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starryevermore · 3 years

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A Gift For a Gift

I’m sorry this is so long and if you see any grammatical errors, no you don’t <3 lol anyway I just wanted to write something for you since you write so much for us! Thanks so much Kayla, we love you! (I also cannot for the life of me figure out the read more thing, so I am sorry again lol) (Kayla here! I added a read more for you 🥰)

Colby fucking hated Valentine’s Day. For most of his teenage life, if he saw those stupid hearts and those goddamn teddy bears, he was instantly in a worse mood. Most years, it made sense why he hated the holiday. He’d been single a long time, and even when he had a girlfriend, he hadn’t had the money to give his girl a proper date. He always tried, but it never seemed good enough. His mind would always go back to one year in particular where he’d tried to set up a picnic for a girl in the living room of his house. He was 15 so he had no car or money, and it was Kansas, so there was a foot of snow on the ground anyway. He’d gone all out. He asked his mom to bring home some balloons and flowers and all that gross shit just so the aesthetic was perfect. He then tried to actually cook food. Himself. At fifteen years old. For the first time. When he tells this story and says Mama Brock came running with the fire extinguisher, he’s not kidding. His mom made the meal.

At the cost of his whole day (and nearly his home), his girlfriend came over and laughed. Not in a cute way or in disbelief, but laughed in his face over his efforts. She picked apart every inch of the room he had decorated and told him it was ugly. Apparently he had used the wrong shade of red? He hadn’t realized that it mattered, but “barnyard red” was not right. She said the balloons were tacky and the flowers were meaningless because they weren’t roses. She refused to eat the meal because it was cold (since she’d shown up an hour late), and then broke up with him on the spot.

So yeah. Colby fucking hated Valentine’s Day most of the time. This year was different, though. He had met the love of his life. He was convinced you were the one he was supposed to be with all this time. He’d waited and it was worth it. And you loved Valentine’s Day. The pinks and reds made you happier than anything else. He’d never seen someone get so giddy over seeing a pink bear with a heart on it’s foot until he’d met her. Every trip to Target was punctuated with a visit to the dreaded candy section. But he saw you smile at every silly pun on the backs of the card boxes. You laughed at the ridiculous couples games. You hugged at least one bear every time and forced it to hug him too. You were happy. This time of year and celebration made you happy. And damn it that was enough to put aside his petty hatred for this capitalist cash-grab of a holiday and come up with the most kickass Valentine’s Day date he ever could.

He hadn’t realized how hard that would be. He was a hopeless romantic, but he was also hopelessly self-destructive. He would come up with an idea and every scenario started beautifully in his imagination, but every time each scenario ended with something awful. He thought you two could go to the beach, but then he imagined you falling into the water and getting salt in your eyes. Maybe you two could go to the movies, but then you could get stuck in front of two teenagers who weren’t aware that just because a room is dark, the sounds they were making weren’t audible.

This cycle went on for a long time. It took so long, he actually forgot what day it was. He’d begun planning the second February hit. He checked the calendar and realized he only had a week until The Day. Fuck. Had it really been a week? He felt like his head was swimming. His final brain cell was short circuiting and his head literally had no thoughts left in it, only fuzz. His head hadn’t felt this empty while still spinning since he’d learned about imaginary numbers in Algebra II. And he’d never actually learned imaginary numbers. Sam took that test for him. Suddenly, he had one thought.

“I gotta ask Sam.”

Sam Golbach, per usual, had about a million suggestions. Colby reasoned that since he’d had more experience having an actual girlfriend on The Day, Sam should have more ideas than himself. The only issue is that the brain cell Colby had frazzled trying to come up with a date was usually shared between him and Sam, so Sam had all of the same ideas Colby did. He suggested the beach and the movie and the dinner and blah blah blah, so Colby was literally at square one. Sam was supposed to fix all of these issues. He had the brain and the longer relationship, so what the fuck? Why had he picked this time to not have any original idea?

“Colby.” Sam shook Colby’s arm.

“Jesus dude, you scared me. What?”

“You’ve been staring at the carpet for like 30 seconds. I know what it looks like when you’re mentally drifting. That’s the only kind you can do, if our video had anything to prove.” Sam smirked, knowing full well that Colby had taken second place in that challenge.

“Shut up, dude. You had more time driving manual. I just learned there.” Colby knew his defense was weak, but it was a defense nonetheless.

“And you did well.”

“Don’t patronize me. I killed that car like twelve times. It feels like I’m going to end up doing the same with this relationship.” Colby sighed and rubbed his face. He held his hands there, flush against his cheeks. He could feel himself heating up and the cool metal of his rings, one of which you gave him, always helped keep him grounded. Sam grabbed his shoulder and shook him again.

“Would you shut the fuck up?”

Colby removed his hands from his face, side-eyeing Sam, surprised “What the hell, Sam?”

