cool, devil-may-care image (at least Grantaire thought that was his image) it was exactly as personal as a painting would have been, perhaps more – to Enjolras anyway. As well as that, he still hadn’t replied to his father, he thought that the years of distance between them were too hard to overcome. He also knew that he wanted to meet his stepbrother, who was only eleven, and who, according to the card anyway, wanted to meet him. Enjolras was equally nervous, his gift to Grantaire had also cost nothing, apart from the supplies needed to make it, and those he had borrowed from Feuilly. It wasn’t good to say the least, but he thought that maybe Grantaire would construe it as the thoughtful present that Enjolras had meant it to be. After all wasn’t it the thought that counted the most? And people always said that handmade presents were the best. The presents were opened one at a time. Starting with Courfeyrac himself, who had got a slinky, a chocolate bar, and a ‘Best of Broadway’ cd from Gavroche. Gavroche himself had a video game from Cosette, who herself had got a flower press from Combeferre. Combeferre had received, from Joly, an old edition of ‘Gray’s Anatomy’ that he had found in a charity shop. Joly, from Bossuet, had gotten a hot chocolate mug set, and Bossuet from Bahorel a pair of cozy slippers. Feuilly had bought Bahorel a ‘Lord of the Rings’ extended edition boxset, and Jehan had handwritten Feuilly a poetry anthology tailored to the fan-maker’s interests. Eponine had got a print of a William Blake painting for Jehan to hang up at home and herself received a French coffee press from Marius. Marius got a brightly patterned shirt from Courfeyrac. Once this had all been sorted, it was just Enjolras and Grantaire left, they now, of course, knew that they had each other, and bashfully exchanged gifts. Eponine and Courfeyrac shared a look between them, now this they had planned. Enjolras opened his gift first, it was wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. really.’

‘It’s not much, but I don’t know I hope you like it. If you don’t I can get you something else, Enjolras ignored this from Grantaire and held the old black notebook in his hands. ‘The real present’s inside’

Enjolras opened the cover and saw a few handwritten paragraphs. Upon closer reading, this appeared to be a speech or manifesto of a sort. Written about Enjolras himself. About how Grantaire believed in him, about how despite what Grantaire said Enjolras was a brilliant spokesperson and that Grantaire had complete faith that if anyone could make a difference in the world, it was Enjolras. ‘I wanted to write something you’d write. But about you of course. Speeches aren’t quite my thing, my thing’s more crappy rambles, but uh- they’re your thing so…’ Grantaire’s sentence trailed

off. ‘It’s great.’ Enjolras’ smile was slightly watery and behind his eyes, which were gleaming, was a touch of surprise. ‘Now! Open yours!’ Enjolras, who despite his rah-rah façade had always worried about what Grantaire said about his views. He knew there were some flaws in them, and more often than not he was secretly grateful for having them pointed out – so they could be rectified of course – but knowing that Grantaire actually believed in what he said – believed in him, well, it meant everything. Grantaire looked down at the present in his lap, it was wrapped neatly in Christmas-red paper. He opened it carefully, trying not to rip it and held its contents before his eyes. He was holding a painting on a canvas, a painting of Grantaire. It wasn’t a good likeness, Enjolras was no artist after all. It was unintentionally impressionistic and frankly a little blurry. However, it captured in the swirling colours most of what Grantaire felt. The black of the figure’s hair blended with the bottle green of his eyes and the wall behind him. The pale fleshy tones of his hands melted into the dark, deep red of the wine in his glass. If anyone but Grantaire had looked at it, they would have said it was terrible, or maybe asked if a child had painted it, but to Grantaire it was mesmerizing. It meant that Enjolras had really looked at him, had noticed him when he thought that he was invisible in the corner. ‘Wow Enjolras.’ Grantaire looked up from the painting ‘It’s amazing.’ ‘I mean, I’m no artist’ ‘I love it.’ Enjolras smiled and they both turned back to the group. The usual festive merriments commenced, Courfeyrac insisted upon buying everyone mulled ciders and Bossuet too insisted upon buying everyone minced pies. Jehan decided to read a Rossetti poem, and Bahorel demanded that they all go to his flat on Boxing Day to have a Christmas movie marathon. This being December, it was already pitch black by 6pm, and Grantaire had to stand under a street lamp to light his cigarette. His hands shivered as they reached for his lighter and the snow had not yet quelled. As much as Grantaire loved his friends – lived for them, even, he wasn’t quite in the mood today. He wished he could enjoy tonight as much as everyone else seemed to, but the problem of his father was still hanging over his head. Also he wanted to figure out what exactly Enjolras had meant by that painting, Joly and Bossuet were his best friends and he’d never received something so… intimate, from them. Grantaire was watching the snowflakes fall softly in the yellow lamplight when he felt a touch of pressure on his shoulder. ‘Hey.’ It was Enjolras. Grantaire shakily took the cigarette from out his mouth. ‘Hey.’ There was a pause, ‘Why aren’t you inside? With the others?’ ‘I wanted to see what you were dong out here. And I wanted to thank you, for the speech you wrote. It’s amazing and it really means a lot to me.’ ‘Ah it’s nothing…’ ‘It means everything to me. I mean I know you play devil’s advocate half the time but knowing

