Who: Enjolras and Grantaire What: Pre wedding talking Where: The inn When: Just before they head off for the ceremony Status: Complete
It was still somewhat surreal to think that Enjolras was getting married today. His Apollo had finally grown up and moved on from his beloved Patria. From something other than his causes. And he had done it with a vengeance, because Grantaire knew it went far beyond simply his love for Eponine. Still, that was what today was about. And despite the occasional and very brief surge of emotion he would not at all for a second call jealousy, he was genuinely pleased to see his friend so happy. It was a long time coming, and couldn’t be more deserved. He simply knew everything would be different now, and the childish part of him that would never go away resented that just a bit.
Opening his cupboard, he took out the carefully wrapped picture, setting it down on the end of his bed. It was fairly obvious by the shape what it was, but there was little he could do to disguise it. He picked up the ring box sitting on the writing desk adjacent to the door, slipping the ring into the inside pocket of his jacket before turning his attention to his bow tie.
After several failed attempts, he was ready to throw up his hands in defeat. He’d helped Gavroche with his own not five minutes ago, and that hadn’t been a problem at all. This really shouldn’t have been so hard. And yet every time he tied it up each side was uneven, or it was crooked, or it just looked plain ridiculous. “Stay undone then, stupid thing.” He finally gave up, leaving the bowtie hanging loose around his neck. He barely noticed he’d slipped back into French. He’d been making more of an effort to work on keeping with English, lately.
Gavroche had likely been the one to leave the door cracked open. Either way, Enjolras got to be witness to Grantaire's anger with his tie. So long as the anger was with the fabric and not Enjolras, himself. Because it was one of the most important days of his life and he needed his best friend there.
He was still entirely grateful to the Seal for turning Grantaire up when it did. Oh, he knew one of his other friends would likely have been willing. But none of them knew him the way Grantaire did. None of them knew the young, idealistic man full of hopes and dreams, before the obsession with revolution had taken him over. Even then, he wasn't sure marriage and family were his future. But it had at least been a possibility, something to consider even when none of the women in their social circle made his head turn, his heart race, or his face break into a smile.
Not the way Eponine did.
It was funny, really. Maybe he'd needed the Seal. This second chance. Maybe he truly had been destined to die to come here all along. It was difficult to consider and so he didn't. Rather, he pushed the door open further and grinned widely. "And here I thought you'd be a sharp dresser no matter the time."
Enjolras’ grin was met with a startled laugh, not aware his door was even open. “It seems I am only capable of getting one right a day. Gavroche is likely ruining my efforts as we speak.” He hadn’t been too keen on the idea of wearing the bowtie, and having him stand still long enough to tie it for him had been a challenge in itself. “Don’t even get me started on his hair.” They had had that discussion multiple times. And even once it looked remotely tamed, he’d seemed bound and determined to mess it up again. Being that it was Gavroche, though, Grantaire could not be anything but amused.
He had long since stopped worrying about his own. It was shorter now, which at least went some way toward it looking a bit more like he had attempted to do something with it. Enjolras, unsurprisingly, looked like he’d had no trouble with his own hair, let alone his bowtie. With the grin currently on his face, it was hard to tell if his friend was nervous. He didn’t think so, though. He hadn’t shown any real signs of nervousness so far. “Since you seem to have faced no problems, you can fix mine for me.”
The subject only made Enjolras smile wider. The image of Gavroche pouting about being made to wear a tie only rivaled the image of he and Grantaire attempting to tame the blond mop. He had finally conceded to getting it cut and his face had gotten a good scrubbing as well. "If he can just tolerate it long enough for the pictures, then he can have at it. As for you..."
Enjolras stepped forward, taking the fabric in his hands and beginning to work it into the perfect bow. "Tuxedos look good on you. For that matter, the twenty-first century looks good on you." And he was alive and sober and more the man Enjolras had known than ever before. The very idea caused his grin to widen. Not much could ruin this day for him.