“Someone needed to say it. You’re talking yourself down again. Yeah, you killed the car. But you learned. You’ll do the same thing here. If you mess up, who cares? You tried! You need to realize that perfection isn’t attainable, so stop trying to attain it. You don’t have anything to be afraid of. Anything you do will make her happy. Because it’s you. She loves you. Any situation or plan can go wrong. We of all people should fucking know that. But don’t let fear stop you. You never have before. So what is your problem?” Sam asked, softening the harshness of some of his words by rubbing comforting circles into Colby’s shoulder.

Sam knew Colby. He knew Colby was afraid. He’d been hurt so many times, and sadly many of those times, the hurt was self-inflicted. Colby held himself to an insane standard that he’d never expect anyone else to live up to, but this was Colby and Colby deserved harsh critique apparently. He refused to let his friend scare himself into doing nothing and then letting that nothing ruin what he had going. (Y/N) and Colby were made for each other. Anything Colby did made your heart swell and just knowing he put in effort would be more than enough. But Colby didn’t know that, or rather, refused to acknowledge that. Sam was getting tired of it.

“You know her. Just do something she’ll like. Not whatever anyone tells you you should do. She loves you” Sam said, squeezing Colby’s shoulder one more time before dropping his hand to the arm of the chair. Colby smiled and looked at him.

“Thanks Sam. You’re right, once again. I don’t know how you always know what to say. I love you, dude.”

“Hold up, I’m not your valentine. I said she loved you, not me. Save all that mushy shit for her. You’re wasting your soft energy.” Sam laughed, standing to leave.

“Oh shit, you’re right. Us emo boys can only express positive emotions twice a week and I’ve wasted once on you. How could I be so dumb?” Colby shot sardonically back, returning to his computer to look up restaurants.

Sam laughed again and walked to the door. He went through and closed it behind him, but Colby knew he was still on the other side, hand on the handle. Colby turned just as Sam quickly stuck his back into the room, quickly whispering “I love you too” before slamming the door again and audibly running down the hall to his room. Colby laughed out loud that time. His friend was an idiot, but they’d be so lost without each other.

Time to plan the date Colby knew you would like, not the date that was in the movies. He still hated Valentine’s Day.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Well everything was going to shit, just as Colby had feared. He had been so proud of himself. He thought of an amazing night. First, you two were going to go to your favorite restaurant and have the meal you’d been saying you craved for two weeks. He’d even called the place ahead of time, asking if they could play your song at a certain time, since they had a live band. He may have had to use some of that influencer clout to get that request, but it was okay. Did he feel like an absolute rat that just ran through the New York City sewer system for doing it? Absolutely. Would he ever do it again? If you asked him to, probably. But not for a long time.

However, what had failed to happen was a valid reservation. It was Valentine’s Day in Los Angeles, after all. There would be no place in the whole city that wasn’t booked to full capacity. Colby knew that. That’s why he made the reservation directly after his talk with Sam. A week ago. The restaurant accidentally double booked your table. And the other couple had come before you two. Directly before you. As in they were the ones in front of you in line.

“Well, is there anything we can do?” Colby asked

“Not really, the whole place is booked all night. I’m so sorry. You’ll get a full refund?” The hostess looked down and cringed, seemingly preparing for the Karen reaction. You and Colby just looked at each other and looked back at her apologetically. It must be hell to work here on The Day and deal with all of these rich assholes with an elitist complex. Which is exactly what you said to her. She just laughed lightly and brushed it off, but you and Colby saw the look of acknowledgement in her eyes. You both said your thank yous and goodbye while walking towards the main sidewalk where you’d parked. That had gone right, at least. You both were ecstatic that you’d actually found reasonable, legal parking close to the restaurant in downtown LA. That was a feat.

Or at least, Colby thought the spot was legal. The ticket on his windshield begged to differ.

“What the hell? We were gone for like ten minutes!” Colby exclaimed, annoyed but impressed at the dedication of the PEO in the area.

You laughed heartily. Colby’s little cloud of poor luck seemingly didn’t take a holiday. Just one of the nuances you loved about him. You’d always have a story. You could see the doubt creeping into his face and you were about to reprimand it, but you faintly heard your favorite song playing in the distance. The band inside had taste! You gasped and smacked his arm, flapping your other hand excitedly.

“Listen!” You said, pulling him back from the car and taking his hands.

Colby looked down and checked his watch.

“7:45. That’s right.” He flicked his eyes up to your face, coughing awkwardly as he rubbed his neck.

“You planned that?” You smiled, taking his hand back again and pulling him a little closer.

“Yeah… I tried anyway. I planned to be able to hear it a little better, but this is a lesson in using Instagram followers for special treatment I guess.”

You laughed again and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him close to you.

“Well, don’t ever do that again obviously, but let’s dance like we did that one time the bouncer wasn’t convinced we were old enough to get into the club.” He giggled at that, remembering the look of bewilderment you two shared when Sam and Kat walked in with no issue. Of course you’d both forgotten your IDs that night. You decided to dance right outside anyway.

“Okay, but aren’t I supposed to be the one taking the lead?”