that you really think I can achieve anything, well that means a lot.’ Grantaire felt his face burn ‘Your painting, the painting you did, it er- it means a lot to me too. I thought I was just that guy in the corner who blurts out nonsense and is, ultimately, unnecessary. I don’t know I guess I thought you of all people never really saw me there.’ Enjolras frowned and moved half a step closer to Grantaire, he now could see the frozen air coming out of his mouth with every breath. ‘Of course I see you there. Most of the time I’m doing my speeches to you. I know for a fact everyone else in that room believes what I’m saying, that they know all the stuff I’m saying anyway. It’s always been you I’ve been trying to talk to.’ Grantaire looked up from the slush under his feet. ‘But why? Why me?’ his voice was louder now, incredulous. Enjolras was looking into Grantaire’s eyes, crystal blue meeting opaque green, flakes of snow were lightly dusting the collar of his jacket. Grantaire bit his bottom lip, this was insane, this wasn’t happening, this– ‘Don’t you know?’ Enjolras leaned forward, almost imperceptibly, and Grantaire leaned closer in turn, now they were so close Grantaire could see the ring of hazel around Enjolras’ pupils, which, despite the lamp light, were slightly enlarged. It was getting increasingly harder to breathe and Grantaire’s next word were low, and quiet. ‘No.’ Though despite everything he knew to be true, he thought he was beginning to have an inkling. ‘Let me show you.’ Enjolras was close to whispering, not that anything louder would be necessary at such close proximity. Grantaire had never heard the man whisper before. He noticed that far from the usual cool alabaster, Enjolras’ cheeks were burning red. Before he could form another thought, Enjolras lips were gently pressed against his own, hot and soft. The opposite of marble. Enjolras slowly pulled away and Grantaire looked up. Suddenly the other man was nervous, ‘I, uh… was that’ Enjolras stopped for a second as if trying to find the correct word ‘…okay?’ Grantaire, not quite the orator Enjolras was, just leant forwards into another kiss. This one wasn’t the same as the one that had preceded it, it had a little more pressure, a little less hesitation. It said everything that had been going unsaid between the two for the last three years. Enjolras placed a hand onto Grantaire’s shoulder, Grantaire did likewise and the two leaned on each other. Their other hands found each other and gripped each other tightly. * Inside the Musain, Courfeyrac and Eponine, who had rubbed two circles in the fogged up windows – for better viewing of course – high-fived. It really was a Christmas miracle. ‘I’m so proud.’ Courfeyrac stated, still looking intently out the window. Eponine pretended to wipe away a tear, ‘They grow up so fast.’ * It was half an hour later when Enjolras and Grantaire walked back in to the Musain. What they had been up to (vigorous snogging) was apparent from the hot blushes across their faces and their