“I wish you the very best with that mon ami, but I do not like your chances,” he replied with a smirk. Gavroche would be lucky to even get to the ceremony with his hair looking half way reasonable, and his bowtie in place. It was like he’d said to Lagertha, when she had queried his painting. He wouldn’t be Gavroche if he was not looking just a little grubby. Though of course in this place that could be a little different.
He made a noncommittal noise at that, keeping still as Enjolras finished with the tie. “I think it is more the tuxedo than the twenty-first century, but since today is your day I will let you have your way.” Because really, Enjolras’ grin was infectious and he would defy anyone who did anything to spoil this for he or Eponine.
Enjolras was attempting to do his best by Gavroche. The boy hadn't had any sort of upbringing due to his failure for parents. The streets had treated him more kindly than the Thenardiers and that was saying something. He and the rest of the Amis had tried to help where they could, but here? Here he could do so much more. Give the boy not just a home, but family. Food and clothing, but also love and protection. Even if his hair was mussed and his tie askew, he was still the perfect addition to all family photos.
"Today is my day, and I'm right. It's a win all around." With a final tug, the bow tie was neatly in place, and he gave his friend's shoulder a pat before he stepped back. "There. Now I believe you look presentable enough to stand beside me." His grin was one of amusement, though, because he had meant what he said. The new, fresh haircut and the clean lines of the suit did wonders for his friend. That and the clearness in his eyes and the color in his cheeks. But those were subjects for another time.
“It’s just going to keep getting worse, I can see it now.” He was only teasing, of course. It was good to see Enjolras in such a good mood, and so ready to laugh. And if he couldn’t keep smiling like that today of all days, when could he? Because it really did look like he couldn’t stop smiling. It would be funny, but it was also somewhat endearing. The boy obsessed with revolution, with France, grinning like a loon about a girl.
“Thank goodness for that. Without your seal of approval we might have had to go find you someone else.” He reached up to feel the knot of the bowtie, wondering if it was simply a case of not being able to tie your own. Unless you were Enjolras. But then Grantaire had always had his friend on something of a pedestal. Even when it came to trivial things. “With that in mind, is there anything else I should be reminding you to do? Do you need to bring something with you to read, or is it all up there?” He gestured to his friends head. “Wearing both socks?” He couldn’t help it, really. He had been making jokes on and off about the responsibilities of being a best man since he had found a ridiculous website about it.
Not that there were many left to take Grantaire's place if he did step down, but he refused to dwell on that. The Seal could be just as cruel as it was kind, and Enjolras was used to that. He would still be grateful for the good things, like having his little if slightly dysfunctional family, and the people who remained. Death did do one thing. It taught him a lot about how to be happy with what he had.
So he simply smiled, lifting his eyebrows at Grantaire's comment. "You really think I, of all people, need a written speech to say my vows?" Speech making was what he did. And, to be honest, when it was something he was passionate about? He was good at it. Very good. Good enough to remember all the important bits. And he was quite passionate about his fiance.
Pulling up first one pant leg and then the other, he smirked. "Socks are a go. I honestly think I'm as ready as I'm going to get." Which was both comforting and terrifying somehow. If he was going to mess up, he wouldn't know. Overconfidence could be dangerous.
“I was thinking more for the sake of knowing when to stop,” Grantaire teased. “You know how you tend to get carried away when you’re excited about something…” He smirked. If there was something for Enjolras to get excited about, it was this. He’d probably have more to say about his love for Eponine than he did for the freedom of France.
He didn’t bother paying much attention when he pulled up his pant legs, knowing he actually would have on matching socks. He watched his friend silently for a moment when he said he was ready, considering. It was hard to think of Enjolras as nervous, but he suspected there might have been a bit of that. “Right then. Let’s go get you married before all this uncanny good luck runs out.”
"Are you accusing me of rambling?" Enjolras teased, though he knew what Grantaire meant. When a subject meant something to him, he wanted to share it. And he thought maybe their guests wouldn't want to hear a thirty minute tirade about how very in love he was.