“Fuck gender roles.” You smiled, pulling him even closer and tucking your head beneath his chin, swaying him to the song playing from inside. He laughed again and let you move him around. He wasn’t good at dancing on his own anyway, so maybe you leading was the better decision. He was just letting things happen, slowly allowing himself to just let go and enjoy dancing with you. He felt silly and like he’d failed already, but he was keeping it together. There was still more planned. Where he couldn’t keep his poker face was when you -attempted- to spin him but actually just smacked his face with his own arm. You both giggled lightly and you decided to seal the deal with a sorry attempt at a dip. You forgot that he was taller than you, so gravity decided to join the forces against you two that night. Thankfully you were both near the car still, because Colby was able to keep both of you from the pavement by hitting his back against the door and grabbing onto the handle. You both were laughing hysterically at this point, unable to really form coherent sentences.

“Just get in the car,” You got out eventually, wiping the tears from your eyes. “And never tell anyone.”

“I don’t plan on it.” Colby said, opening the door for you.

“This is one of the chivalrous acts that I will accept, so don’t ever stop doing that.” You joked, kissing his cheek lightly as you got in.

“Note taken.” Colby laughed, closing the door behind you.

“So Romeo, now that the masquerade is bust, where are we headed?” You asked once he got in and started driving.

“I know that was supposed to be a reference, but I haven’t thought about that play since I was twelve,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Anyway, we’re going somewhere I think of when I think of you.”

You smiled softly at him with that. This boy was a big ol’ softie and he really pretends he’s not. You never bought it. He was incredibly sentimental and sweet, so you knew that wherever you all were going was going to mean a lot to him. Therefore, it would mean a lot to you too.

You were driving for a long time. You were no longer anywhere close to downtown and you couldn’t help but ask a million questions. Where are we going? Are we there yet? Why are we going here? Where are we going?

“You’ve already asked that.” Colby smiled, endeared by your only-child behavior but slightly annoyed nonetheless.

“You got me there, Brock. But where are we going?” Colby groaned, leaning forward into the wheel. He reached to his phone and handed it to you with the Aux cord.

“Please, pick something and stop asking!”

You smirked and went to his music. Usually, you would go straight to the songs you wanted, but you were being nosy. You decided to go to his playlists and see what he had saved. You were scrolling past the expected “editing” list or the “late night” playlists, but stopped when you saw it. The most recently added list was one simply titled, “Her” with a small heart next to it, the black one of course. You cocked your eyebrow and clicked it. You started looking through the songs and saw all of the songs you’ve recommended to him over your relationship, along with some outliers. You glanced over at him, seeing if he was paying attention.

He wasn’t. His brain was going at a million miles an hour. He felt like a comeplete fuck up. How was he the one table that was double booked? How had they managed to hit intense traffic at eight and made this drive take half an hour? How were you not bored out of your mind? There’s no way you were having any fun. He continued to stew in these intense thoughts when he’s snapped back to reality by the opening chords of Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol.

Shit. She found it. He thought. He risked a glance at you, blushing bright red. Please don’t…

You were smiling widely at him. “You have a playlist for me?”

“Oh god.”

The rest of the drive flew by, you two screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs once Colby’s embarrassment faded. It reminded you of the first time you had hung out, just you two. You’d discovered a mutual love for early 2000’s emo music, so you two screamed your voices away to the sweet dynamics of My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy until two that morning. You smiled quietly, remembering the fun of that day. You knew this was one special dumbass that day, especially after figuring out he had misheard “down in an earlier round” from Sugar, We’re Going Down as “down on a merry-go-round” for literal years. You had scream-laughed at that and corrected him, laughing even harder as the realization spread across his face.

“Holy shit.” He’d whispered. “It’s been years…”

“Hey, we’re here.” Colby startled you out of your daydream. You smiled at him as he climbed out of the car and sprinted to open your door. You laughed, remembering your comments at the restaurant. He opened the door and let you out, beginning the walk towards the location. You recognized this location. It was the neighborhood of the chandelier tree from one of his earliest vlogs. You had seen it and begged for him to take you there. It seemed so cute. You smiled widely at him, placing your hand in his. You swung his hand lightly as you walked, knowing it drove him crazy.

“Would you stop that?” he playfully asked, feigning annoyance. You responded by swinging his arm as far back as you could, saying,

“Careful Brock. Watch the tone or I’ll try and dip you again.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about that?” He asked cheekily, taking the piss.

You laughed again and smacked his arm as you turned the corner to the tree. Or the location of the tree, as there were no chandeliers.

“What?” Colby asked, mostly to himself. You both looked at each other, confused. You got closer, deciding to let go of each other’s hands as Colby went ahead, trying to see if it was just around another corner or if he was on the wrong block. You pulled out your phone and asked Google.

“Oh, baby. They took this down last month!” You frowned, calling out to him.

“Seriously?” Colby asked, clearly disappointed. Another fuck up. He hadn’t even thought to look up if it was still here or not “Shit.”