unruly hair. Eponine smirked and shook Enjolras’ hand, much to the man’s embarrassment. ‘As much as I love you Enjolras, you do know I’d just as easily kill you, right?’ Enjolras was about to reply, probably to remind the group that murder was bad, when Gavroche decided that the time was right to stand on a chair and shout really loudly – really too loudly for any public space: ‘Merry Christmas and God bless us everyone!’ Courfeyrac pulled him down and, much to Gavroche’s disgust, pulled him onto his lap. ‘Oh dear! I’m sensing something! Something bad!’ Courf put his hands on top of Gavroche’s head. ‘I can see an empty stool by the fireplace next Christmas. Tiny Gav will die!’ At this melodramatic cry, the Amis all started to ruffle Gavroche’s hair, and pinch his cheeks. Eponine even went for a kiss on his nose. All of this served to make Gavroche run and hide behind Grantaire’s chair. Enjolras smiled, who would complain about Christmas? * It was midnight, and so Christmas day, when they all departed. Grantaire and Enjolras kissed again, outside the Musain, and this kiss still was different from the ones that had come before. This one was a promise, of something yet to come. As Grantaire turned to walk back to his flat, he caught one more glimpse of Enjolras as he got into his car. Things were good, surprisingly. Grantaire, feeling love, and slightly drunk and all things Christmassy, pulled his phone out of his pocket and called his dad. After all, it was Christmas.

a poem by apieceofsunburned “do we no longer exist?” a stray thought to swallow down, liquid fire for the spirit: watching lips of blood, observing curves of profondness– love devours me from within the softness of your frame. love i could almost cherish, almost touch, almost claim; so near the brink of nothingness that i wonder if it has eclipsed the whole of my being. what does it mean to be so wholly consumed, to die slowly, and then in a flash, be reincarnated as blindingly bright? and to be bound to someone all consuming? to lose sight of everything yet in the end find you– your fire, your song, your existence? (can i still hold on to it?) “have we had our time?” for everything that must be said was never said– your love and mine, the trust you placed in me, the belief i held in you– they must be surreal. for the love i would have cherished, touched, claimed, that would have consumed me, the love i would have known: oh, how it dazes me! how the fire it gives me frightens me! and how i am drawn to it! pulled into death and love simultaneously– without warning, without precursor! and how i was yours, involuntarily but finding myself to have been better for it with you– your light, your words, your conviction. (if only i had found them.)

by: alicemalaika

all the words i’ve never said a poem by enjols

i. red paint water, spilled over. it runs, pooling near my ankles. i watch as my reflection forms. it stares back, blank as my mind feels. ii. i pick at my sweater, not wanting to meet your eye. but deep down it aches and i cannot denythis yearning to meet your gaze fiercely and to never leave that piercing steel for i found a strange comfort in it i never understood. iii. you’re an enigma, aren’t you? iv. you’ve never tried to hold me back but this time you did (why?) and when you grasped my wrist a question in your stubborn eyes i thought this must’ve been how icarus felt as he fell from the flames v. not everything can be fixed, apollo, you know that? it hurts to watch as you agonise over a broken society, as you rage against inequality and the dying of the light. i don’t know much, apollo, but i know this: it’s all in vain. and how could i not? when i see the same brokenness in myself, feel the fragments crushing in my very bones? vi. i have never wanted this to be you are, perhaps better off without me how’s that, apollo, for a change? erase the cynic in the back, eradicate his disbelief, god knows he had willed it seven long years ago.

vii. but even i can’t deny the very forces of nature some truths are as simple as they are absolute: how leaves shed in autumn, how the waves rise and fall; and how a soul that’s been floating in an endless abyss will latch onto the brightest star and cling on viii. before you, none of this mattered nights of pain and days of regret had blurred and melded every shard of happiness shattered. but with one light press of your palm in mine i must confess that i am so inclined-ix. these are the words i’ve never said, but truth be told i can run no longer. your smile, it’s blinding, it sends me reeling (and i can run no longer.) x. red paint water, spilled over. in it i see you. a dash of red, a hint of gold a flicker of a promise, and you, and you, and you.