At Grantaire's comment, a chill went down Enjolras' spine. That was slightly terrifying. He was content with things being the way they were. That wasn't something he wanted to risk. "Wait," he interrupted, before Grantaire could go literally dragging him out of the room. Reaching out, he touched his friend's arm. "I just... Thank you. For everything. For stepping up and being here and just...thanks." And making an effort to turn his life around and for not humiliating Enjolras in front of his wife-to-be and for being the friend he truly needed. But he had the feeling the conversation would get weird at that point. So he left it unspoken.
“I am,” he agreed easily. “I have heard many a passionate ramble from you over the years, mon ami.” Though it was largely teasing. Even his longest speeches could hardly be called rambling. Even if Grantaire loved to poke holes in the arguments and generally disagreed with a lot of it.
He looked down at Enjolras’ hand on his arm, then back to his face. “There’s nothing you need to thank me for.” Being here in the first place hadn’t exactly been a choice he had made, and he couldn’t imagine being here and then not standing by his friend, despite all the conflicting feelings that went with it. “I’m happy for you, Apollo. You deserve the chance at happiness more than anyone I know.” And that was about as far as they needed to go with that conversation.
Many people had argued with Enjolras. Grantaire, however, did so logically. He found the weak points in the speeches, in his arguments, and he made them stronger. It was harder for the common man to throw things at him if he'd already been prepared. Just another thing that was thanks to Grantaire. Even if most of the time he presented himself as the drunk with little to offer. Enjolras knew better.
"There's much I need to thank you for and we both know it," he said quietly. "But I can tell you're hardly in the mood for an outpouring of affection and so I won't. Just know that it means a lot to me. Having you here and your happiness." Now he only wished Grantaire himself could find such joy. Or, at the very least, that he could settle into some form of peace and contentment. "What's in the package?" he chose to ask instead, nodding toward the wrapping on the bed with a sly grin.
“Of course there is.” Because it might have been obvious he didn’t agree, but sometimes that was the easier road than arguing with Enjolras. Which he never truly minded, arguments with him were always entertaining, but he wanted to keep the conversation moving when there was a wedding in the not so distant future. He didn’t respond to the comment regarding affection because he really didn’t know what to think of it. It wasn’t that he didn’t. It was more that the subject that went with it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to discuss. Which was why he was moving the conversation along. And obviously why Enjolras was, too.
“That?” He raised an eyebrow at the sly look. “Oh. You think that’s for you. No, that’s completely unrelated to the wedding.” Though now that he thought about it, having Enjolras open it without anyone else around might be better. Even if Eponine wasn’t here. He was fine with less people seeing it. It was fine, objectively he knew he was a decent enough artist. But it had been a long time since he’d been sober enough (and with steady enough hands) to paint something so detailed and life like. He didn’t rate it too highly, comparatively.
"Did I say it was related? I don't remember saying that. Why would you assume I'd think that?" Despite that, Enjolras was smiling widely. Which did seem to be his default expression for today, of all days. "All I asked was what was in it."
It was fairly obvious by the shape of the package what was in it. And, if his suspicions were correct? He was honored. A painting made by his closest friend far rivaled any crock pots or fancy glassware. The personal touch, no matter what he had painted, meant an immense amount to him.
“If you can’t tell what it is from looking at that,” he nodded at the wrapped gift as an emphasis on the last word, “then I can’t help you.” It wasn’t as though he had been able to hide what it was. With a bit more effort he might have been able to disguise what it was, but by the time he was done and it had time to dry, he’d been too short on time.
“You can open it later, with Eponine. When I am somewhere far away.” He had no intention of being party to that moment. Either Enjolras would love it, and the moment would become awkward, or he really wouldn’t like it, and it would become even more awkward. He couldn’t help but lean more toward the latter. “You should probably know people will think you’ve lost your mind if you keep grinning like that.”
Enjolras' eyebrows lifted. "You're not staying while we open gifts?" The idea of Grantaire taking off during the day seemed almost unfair somehow. He didn't want to lose his friend for any reason. And, though jokes would always fly about Enjolras' inability to cope with emotions, he did know this day was difficult for Grantaire.