You could see the wheels in his head turning, trying to figure out what to say. You were about to reassure him when he lights up, turning to you and exclaiming,

“The park! That pretty lookout Sam and I used to go to all the time! It’s like ten minutes from here, we could go there. I’m sure it’s awesome right now.”

You smiled and were nodding in agreement when a loud bang made the two of you jump ten feet. You looked quizzically at each other when your mutual question was answered by a sudden downpour of rain and flash of lightning. A thunderstorm, of fucking course. Colby removed his jacket, holding it above your head as you both made a break for the car.

After your dead sprint, you both sat in your seat, heaving breaths and looking out in pure wonder. You looked over to Colby, ready to laugh at the absurdity of the whole night when you saw him slumped forward on the wheel, refusing to look at you, shoulders shaking slightly.

“Colby, baby, are you okay?” you asked lightly, grabbing his arm. He turned even farther away, opting to lean his head against his window to cool his heating face. He refused to let you see the single tear that was leaving his eye.

“I’m sorry.” was all he muttered.

You were shocked. “Baby, you don’t control the weather. If you did, I’d be pissed you haven’t fixed global warming yet.” You attempted to joke. He didn’t laugh.

“I failed again. I just wanted to make something special for you. I know you love Valentine’s Day and it means a lot to you. I hate this fucking holiday but I wanted to make you happy. But I fucked it up. Just like I do everything. I mean, it’s raining! In L.A.! What the fuck! There’s nowhere open that’s not booked and it’s already nine and I haven’t even gotten you food and you probably have never had a worse valentine’s-” he tried to rant, but you covered his mouth with your hand. His eyes darted to you, surprised.

You were beyond hurt. You couldn’t believe he didn’t see how much fun you were having or how much pressure he’d put on himself to make everything perfect. You should’ve guessed as much. You reached your other hand around the back of his neck, moving the one from his mouth to his cheek, kissing him.

“Would you shut the fuck up?” you said, pulling back. He barked a short laugh out, surprised.

“You know, you’re not the first one to tell me that about this whole thing.”

“You talked to Sam about this date?”

“How’d you know?” He looked at you again, fully flabbergasted. You laughed.

“Do you talk to anyone else about stuff important to you?” He shrugged, clearly thinking it through.

“Other than you, no, not really.”

“Anyway, he’s right. I don’t care that stuff didn’t work out. You put more thought into this night than anyone else has ever put into any date I’ve ever been on. You poured your heart into it. You thought every little thing through. You tried. And even when things didn’t work out, we had fun. We reminisced on our relationship so far. We danced, screamed songs, and ran through the rain. You tried to give me a super involved date. You gave me a damn movie instead.”

Colby scoffed at the irony in that. He did exactly what he was trying not to do. Fairly typical. You swiped your thumb across his cheek, getting his attention again.

“You’re drifting, stay with me.” Colby laughed and rolled his eyes. You stilled your thumb, confused.

“You and Sam are literally on the same wavelength.”

“Or we are the ones who know you best. I think I’ve got him beat on the loving you, though,” you paused. “Maybe.”

You both chuckled again.

“But seriously, Colbs, if you’re here, I’m happy. You make anything fun. That’s why I’m in love with you. I know you think about everything and try your fucking hardest. You are the sweetest man I know. That’s why I picked you. Remember, I had a line of suitors waiting,” you winked, knowing Colby knew that all too well.

“God, don’t remind me.” He groaned. He leaned his cheek into your hand, allowing you to hold him. That’s how you knew he loved you. He let his guard down and let you love him. He doesn’t do that for many, and you knew that. You loved that he let you in. He lightly kissed the hand that was still caressing his cheek, smiling when you pulled him close again. You two stayed like that for a while, kissing softly while the rain pattered against your windows. It really was like a movie. The gray, swirling clouds and soft wisps of the wind lulled you both into a serene sense of young love. You belong here. This was you two. Shit was going to go wrong. And you were going to love each other through it. That’s what made you two special. You don’t want perfection. You want each other.

“So,” Colby said softly as he pulled back. “How’s about we pick up some In-And-Out and binge watch Attack on Titan in the big theatre?” You smiled again, squeezing the back of his neck one more time.

“Fuck yeah.”

So, that’s what you all did. And it was the best night ever, just you two being goofy and in love. And okay, Colby may be coming around to Valentine’s Day. Or maybe it’s just you. He thinks it’s just you. Either way, he can’t wait to spend the rest of them just like this.

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kjack89 · 5 years

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Through the Years

A little early Valentine’s Day fluff, with all my love.

Five very different Valentine’s Days for Enjolras and Grantaire through the years. Modern AU. Featuring background Joly/Bossuet.

February 14, 2015

“What’re you doing up this early?” Bossuet asked, tipping his head back automatically for Joly to drop a kiss on his lips as he darted around the kitchen looking harried.

“I’ve got pre-rounds at the hospital in half an hour,” Joly told him, pouring coffee into a travel mug. “Did you forget to go to bed last night?”