by: marcellin-e

by: juanjoltaire

enfant, un tableau vivant a poem by softegrantaire

the clock strikes twelve; and we begin to remember. (four years ago we met at the cafĂŠ where the light fell, golden, on our cheeks. it was the year, as he called it, of our Lord 2012.) the first time lasted only a second; he held my waist as we spun around the living room carpet and we remembered the stale air that hung like sheets atop the barricade. the second time felt like a decade; i stood at the window while the shouts rang clear in my ears and we remembered ducking beneath the shower of debris that could have nearly killed us. the third time we saw it coming; together we sat under the chandelier belonging to a old friend and closed our eyes, waiting for the racing

hearts and the bated breath as our feet took us to the roof of our apartment complex, the sharp wind stinging our eyes. it was the next time that frightened us most; the wind whipped around our bodies as we clutched each other tightly. a great force — consisting of eight tiny pinpricks — knocked me backwards; hand grappling to hang on to the other; a single shout echoing over my head: vive la république vive la république vive la république vive la république vive la république he shuddered with every shock that pierced his chest; i clung to his wrist, watching his lips mouth words only we could hear: permets-tu? the clock struck twelve and the world rejoiced while we remembered. did i permit it? a rhetorical question.

the clock struck twelve as we fell; the space around us flashed between the new hour and the old. teetering on the edge of a balcony; sweat-soaked soldiers dressed in blue, white, and red; loosely-tied cravats and bewildered eyes; a tight-lipped man and his doe-eyed drunk: the year of our Lord: 1832. nearly two centuries later and, still, i felt the dirt on my skin, under my fingernails, stinging my eyes; the bullets kissed my chest, and his, as we finally, albeit too late, laced our fingers with one anotherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s. when our eyes fluttered shut, we jolted awake on the rocky rooftop. the year of our Lord: 2016. our hands, clasped tightly, trembled. his breath, ragged, was hot on my cheek.

tu l’as permis, he said, agog and aghast. i wanted to say bien sûr until i no longer had air in my lungs to breathe. the clock had struck twelve and we sat in silence on the roof, remembering a life long left behind us and relieved by the new hours that lie ahead. his free hand — the one not intertwined with my own — rested on my cheek as he whispered, permets-tu? i smiled, oui. from then until now and for always, oui.

by: weisbrot

Mistle-no!

a fanfic by godlingcaptainchristina “You know, I’d like to say that I am personally offended that Courfeyrac didn’t build in a safe word for this piece of shit mistletoe mistake.” Grantaire hated pacing. His father was a pacer and most days Grantaire couldn’t stand being in close proximity to his father. “It’s really not as bad as all that,” Enjolras said. He wasn’t a pacer, for which Grantaire was eternally grateful. There wasn’t enough room in this bubble for the both of them to be pacing. “There are a lot of worse things that Courfeyrac could have done to us.” “Trapping us under enchanted mistletoe isn’t enough?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow. There were so many words that he had to say about that. “I don’t know about you, but I feel like this situation calls for at least a small bit of justified anger.” Enjolras stared at him for a moment with an odd look on his face that Grantaire took special care not reading into. If he read into every strange look Enjolras had given him recently, he would be busy for months. “I don’t know.” Enjolras shrugged. “I think there’s a pretty simple solution to mistletoe.” “Seriously?” he asked incredulously. What the fuck was wrong with Enjolras lately? “We’ve been trapped under this stupid ass shrinking bubble for literally hours. There isn’t a simple way out of here for us.” Enjolras smiled slyly. “We have the same options we did three hours ago,” he said. “That’s technically correct,” Grantaire allowed. God, moments like these made him so glad he wasn’t claustrophobic. “Technically correct?” Enjolras asked. His face screwed up with unspoken confusion. “How am I only technically correct?” Grantaire smiled pleasantly. “We have the same zero options that we did three hours ago.” Enjolras frowned, curling into himself almost unconsciously. Shit. What had Grantaire done now? Whatever he’d done, it’d made Enjolras quieter than he’d been the entire time they’d been trapped together. Normally, Enjolras wasn’t exceptionally talkative, but he enjoyed talking to his friends. For whatever reason, Grantaire had found himself among his ranks of friends. But now, they were trapped in awkward silence as well as Courfeyrac’s damn force field. Grantaire wasn’t sure what was worse, his compulsive need to pace, or this unsettling quiet. He’d

