The sun falling through the half-drawn curtains is stretching on the comforter in long bands of light, outlining the two silhouettes huddled under. It’s cold in the room, and the blankets are pulled high, leaving only visible long strands of golden hair, slightly tangled, dark curls, very tangled, and an arm. The skin is covered in watercolor clouds and spiralling wines, and a cat is resting in the crook of it, the small paw resting possessively on the arm. The hand, large and stained with paint, is curled around another, smaller, the fingertips sporting ink spots and a few cuts here and there.
The comforter stirrs slightly, not yet the first stretches of awakeness, but it’s getting close. The arm covered in clouds tightens slightly, as does the second, bringing the other body closer. The blond curls wave a bit as both sleepers shift slightly, curling up against each other. A hand tries to pull the comforter up, to shield drowsy eyes from the light. But it uncovers both pairs of feet, exposing them to the cold. Quickly, they set to work, grasping and pulling until they are protected again.
Grantaire finally blinks against the light. There’s no need to pretend that they’re still asleep, but Enjolras will still try. He closes his eyes a little tighter, scrunches his nose, grabs Grantaire’s shrit and tries to hide against his chest. Grantaire just laughs a little ; he knows Enjolras can feel it rumble, and in return, he can feel him smile.
– Come on, sleepyhead, he finally say. Don’t you have a revolution to plan ? A government to overthrow ?
His only answer is a soft noise. Very gently, Grantaire pries open the hands closed on his shirt, and pulls Enjolras away a little, earning himself another groan at the loss of warmth and contact. But he’s now at the right distance to kiss him. First on the forehead, then on the nose which scrunches up again. Then, finally, on the lips. Enjolras kisses him back, almost eagerly. One kiss turns to three, then ten. Grantaire slides his fingers through the long blond hair, and Enjolras starts playing with his curls. But when the paint-stained hands start playing with the hem of his shirt, he draws the line.
– Not before my first cup of coffee, you fiend.
– Always so demanding.
Grantaire kisses him once more for good measure, then gathers the courage to get out of bed. He hisses a little at the cold air, and hurridly puts his pants on. Behind him, Enjolras has already burrowed back into the covers, and Grantaire knows he won’t move without his first (three) cups of coffee. He pads down to the kitchen, Jude following close. He gives her her food, starts the coffee maker, then sits at the counter to watch it, smiling all the way.
He’s back in the room five minutes later, carrying two steaming mugs. The roll of blankets and Enjolras hasn’t moved an inch. He puts one on the nightstand, waves the other around where Enjolras’ head should be. The comforter parts a little, and a hand creeps out, grabbing the cup eagerly.
– You’re going to spill it, Grantaire simply says.
He slides under the blankets with some difficulty, and takes his own cup. After a minute, Enjolras joins him, reclining against him, his cup held in both hands. Grantaire steals another kiss, one that tastes of coffee. Enjolras just smiles and leans his head against his shoulder. They stay like that, enjoying their coffee, the sun that warms the bed, the presence of the other against them. They’re going to get up soon, start the day, paint, go to lessons, meet with the others and plan their next actions. But for now, they are content to just bask in the too rare quiestness that belongs only to them.
See, this is a difficult question not because I think any of them wouldn’t but because I think they all definitely would.
Enjolras shows up in a temper because someone was abusing a baby goat and who does things like that and raging about the injustices of animal abuse while cuddling the baby.
Combeferre is goat-sitting and enthuses about the many and varied uses for goats and has his goat litter-trained and thus figures he may as well bring it out to get socialized.
Courfeyrac confiscated the kid because it was being held as evidence at the police station or something and it was bleating and really, Enjolras, what was he supposed to do, leave it there?
One of Feuilly’s neighbors had the goat but couldn’t take care of it anymore, so he took it in, and it’s still young enough to need frequent feeding, so he brings it to the meeting.
Jehan turns up with the goat following at his heels, announces he’s named it Eurydice because it followed him out of hell, and declines to explain further. When Combeferre points out it is a boy goat he only gets a withering look in response.
Joly and Bossuet turn up with a goat, Bossuet’s arm in a sling, and about six bags full of potential goat foods Joly wants to try. Both of them look very shifty. They all decide it is probably best not to ask.
Bahorel met this dude with a baller goat, and the dude was totally an asshole, so he punched him out and took the goat. The goat’s name is Rex. Like T. Rex, Enjolras, cool it, I’m not indoctrinating my goat into the monarchy.
Some model for one of Grantaire’s art classes came with a goat because they thought it would make for a good ~pastoral painting~ or something, and then left the goat there, so Grantaire shrugged and brought it with him. It’s named Bottle. Shut up, Courfeyrac, that’s a totally legit goat name.
Marius does not know why this goat is following him will someone please help him and stop giggling and taking pictures :(((((
Imagine Cosette driving a motorcycle, wearing a leather jacket over her pretty summer dress and huge sunglasses, with Marius, red-faced, smiling like a huge goof and folding his ridiculously long legs to fit in the sidecar.