Bossuet sighed, glancing back down at the newspaper. “Accidentally set my alarm for 4:30 instead of 8:30,” he said mournfully. “Hey, do you remember what show won the 2014 Tony?”

Joly blinked. “Are you trying to do the crossword again?”

“Trying but not succeeding,” Bossuet sighed.

Joly laughed and kissed the top of his head before peering over his shoulder. “11 down is ‘Ali’.”

“Hm?”

“Aladdin Prince, three letters,” Joly said, pointing at the column in question. “It’s Ali.”

Bossuet scowled and batted his hand away. “Ok but I would’ve gotten that one on my own, thanks.”

Joly laughed but before he could respond, a slightly frantic knock sounded on their door, and he sighed and gave Bossuet a look. “I do not have time to deal with Grantaire this morning.”

“I’ll deal with it,” Bossuet assured him, standing and heading to the door while Joly disappeared back into the bedroom to grab his bag. Bossuet took a deep, steadying breath before forcing a smile and opening the door. “Good morning, R,” he said.

Grantaire brushed past him, his eyes wild, his hair completely disheveled. “I am so fucked,” he announced hoarsely.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that,” Bossuet assured him without anything even approximating sincerity, skirting past Grantaire to make his way over to the coffee pot. “Coffee?”

“I’d prefer something stronger,” Grantaire muttered.

Bossuet gave him a look. “You drank all our whiskey the last time you had an early morning crisis.”

Grantaire scowled. “And you didn’t go to the liquor store in the interim?”

“Nor apparently did you, so—”

Grantaire almost smiled. “Touché.”

Before he could say anything else, Joly rushed out of the bedroom. “Hey, R,” he said as he darted past him and kissed Bossuet on the cheek. “Love you, see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you too!” Bossuet called after him before turning back to Grantaire, who looked disgruntled. “He’s got pre-rounds.”

Grantaire shook his head. “No, that’s—I mean, yeah, I know Joly’s busy, but, like…” He trailed off before shaking his head again, somewhat incredulously. “You know what day it is, right?”

“Uh — Saturday?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Grantaire informed him, still looking a little miffed as he accepted a mug of coffee from Bossuet. “And I was missing a little bit of the expected nauseatingly perfect romance between you and darling Jolllly.”

Bossuet laughed. “Romance,” he practically chortled. “Joly and I have been together for, what, five years now, and you think we still care about romance?” He shook his head. “We’ll celebrate Valentine’s Day when we get a joint day off, and in the meantime, what we have is better than that shit.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Better than that shit,” he repeated. “I guess romance really is dead.”

Bossuet gave him a look. “Anyway,” he said deliberately, “what crisis brought you here at ass o’clock in the morning?”

Grantaire’s smile disappeared, replaced by something approaching panic. “It’s — it’s just, like, hilariously bad timing,” he muttered, slumping down at the table. “Like, worthy of your luck kind of bad timing.”

Bossuet sat down across from him. “Bad timing?” he repeated. “For you and I assume Enjolras?”

“Am I that obvious?” Grantaire asked, and when Bossuet remained tactfully silent, he sighed. “Yeah, ok, I’m that obvious.” He sighed again and scrubbed a hand across his face before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “Look, this has to stay between us, alright?”

“Between us includes Joly, right?” Bossuet asked, and Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you, me, Joly, and no one else, ok? I mean it.”

“Shall I cross my heart and hope to die?” Bossuet quipped, but when Grantaire didn’t so much as smile, his own smile faded. “Grantaire, what’s going on?”

Grantaire drained his mug of coffee in one big gulp before managing, “Enjolras and I…” He trailed off, but Bossuet didn’t press, and after a long moment, Grantaire cleared his throat before continuing, somewhat reluctantly, “Enjolras and I were at the Musain late last night and we were talking—”

“Arguing,” Bossuet interrupted and Grantaire half-smiled.

“—and, y’know, it got late and one thing led to another and, uh…” He again trailed off and took a deep breath before blurting all in one rapid go, “He-invited-me-back-to-his-place-and-we-had-sex.”

Bossuet choked on his sip of coffee, but for some reason, his resulting cough sounded an awful lot like ‘finally’. “Well, that’s, uh…” He trailed off as if searching for the right word but seemed to give up on that plan, settling instead for asking, somewhat delicately, “So what are you freaking out about?”

Grantaire stared at him. “We had sex,” he repeated slowly, as if he thought Bossuet hadn’t quite grasped it. “Enjolras. And me. On the night before Valentine’s Day.” He made a face. “And then, technically, again on Valentine’s Day.”

“Ah.” Bossuet took a sip of coffee before asking cautiously, “So are you more freaked out by the fact that you had sex and you don’t know what it means, or that you had sex on Valentine’s Day and you don’t know what that means?”

“I...we…Both?” Grantaire’s face turned a mottled shade of red. “We just, uh, we didn’t, y’know, talk. About. Stuff.”

“Well with eloquence like that, I can see why.”

Grantaire glared at him. “I come to you in my time of need and this is how you treat me?”