never seen Enjolras look so upset before. With reason, really. They weren’t very close and Grantaire was a giant fucking ass. Of course, because Grantaire is such a massive ass, he decides that the best course of action to Avoid The Awkward is to ignore Enjolras entirely. There was no way that anything he said it did at this point would make Enjolras feel any better, and he wasn’t even sure what he did, so it was probably better if he just pretended that it didn’t happen and avoid Enjolras for a while. Of course, the avoidance would have to wait until Courfeyrac deigned to release them.

What the hell was he going to do? * Joly, as ever, was the most correct about Grantaire as anyone could ever be. That is to say that Joly had complained loudly that Grantaire was the most impatient, fidgety, cock-sucking fucker on the planet not even three days prior to this mess and Grantaire was proving him very correct. “Could you please just sit the fuck down for, like, ten minutes,” Enjolras groaned. He’d looked so aggravated with everything since that almost-but-not argument that Grantaire was more surprised that it’s taken him this long to snap at him than the fact that he had snapped. “My apologies, dear Apollo,” Grantaire drawled, bowing low. “And would you fucking quit that already?” he snapped. The frown he was sporting could have brought empires to their knees if he wanted. “I am sick to fucking death of you acting like I’m some sort of god or something.” Sparks flickered off from his hair and stung at Grantaire. Grantaire eyed him cautiously. What the hell was going on with him? He’d never seen him like this before. “I don’t understand you,” Grantaire said. He walked marginally closer, but there was only so much closer he could walk in such a small bubble. Enjolras scoffed. “Yeah, because I’m the one that’s difficult to understand.” He jumped up to take Grantaire’s place pacing but didn’t think to make sure that Grantaire was actually going to sit down instead of just gaping at him. And of course, since Enjolras is the most stubborn man in the world, he refused to just move a tiny, little bit so that Grantaire could sit and try thinking over this, the weirdest conversation he’d had since Bahorel and the goldfinch. Instead, they were stuck exactly where they were standing. Seconds struck by like hours with Enjolras glaring at him and fuming. Grantaire wanted to kick himself so fucking badly. Why couldn’t he have just back up a few steps to sit down? He attempted that now but ran into that cock of an opportunistic barrier.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He didn’t dare speak any louder so close to Enjolras. He already acted like an idiot around him, no need to be a loud, blundering fool right in his face. His eyes bounce between Enjolras’, resolutely avoiding his lips. “Fuck,” he repeated.

but…

If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn that Enjolras’ breathed hitched at their proximity,

But. Grantaire had known Enjolras long enough to know that he didn’t show interest in anyone, especially not him. He’d spent enough time mooning after Enjolras that he’d have noticed if something changed. A micro vision flashed before his eyes only seconds before it started happening in real time. Enjolras blinking, eyes tracking down before jerking back up. Enjolras starting to say something before the thought gets lost in his mind. Then, Enjolras leaning forward like he was going toEnjolras blinked up at Grantaire, eyes flickering down so quickly that he almost didn’t make the connection. “What’re you doing?” Grantaire asked, leaning back as subtly as he could manage. Something sour twitched across Enjolras’ face. “Getting us out of here,” he replied grimly. “Can’t you find a magical loophole?” Grantaire really, really couldn’t kiss Enjolras right now. Or ever. Ever worked better for him. “Can’t you?” Gold sparks snapped out at Grantaire. He frown at Enjolras. Was that a fucking joke? “No, I can’t.” Enjolras flinched, but Grantaire kind of didn’t give a fuck at this point. “Don’t you remember, Apollo? I’m just a glorified, cynical, circus seer.” Oh God oh God oh God oh God. “Any prediction of mine should be taken with a disclaimer saying not to trust my warnings 100% because ‘cynics don’t have clear eyes’, right, Chief?” Why wasn’t his mouth fucking stopping? Enjolras stood stock still, breathing heavy for long moments while Grantaire silently freaked out about that blow-up. Because how the hell didn’t he see that coming? He saw a kiss that didn’t even happen, but not that immense fuck up? “You still think about that?” Enjolras finally spoke. “About what? Your views on what little magic I have?” What the fuck was going on with the day? When had the gods found time to fuck with his life like this?