I really fancied drawing @deboracabral‘s version of Enjolras with his pointy ass nose, and I was also gonna draw her version of R too… but my version of R just demanded to come out and be sassy instead.
Oh no look at how pretty he is, I’m crying
Two can play at this game
Grantaire is like ‘oh shit there’s another one’
I see you… and I raise you… Grantaireception
“Can you believe them?”
–…Which one is your Jehan?
–I don’t know… I think they’re the one with bangs? Or I think I’ve seen them wear that T shirt before.
–I think they switched clothes.
–Oh god it’s like the Parent Trap.
“Idk just pick any”
–I think I’m seeing double.
–I don’t know how you’re supposed to see at all in these!!?
–What are you talking about? You’re blinder than I am!
“Both?” “Both is good”
–I think I hear someone coming!! Glitter bomb is armed and ready!!
–Well hurry up! We’re not as light as we think we are!
“I wonder what these sounds are” “I’m sure it’s not a glitter bomb being set”
Okay just because I’m really weak for this trope: Grantaire and Enjolras who, as children, lived and grew up in two different apartment complexes with balconies that face each other–those ones that are so close together you could hypothetically jump from one to the other if you tried hard enough.
The first time they saw each other, a 7-year-old Enjolras was just out to water the plants, and spotted 6-year-old Grantaire lying flat on his back on the balcony opposite, staring blankly at the sky. Enjolras thought he was unconscious. He swung the watering can with all that little 7-year-old strength, and splashed water all over him just like he’d seen in the movies. Grantaire, who was actually awake, was ready to be angry but took one look at Enjolras and instead blurted: “Do you want to be friends?”
Enjolras laughed at him for it. It was the beginning of–well, something.
They talked a lot across the balconies. Enjolras went to some private school across the city. Grantaire went to primary down the road. They’d come home from school and waste time until dinner talking about anything–their friends, their parents, their favourite games. Twice Enjolras brought Courfeyrac and Combeferre up to the balcony to meet Grantaire. Both times, they’d all stayed out so late they almost missed dinner.
When Grantarie was 8, he told Enjolras he’d never been outside Paris. When Enjolras was 9, he told Grantaire how much he loved history. When Grantaire was 10, after endless pestering, he showed Enjolras some stuff he’d drawn. When Enjolras was 11, he confessed to Grantaire he felt like a boy. When Enjolras was 11 and 1 day, Grantaire balled up and threw him three old shirts he’d outgrown. As it turned out, Enjolras looked quite nice in red shirts.
When Grantaire was 12, he discovered to his horror that he really liked Enjolras.
Enjolras, who, by the age of 13 discovered he really liked Grantaire, started trying to use homework as an excuse to spend more time with him out on the balcony, before it became clear that Grantaire already knew everything. No matter what Enjolras asked, Grantaire had the answer. Not that he’d be serious about it, of course. Grantaire didn’t seem to care what he knew. He just liked knowing. Enjolras stopped using the homework as an excuse.
Grantaire loved to hear Enjolras talk. It’s the reason he never answered Enjolras’ questions seriously. It meant Enjolras would stay out later, that he would talk more. Enjolras sounded so passionate when he spoke, especially when he found something he was interested in. French laws, for example, something so boring to most of the rest of the world. He could go on about them for hours without Grantaire saying a word. Grantaire was content to listen to him do it.
When Enjolras found out that his parents intended to send him to an all-girls private high school, Enjolras came out to them then and there. He was not a girl, he refused to be separated from his friends at school, and he no longer wanted to study in some elite institution. His parents didn’t take it well. They sent him to live with a relative elsewhere in France. Enjolras had no warning the morning his aunt picked him up, and when he ran to the balcony and called out for Grantaire, he didn’t answer.
Enjolras didn’t have the chance to come back to Paris until a few months later. He went immediately to Grantaire’s building and asked which unit the family lived in. He was told by a neighbour they had moved out.
The two of them had no way to contact each other. With such a short-distance relationship, they never thought they’d need it.
It occured to Enjolras, out of nowhere, that he and Grantaire had been literally three meters apart for years, but had never even touched.
——
Enjolras moved into the new flat with Combeferre when he was 23. They’d just graduated uni, Ferre with accolades and Enjolras with suspension warnings from half of his profs. They were still resolved to lead the ABC, a job made a bit more complicated between looking for meaningful work and finally drafting a proper mission statement.
They were exhausted after their day of unpacking, and Enjolras had finally taken a moment to rest on the balcony with some well-deserved coffee. Combeferre had just gone back inside for his own second cup. Enjolras observed the new view–a couple levels above the street, across from an identical building to their own. Not nearly reaching distance to the balcony across, he mused.