Bossuet shrugged. “You’re always welcome to find someone else who will let you into their apartment at 5 in the morning and give you coffee and listen to you rant.”

Though Grantaire’s glare didn’t waver, he still managed a seething, “Fair point,” before dropping his head into his hands and practically wailing in a muffled voice, “What does it mean?”

Bossuet patted him consolingly on the shoulder. “Well, I think the sex probably speaks for itself. After all, you two have been sickeningly into each other for years now, even if you’re both too stubborn to actually admit it. As for Valentine’s Day—” He hesitated. “I mean, it’s Enjolras. Love him though I do — though certainly not like you — I cannot imagine that he would care about a capitalist non-holiday, and I almost guarantee that he was not thinking about it when he asked you back to his.”

“So it didn’t mean anything to him?”

Grantaire’s voice was high-pitched and miserable, and Bossuet sighed. “You slept together for the first time so I doubt it doesn’t mean anything. Just — I also doubt it means anything more to him than it would on any other day of the year.” He paused. “Besides, like, Bastille Day. Maybe.”

Grantaire peeked through his fingers as he asked despairingly, “And what if I want it to mean more?”

Bossuet stared at him. “Do you?” he asked doubtfully.

Grantaire slowly lowered his hands from his face as he shrugged, looking almost embarrassed at what he had admitted. “I mean...it’s Enjolras,” he hedged, as if it was an answer to the question. “And it’s Valentine’s Day. Put the two together and it’s almost enough to make me a believer.”

“Key word there being almost,” Bossuet muttered. He shook his head slowly. “Well, look, first and foremost, you should probably be having this conversation with Enjolras, not with me.” Grantaire let out a wounded noise at the thought, which Bossuet ignored. “And secondly, since it is Valentine’s Day...seems like a pretty good time to tell him that you want this to mean more.”

Grantaire wrinkled his nose. “Can’t I just sleep with him again?”

“You can. And I’m pretty sure you’re gonna, regardless of what I say. But if five years of nauseatingly perfect romance — your words, not mine — have taught me anything, you’re still gonna have to talk eventually.”

Bossuet finished his coffee while Grantaire stewed in silence. Eventually, Grantaire sighed. “Fine,” he said, drawing the single syllable out as if it pained him. “I will talk to him. Or something. Though I can’t guarantee I won’t sleep with him again first.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Bossuet said solemnly, though he couldn’t quite stop his grin. “And Grantaire — I’m really happy for you.”

“Hold that thought until after I talk to him,” Grantaire grumbled, though he knocked into Bossuet with something like affection as he stood. “Thanks for everything, blah blah blah, I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“What, are you going now?” Bossuet asked, startled. “It’s not six o’clock in the morning yet.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Yeah, I figure if I hurry, I can probably get back to Enjolras’s before he wakes up.”

Bossuet stared at him. “He wasn’t even awake when you left?!”

Grantaire looked smug. “What can I say, I wore him out,” he said with a smirk, and Bossuet rolled his eyes. “But seriously, he sleeps like the dead. It would take a nuclear explosion to wake him up.” He paused. “Or Courfeyrac. Moral of the story, he probably won’t even notice I was gone. And hell, I may even get another couple hours of sleep, since I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Again Bossuet rolled his eyes. “Because of all the sex?” he asked dryly.

“No. Because Enjolras snores.”

Grantaire kissed the top of Bossuet’s bald head. “Thanks for everything,” he repeated, and Bossuet squirmed away, laughing.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, now get outta here,” he said. “Oh, and Grantaire?” Grantaire paused and glanced back at him. “Do you know what show won a 2014 Tony Award?”

“Just Google the answers to the crossword puzzle like everyone else,” Grantaire told him, smirking when Bossuet scowled at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“Happy Valentine’s Day my ass,” Bossuet grumbled, turning back to the newspaper. He stared at the crossword puzzle for a moment before sighing and pulling out his phone.

But before going into Google, he opened his text messages first.

[To: Joly] You’re not gonna believe that happened.

[To: Bossuet] E and R?

[To: Joly] Got it in one.

[To: Bossuet] F I N A L L Y

---

February 14, 2016

Enjolras adjusted his cufflinks as he glanced around the crowded ballroom, relaxing when he saw Grantaire weaving through the crowd, a glass of champagne in one hand, a glass of some amber alcohol in the other. “Did you get the coat check squared away?” he asked as he reached Enjolras and handed the glass of champagne off.

“Yes, though I’m not entirely sure why the gentleman manning the coat check found my questions about how much he was being paid rude,” Enjolras said, taking a sip of champagne before pulling at his bowtie. “And I think he thought I was trying to get him to join a church instead of join a union.”

“Potato, po-tah-to,” Grantaire mumbled into his whiskey as he scanned the room. “So I assume we have to make the rounds at some point, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather have a drink or two in me first.” He glanced at Enjolras, half-smiling. “And I imagine you’d prefer me with a drink or two as well.”

Enjolras laughed lightly and shook his head. “You are one of the only people I know who can be significantly nicer when drunk than when sober.”