Enjolras looked stricken. “You have to know that’s not true.” “Sounded pretty true when you said it-” “Yeah, nine years ago!” he exploded. “When I didn’t know you! When I thought you were faking it for laughs!” Enjolras sucked in a hard breath. He puffed his cheeks out in an obvious attempt to not yell before letting the air out as slowly as he could physically manage. “Before I saw you protect Bossuet from himself from things nobody but a seer could’ve seen coming. Before I saw you try to stop a riot from forming days beforehand. Before so many things, R.” He winced so hard, Grantaire was almost afraid that he’d fall right through the force field. But Courfeyrac was an amazing barrier maker and Enjolras only bounced off of it and straight into him. Grantaire raised an eyebrow, more because he knew Enjolras couldn’t and it would irritate him than about any sort of surprise- though there was plenty of that, too. It was becoming a real problem, him going out of his way to bother Enjolras, honestly. He smiled the best he could with how confused he was. None of this was making any sense. Why the fuck didn’t Enjolras make any sense anymore? When had he stopped making sense? “Grantaire?” Enjolras whispered. He ducked down to try meeting Grantaire’s eyes. “Will you look at me, please?” If their arms weren’t pinned to their sides by Courfeyrac’s horrible, shrinking mistletoe-bubble, Enjolras probably would have been holding Grantaire’s face so that he couldn’t look away. “Look at me,” he repeated. Grantaire shook his head. He really didn’t want to talk about this. If he had a list of all the topics he didn’t want to talk about, his opinion of himself would be right underneath his feelings for Enjolras. “Please?” Enjolras asked. And that was un-fucking-fair, how was Grantaire supposed to be a surly, drunken seer when Enjolras started acting like this? Slowly, Grantaire looked up, trying to make sure that Enjolras realized exactly how grudgingly this was. “You never realized?” Gaea’s great tits, why was Enjolras asking so many questions today? There was absolutely zero reason for them to be having this conversation. Grantaire knew exactly how irritating he was, he didn’t need the man he was in love with telling him exactly how much he couldn’t stand him. Was it getting hotter in there? Grantaire looked around them, hoping for some sort of distraction. Hoping for someone to come walking up the steps and into the backroom. Hoping for something. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be realizing, Enjolras,” he admitted, hoping vainly that it would

shut the conversation down quickly. His fingers were twitching vainly against his thighs and he really, really wanted to just melt into a puddle, but he didn’t see that happening anytime in the near-ish future. Enjolras stepped closer, pressing them chest-to-chest himself before the barrier had a chance to shove them. He dipped his head low to look into Grantaire’s face and when the hell did his eyes become so blue? That wasn’t fair at all. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re, uh, you…” Grantaire trailed off when he noticed where Enjolras’ eyes were focused. “I thought that you were ignoring my feelings for the sake of friendship, or something,” Enjolras said. He shifted somehow closer, which, again, not fair. “Feelings?” What the fuck was even happening? “What feelings?” “My feelings,” Enjolras said. He licked his lips slowly, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth a bit and Grantaire was dying a little bit. “Nope.” Grantaire turned his head away. This was fucking cruel. “’Nope’?” Enjolras asked. There was an inexplicable hitch in the words that Grantaire didn’t know how to place. “‘Nope’ what?” Grantaire sucked in as large a breath as he could hold before even attempting to answer. “Nope to this,” he attempted to gesture to everything happening but was abruptly reminded that Courfeyrac was a fucking bastard. “I cannot deal with you pretending to be interested in me so we can get out of here.” Grantaire’s voice did not crack like a fucking pre-teen. He was a fucking grown up; he could handle his damn emotions. “I’d really you rather do this as clinically as possible and just fucking spare me that humiliation.” Oh, god, his fucking feelings were spilling all over the place. What the fuck was wrong with him?