He heard the door on the balcony beside him slide open, and his new neighbour take his seat on an overturned bin. Enjolras watched the man out of the corner of his eye–he wore pyjamas, had dark messy hair, and clutched a mug in both hands. The neighbour noticed him staring. Enjolras quickly looked away.
“Hi,” the neighbour said. “You’re the new one, huh?”
“Yeah, just moved in.” He turned to look at the man. “I’m–R??”
Because that’s who it was, sitting on a bin on the balcony right beside his, sipping whatever was in the mug with raised eyebrows.
Grantaire looked at him with vague amusement. “That’s a coincidence, I’m R too,” he said.
Oh–of course he wouldn’t recognize him. Stubble and a deeper voice tends to do that to a person. Enjolras felt a bubble rise in his chest.
“Do you mind if we do this in the hallway? It’s easier than yelling outside,” he said. A lie, of course. He did plenty of yelling outside.
“Sure.” Grantaire shrugged. “Meet you in a minute.”
Grantaire stood up and slid inside, and Enjolras all but bolted to the front door, past a startled Combeferre, and into the hallway. Grantaire emerged a moment later.
He extended a hand. “Grantaire,” he said, and Enjolras felt almost giddy.
Enjolras took his hand. “Nice to see you again,” he said. “I’m Enjolras.”
“You really were a cat in your past life, weren’t you?”
Enjolras smiles at the sound of Grantaire’s voice, but doesn’t take away the arm that is covering his eyes. He is lying on a towel on the wooden pier overlooking the lake, basking in the sun while listening to his friends’ chattering not far away.
I wish I had more time because in my head this was gonna be beautiful with the prettiest lighting from the sun through the slats of the dock and the reflection from the water bUUT… I’m afraid this is it. do you want the fluffiest fluff? do you want cute kisses in the summertime on the beach??? do you want enjolras making a dorky dorky pun????? OF COURSE YOU DO. this is the fic for you! written by the amazing the incredible the brilliant @adorablecrab whom I love and treasure so perhaps I am a little biased but!! it was exactly the gorgeous happy escape I needed today and you’ll love it too.
Are you trying to murder me?? Because this is how you murder me.
Enjolras: The rich guy who everyone kinda knows and who is friendly and civil but not out to make friends, and who is a top student because of course his parents got him into this school and of course he got a private tutor to teach him the course material thoroughly. He’s the one who is intimidatingly elegant.
Combeferre: The guy who everybody thinks they know but actually don’t know about. You know he hangs around in the library at 5 o’clock on a wednesday and that’s all you really know about him. He talks but not about himself and you don’t think you even know his first name, but after every time you have to share the workplace with him, you feel incredibly inappropriate.
Courfeyrac: The guy who is loud and popular, who is always somewhere with someone and often he is exhausting to be around. He makes you feel like you belong but it’s superficial because he only follows social conventions. He is impulsive and has almost no patience for senseless noise and negativity and will drop you with no hesitation if you cross him one time too many. You are not sure what he thinks of you or everyone else. He is always civil and treats everyone the same but his true thoughts? You have no idea.
Jean Prouvaire: The kid you make fun of. Maybe not directly to his face and maybe you don’t make fun of him personally but you sure do talk about him. He is gloomy and he is off. He talks strangely and dresses even stranger. You believe he is poor but you saw the name Prouvaire on several lists of sponsors already. He is nice but everyone avoids him. People tease him and it’s all in good fun, so you don’t quite understand why he threw the first punch.
Bahorel: The infuriatingly relaxed guy with a booming laugh and an incredibly obtrusive presence. He offers you the last seat in the lecture hall and leans back in the last row with his feet on the desk and he will argue and disrupt lectures for the ones in his immediate vicinity. He is the guy who did everything once. Every campus story somehow involves him.
Feuilly: The guy who works at the little coffee trolley in front of the main entrance every day. You know his face and you know his voice, for some reason you remember all his shirts, you know the people he talks to, you know his music preference and that his favourite season is Autumn but for some reason you never get to learn his name.
Joly: Your class project partner who does everything twice. You are sure that he is one of those people who honestly love mondays judging by the way his grin seems to be stuck on his face forever. He talks fast with chipper voice and shining eyes and gestures even faster. He is the guy who has everything in his bag from tissues to spare socks and for some reason also hair ties. Always in the company of Bossuet.
Bossuet: The guy in class who never hands in his assignments and has an excuse for everything. The one who should be a nervous wrack but isn’t, who misses most of his classes but somehow still passes all of them. “He is a liar” is the common agreement and you don’t question it. He is always with Joly.
Grantaire: The first time you see him, you think he grew up in the wilderness. Unkempt hair and rude manners coupled with obnoxious loud behaviour. He is the guy who hits on and catcalls everyone he meets and who runs around with sunglasses even in winter. For reasons completely incomprehensible to you, Joly and Bossuet like him.
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