Grantaire leaned in and kissed his cheek. “That’s only because you haven’t spent enough time around drunk girls,” he said cheerfully. “Trust me, no one is as nice a drunk girl who senses any kind of kindred spirit.”

“Even Éponine?”

Grantaire considered it. “Ok, Ép may be the exception to that rule.”

Enjolras laughed again before giving Grantaire an appraising look. “I know I said it earlier, but you look really amazing tonight.”

“What, this old thing?” Grantaire said, aiming for nonchalance even as he preened slightly at the compliment. “What can I say, Bossuet accidentally buying our tuxes instead of renting them for Marius and Cosette’s wedding came in handy.” He gave Enjolras a once-over. “And you, of course, look positively sinful. I want to gag you with that red pocket square.”

Enjolras choked on an ill-timed sip of champagne. “Really?” he spluttered, as red as the pocket square in question. Grantaire just smirked and sipped his drink as Enjolras recovered, and when his blush had finally faded to something more like a light pink, Enjolras cleared his throat and looked back at Grantaire. “As much as it pains me to say this given, y’know, everything,” he said sourly, “thanks for coming with me.”

“Open bar,” Grantaire told him. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I mean it,” he insisted. “After all, I know this probably wasn’t how you wanted to spend our first official Valentine’s Day together—”

“What, at a black tie political fundraiser on a Sunday evening?” Grantaire asked dryly.

Enjolras scowled. “It’s not political, it’s a fundraiser for heart disease research.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Ok, sure, and the fact that you and a bunch of other political junkies are attending a heart disease fundraiser within two weeks of Super Tuesday is a coincidence.”

Enjolras had the good grace to at least look slightly embarrassed. “It’s also American Heart Month,” he mumbled.

“And Black History Month but at least the NAACP had the good sense to hold their gala on a Saturday.” Enjolras opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Grantaire drained his drink and grabbed his hand. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

“I don’t dance,” Enjolras protested, even as Grantaire pulled him over to the dance floor.

“And I don’t attend black tie functions, and yet here we both are,” Grantaire said blithely, smirking up at him.

Enjolras glanced down at him, letting Grantaire steer him around the dance floor. “I really do mean it,” he said after a long moment, and Grantaire gave him a questioning look. “Thank you for coming with me tonight.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “I meant it as well.”

“Meant what?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

---

February 14, 2017

Grantaire let himself into the apartment and Enjolras glanced up at him, waving a vague greeting without breaking his concentration on his phone call, his phone sandwiched between his shoulder and ear as he sorted through some papers on the coffee table. “And who did you say was organizing the rapid response to any future executive orders on immigration?” he asked, jotting something down. “And their spokesperson is still— yeah, perfect.”

He glanced up as Grantaire made his way into the kitchen, his brow furrowing as he watched Grantaire empty the bag of takeout he had. “No, count Les Amis in. We’ll organize something. I’ll be in touch later in the week with details.”

He tossed his phone down and rubbed his eyes before glancing at Grantaire again, something like wariness tightening his shoulders as he watched Grantaire all but slam the styrofoam takeout containers on the counter. “Everything ok?”

Grantaire didn’t look at him. “Fine.”

Enjolras sighed. “Obviously you’re not fine, he said, standing and crossing cautiously to the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

Grantaire turned to the photo calendar from Shutterfly that Courfeyrac had insisted on getting them for Christmas. “Dinner at 7pm at Osaka Sushi,” he read off before turning back to Enjolras, even if he still didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Ring any bells?”

Enjolras froze, and a quick glance at the clock on the oven confirmed that it was after 8. “Shit,” he breathed. “I am so sorry, I got wrapped in a call and I completely forgot—”

“No kidding,” Grantaire said, bracing himself against the kitchen counter. “Do you know how long I waited at the restaurant for you?”

“You should’ve called—”

“I did,” Grantaire said shortly. “Your phone was busy.”

He grabbed one of the styrofoam containers and a set of chopsticks before stalking out of the kitchen, Enjolras, trailing after him. “All this shit with Trump’s executive orders has really thrown everything off,” Enjolras offered, like a an explanation or an excuse. “And I know that doesn’t make getting stood up any better—”

“Stood up on Valentine’s Day,” Grantaire interrupted.

Enjolras winced. “Right. I—”

“Forgot?” Grantaire finished for him. “Yeah, I kind of figured that out for myself.” He shook his head, sitting down on the couch and staring at the papers strewn across the coffee table still. “You know what the worst part is? It’s not that it’s Valentine’s Day. It’s not even that it’s our anniversary, since I imagine you forgot that as well. It’s that you didn’t even think to call or text when I wasn’t home at the usual time.” He shook his head. “I ranked so low on your list of priorities that you didn’t even notice that I spent the last hour sitting by myself at a restaurant, waiting for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras repeated quietly, hovering awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Are you?” Grantaire asked sharply, looking at him for the first time.

“Of course I am,” Enjolras said, his brow furrowing, defensive despite himself. “It’s not like this was intentional.”

