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polyhappyfandomtrash · 7 years

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As ever, all you have to do is scream into the void "Prompts please!!" & I shall appear. Hmm, how 'bout a lil' ExR, you keen on AU's? If so, theatre nerds becos let's be real they're pretentious arts kids. In the wings, opening night & it's all nervous excitement & reassurances, then they get carried away & the stage manager is storming towards them because they missed their cue. If not, drunkenly admitting love, maybe before they die ;) Bit of angst. Huzzah! -Muffin x (Does that make me 'M'?)

Yes, that makes you M, cute muffin, and ilu oh my god seriously. Give me all the AUs. ALL OF THEM.

Also, I couldn’t decide which one I liked more, so guess what? Both. Theatre College Class AU, followed by fucking sadness. There isn’t an actual love admittance, but I was trying to do it without words, so.

Now is a good time to admit that while I love these two fuckers, I’ve only seen the 2012 movie three times, maybe, and I’ve never read a line of The Brick. So. D:

Fics below the cut again, because I can’t write a drabble under 1K. I mean, technically it’s two at 700 and 300 ish each but whatever.

The sounds of the audience has Grantaire nearly in tears from where he is up in the wings, hiding, despite how quiet they are - the play is in full swing at this point. They’re there, though, and he can feel them. He’s not big on crowds, and why didn’t anyone remind him that becoming an actor meant being in front of people? He grips the ropes to the backdrops in a white knuckled grip, staring down at the painted cafe, and swallows thickly.

“Don’t yank those the wrong way, or this’ll turn into Phantom real quick,” says a voice behind him, and Grantaire jumps damn near out of his skin, whirling around to find Enjolras standing behind him, grinning. Why is he grinning? Grantaire realizes belatedly that he must have said so out loud, because Enjolras responds, leaning against the railing on the narrow walkway above the stage, “You disappeared and I was sent to find you. You’re on in a few minutes.” He produces a flask out of his back pocket and offers it out to Grantaire, who stares at it warily.

“I thought you didn’t approve of my drinking,” he says, flatly, though his hand twitches for it, and Enjolras implores it towards him again, rolling his eyes.

“Take a drink, man, you look wild, and besides, it’ll help you get in character. It’s opening night, relax. It’ll be great.” Enjolras adjusts the red jacket he has on, dusting at the cuffs.

Grantaire’s eyes narrow, but he takes a pull from the flask, muttering, “I’m trying to be serious,” which only makes Enjolras grin. They both know their lines, after all, and using them in such a way feels a bit like an inside joke. They have inside jokes, Grantaire thinks, and he stares at the floor, cheeks flushed from more than just the drink as he hands it back, glancing up when Enjolras takes a pull from it too.

“Look, Grantaire, everything’s going to be fine. I promise,” he says, stepping a bit closer, suddenly looking nervous. “Why don’t we go out to celebrate after the show tonight?” He offers, and Grantaire has to shut his eyes and take a breath and open them again, because-

“I’m sorry, my brain short circuited and it thought you said you wanted to go out with me tonight.”

Enjolras grins and leans over to plant a kiss just to the side of the man’s mouth, “I did indeed,” he agrees, “We’ve been working on this play for weeks; we’ve built the set with everyone, you painted the backdrops, I helped with the lines. This is our baby, and we’re going to celebrate later, okay?”

Okay, wait. Now they have a baby together? Grantaire needs to shake his head; his eyes are stuck on Enjolras’ stupid, pretty face. And the next moment, his lips are stuck to Enjolras’ stupid, pretty face.

Ten minutes later, pressed up against each other in the shadows of stage left’s curtains, Enjolras suddenly rips himself away from Grantaire, turning as he feels more than hears someone coming across the scaffolding towards them.

Grantaire grips Enjolras’ arm, turning the man’s face back to him with a breathless grin, “It’s Valjean!” he whispers, even as the man strides towards them angrily, hissing something at them and pointing down below at the stage, where it’s obvious everyone is scrambling through an improvised scene, and shit, they were both supposed to be on stage by now.

Enjolras glances at Grantaire, “How badly do you need the credits for this class?” Grantaire starts laughing and it’s all the answer Enjolras needs because they’re running off and down the ladder as quickly as possible, ducking completely out of the theatre through the back.

The show is cancelled for the night and they get a failing grade and a stern talking to by Valjean, as well as more work than ever before, but Grantaire doesn’t care, because after they left the theatre, they still celebrated opening night.

It’s cold outside, unseasonably cold for June, and death hangs in the air like smoke, heavy and cloying. Grantaire isn’t sure whose blood he’s covered in anymore, and he doesn’t really care at this point. The pain in his leg is unbearable. Or would be, if he could feel it anymore; he’s a bit too drunk now to really notice. Enjolras is sitting beside him, staring into a middle distance. Grantaire tries and fails to picture what the man might be seeing. His blonde hair is dusty and limp, hanging in a loose tangle around his shoulders, the spark in his eyes gone.

There are a thousand things he wants to say - apologies, comforts, trifles, observations, curses. None of them will matter, just as their entire fight won’t have mattered in the end. It’s nothing Enjolras doesn’t already know, and definitely nothing he wants to hear. Instead, he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind the man’s ear, the move practiced and easy - he’s done it often enough as a ploy to get closer to one of the gals that frequent the Musain. This time, there’s caring affection in the touch and something he’ll never have the chance to name. It makes Enjolras turn, and they both just stare at each other with sad, dead eyes. Eyes of the defeated, of the waiting and the cornered, Grantaire thinks.

He holds out the wine bottle he has loosely gripped, and Enjolras doesn’t even blink, just accepts it and starts downing the thing in one long drought. Grantaire sighs, and leans his head back against the wall. It’s quiet, and they sit in the silence, sharing the next bottle, avoiding the gazes of their dead friends strewn across the floor in front of them.

And when the armed men kick down the shakily fortified door, Grantaire and Enjolras just push themselves to a stand, staring down the rifles pointed at them in defiance. Grantaire feels Enjolras’ hand slide into his, warm and comforting, the only thing Grantaire wants to care about anymore. He squeezes. Enjolras squeezes back.

It’s cold.

Graintaire closes his eyes.

Enjolras’ hand is so warm.

#exr #enjoltaire #college au #theatre au #canon era #FUCKING SAD FEELS #DON'T READ THE SECOND ONE OKAY I HURT MYSELF

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