you?”

“Prete- what?” Enjolras’ eyes bugged out. “Why the hell would I pretend to be in love with

“Why the hell would you actually be in love with me?” Grantaire’s thighs twitched painfully, in some sort of failed attempt to get free from this hellish situation. His insides were quivering from the stress, but somehow he miraculously hadn’t vomited. That would really make this awkward. “Do I need a reason to be in love with you?” “It doesn’t matter if you have good reasons to be in love, Enjolras, that doesn’t mean that you are,” he snapped. He was so fucking done. There was no way that Enjolras was actually attracted to him, let alone in love. Being in love means that you actually enjoy spending time with someone and

that you, presumably, want to spend a lot of time in the future with them. Enjolras didn’t even want him around during the one-hour ABC meetings. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel Grantaire,” Enjolras growled. His eyes were bolts of lightning, lashing out against their human cage; they were ice chips, reaching out to freeze Grantaire; they were so beautiful that for a moment Grantaire forgot that he needed to keep fighting with Enjolras. “No, but I can tell when you’re lying.” Grantaire bit his tongue. “I’d rather you didn’t lie to me about this, thanks.” Enjolras closed his eyes for a few seconds and just breathed. “Why would I lie to you?” he asked finally. “I have no reason to.” “To get out of here? For a bet? There are probably dozens of reasons.” Well, maybe not, but Grantaire had dozens of reasons to want out of this situation fucking now. “If I just wanted out, I could just kiss you, without doing anything else. And do you really think I’d do something to deliberately hurt you?” His lower lip wobbled dangerously. Shit. “No.” Motherfucking- “No, I don’t think that. I’m sorry.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. Why was Enjolras so much taller than him? It made unobstructed ceiling watching very difficult. “I’ve never thought that and it was wrong of me to say it.” “I wouldn’t lie about this,” Enjolras whispered. His breath fanned out over Grantaire’s face just enough for him to feel vaguely faint with it. God, he was so gone over him. “I’m sorry to be doing this when you can’t run away, but you’ve been running away from me for months and I need to tell you.” Everything inside of Grantaire was made of pudding. That was the only way that they could be shaking this much. Organs and muscles didn’t shake like this, only pudding did, as far as Grantaire knew. “Tell me what?” he asked. His breath was almost visible from how intimate this felt. Everything felt more electric, somehow, more alive than before. “That I’ve been in love with you for the better part of six years,” Enjolras breathed. A small infinity must have passed in the time it took for Grantaire to absorb that information. He stood as still as he could manage, taking the time to just… process. Something twitched in his back semi-painfully, enough to grab his attention and pull it back out of his head. If it wasn’t for the hazy glow around the moment Grantaire wouldn’t have caught the vision. “May I kiss you?” vision-Enjolras asked, because he was probably the most considerate person

on the planet. He didn’t even lean in until Grantaire nodded his okay. The first touch of their lips was so gentle that he almost didn’t feel it. He did feel it, though, when a muscle in his back spasmed abruptly and yanked him out of the vision to Enjolras staring at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. “May I kiss you?” he asked. He didn’t move forward, but his hands somehow managed to curl around Grantaire’s. That was probably the sweetest thing Grantaire had ever been a part of. Squeezing softly on Enjolras’ hands, Grantaire nodded.

by: marloart