"I have lost my mind," he reminded him. "It's me, after all. Getting married. If the people of France saw me now..." Well. Mostly he hoped they'd be happy for him. But they could think he'd lost his drive, his will to make things better for them. Would they have lost confidence in him? He hoped not. If this particular wedding were happening in 1832 Paris, he hoped they'd even appreciate that he had chosen one of them. Someone just as committed to their lives as he was.
“You think I have anywhere else to go? I’ll still be there. But I’m sure I can find some excuse that will pull me away just long enough for you unwrap that one.” He knew how much Enjolras wanted him there. And he wanted to be there for him. How Enjolras felt and what he wanted was what was most important to Grantaire. It was his day, after all. Well, his and Eponine’s.
“Your friends, maybe. Not the people of France. They weren’t as aware of your inability to focus on anything else.” Combeferre had been the closest to Enjolras in that unwavering focus, but even he had not been quite so persistent about it.
Though he tried to keep it quiet, Enjolras couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped. He needed the backup and the support. Enjolras had lost some very good friends recently. The idea of not having his closest friend was nearly too much to bear. "You've no reason to go and hide, 'Taire. You're talented. Whatever it is will be perfect." Enjolras had once wished he'd had even half the talents his friend did. Now, though, he'd found what he was good at and he'd stuck to it.
"Oh, I think some of them had some idea. Honestly, though, you're right. Can you imagine the look on Courf's face?" It would be that dumbfounded gape he occasionally gave. The mental image was perfect. And while it hurt to know most of his friends couldn't be with him today, it did help imagining them.
“I didn’t say I would be hiding. I know I don’t need to hide.” And he was perfectly aware he was being obtuse. That wasn’t the point. As for being talented, well. They’d always held different opinions about that. “I know you’ve always thought so.” Or, no. Maybe not always. The last few years had changed that a bit.
He couldn’t help the smile at the image that conjured. Because he knew just the expression. And it was nice to have that thought about a friend. To not think of one of them with regret. “He’d manage to be supportive through the shock, at least.”
If Grantaire had shared his thoughts about the last few years, Enjolras would have challenged him. Because no, he hadn’t always approved of the things Grantaire was doing, the way he was numbing a great mind with so much potential. But even then, he knew the man was talented. He was a brilliant artist, one of the greats. The world had lost him far too soon. And that wasn’t lost on Enjolras.
“Oh, he’d stand up and make some epic speech that would rival yours, starting the Great Speech-Off or something. That doesn’t change the fact that he’d still be looking at me like I had two heads. Or at Eponine as if she were a unicorn.” Still. The memory of their friend, of all of them, made him smile. Yes, he still desperately missed them. But he knew a part of them was with him that day, as he finally gave over a part of himself to something other than Paris. “Don’t suppose the Seal would do us a favor and cough them up, at least for the day?”
“He could certainly try,” Grantaire responded with a humoured smile. But just as Enjolras could talk at great length about the things that he was passionate about, when it came to debating there weren’t many who were willing to argue their point as doggedly as he was. “Not you, too. There is no such thing as unicorns. I will accept demons, and vampires, and even fairies. But no unicorns.”
He really wished he could make it happen for his friend, on today of all days. Give him what he wanted. Grantaire alone wasn’t enough, he knew that. Enjolras needed them all here, particularly Courfeyrac and Combeferre.“I haven’t seen it attempt any favours yet, and I don’t see it starting.”
“When we start a family, I am absolutely suggesting a unicorn themed nursery, out of spite.” Enjolras couldn’t deny the thought that had consumed him lately was of the future. His wife and little brother, Grantaire stepping up and filling that older brother role. And children. At least one, maybe two. Raising them to be a bright spot in a potentially dark world. Eponine’s smile, if they were lucky, his hair if they weren’t. But the very idea warmed him.
Grantaire’s words settled over him and he nodded. Of course, his friend was right. It was still nice to dream. “That’s all right,” he said agreeably. Meeting Grantaire’s eyes, he looked at him firmly. “I have you. And that matters more than most.” Releasing a deep breath, he grinned. “Come on. Part of your job is to get me there on time.”