Grantaire barked a humorless laugh. “Of course it wasn’t. Intention would require you to think about me.”

Enjolras inhaled sharply. “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t think you get to decide what’s fair here—”

“I think about you more than I’ve ever thought about another person,” Enjolras told him, no small amount of heat in his voice. “Because I love you. But loving you doesn’t change the fact that my job, my life can be erratic depending on what’s going on in the world. You knew that going into this two years ago.”

Grantaire set the unopened styrofoam container on the coffee table and stood. “You’re right,” he said hollowly. “I did know. So I guess this, like everything, is my fault.”

Enjolras sighed. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, but Grantaire just shook his head.

“I don’t particularly feel like doing this right now,” he said tiredly. “So I’m done.”

Enjolras stiffened. “What do you mean, done?” he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse. “You mean, like—”

Grantaire’s eyes flew to his. “God, no, of course not. I just meant—” He waved a dismissive hand. “I’m done with this argument and I’m going to go to bed.” Enjolras nodded jerkily and Grantaire’s expression softened, just slightly. “Hey,” he said softly, crossing over to him and grabbing both of his hands. “I love you. And we are probably never going to not fight about the Cause and your priorities, but that doesn’t mean that I’m willing to walk away from this. Ok?”

Enjolras nodded wordlessly and pulled Grantaire to him, wrapping him in a tight hug and resting his chin on top of Grantaire’s head. “I love you.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, his voice muffled against Enjolras’s chest. “I know.”

---

February 14, 2018

“This was nice,” Enjolras said, holding Grantaire’s hand as they walked home from the restaurant.

“It was,” Grantaire agreed. “Ethically sourced seafood, excellent wine, decent company…”

Enjolras made an affronted noise. “Decent?” he repeated. “When I didn’t check my phone once during dinner?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow and he quickly amended, “During the entree part of dinner at least?”

Grantaire just laughed, twisting his wrist to bring Enjolras’s hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles. “More than decent,” he allowed. “Especially considering the dessert waiting for me at home.”

“Oh?” Enjolras said. “Did you get something special for dessert?”

“I wouldn’t say special, but I would say one of my favorite things.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “So...dessert wine?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “You, you idiot.”

“Me?” Enjolras repeated. “What do you—” He broke off. “Oh. Oh. I like the sound of that.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes again. “God, you’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, even as he reached up to kiss Enjolras.

Enjolras hummed in agreement and was about to say something when he yawned widely. “Oh, man,” he said, blinking rapidly. “Food coma.”

“Food coma or string of early morning meetings?” Grantaire asked before he also yawned, his jaw cracking as he did. “God, getting older’s a bitch.”

“Glad I have something to look forward to,” Enjolras said, yawning again.

Grantaire poked him in the stomach. “Stop that,” he scolded, stifling a second yawn of his own. “We’ve got dessert waiting for us. And while it’s not exactly a requirement, I would prefer if you were awake for it.”

“Sorry,” Enjolras siad, “I’ll be more awake by the time we get home, I promise.”

“You better be,” Grantaire muttered before he yawned again.

But by the time they made it home, neither of them were particularly more awake than they had been, and Grantaire leaned against the wall of their apartment building as Enjolras fumbled with his keys. “I have a proposition,” he said.

“And what proposition is that?” Enjolras murmured tiredly before he found the right key and let them inside, all but collapsing on the couch and reaching automatically to pull Grantaire down with him.

Grantaire curled against Enjolras and yawned. “What if we have dessert for breakfast?”

Enjolras considered it. “Just so we’re clear, by dessert you mean sex, right?” Grantaire’s long-suffering sigh was the only answer, and Enjolras laughed lightly. “I think I’m supposed to meet Combeferre and Courfeyrac at 7 but I can text them and push it back to 8.”

“I know you’re an optimist but an hour seems a bit extreme even for you,” Grantaire mumbled.

Enjolras laughed again, but gentler this time, and he shifted to free an arm so that he could run his fingers through Grantaire’s dark curls. “You’re really fine with postponing until tomorrow?”

Grantaire shrugged. ‘Better to postpone than fall asleep with your dick in my mouth.”

“Vulgar,” Enjolras mumbled, his eyelids drooping and his hand moving slower and slower with each pass through Grantaire’s hair. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, so quietly that Enjolras could barely hear him. “Luckiest guy in the world.”

---

February 14, 2019

Grantaire perched on the edge of the table at the Musain, smiling slightly when Enjolras automatically shifted to lean against him. “Almost ready to go home?” he asked, carding his fingers through Enjolras’s hair.

“Just let me—” Enjolras typed a comment on the blog post he was editing before closing his laptop. “Done.”

Courfeyrac looked up at them as Enjolras stood and gathered his things together. “So what exciting V-Day plans do you two lovebirds have?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes at them both.

“We don’t,” Grantaire said simply, taking Enjolras’s bag from him so he could put his coat on.

“Well that’s not true,” Enjolras said. “Brooklyn Nine-Nine is new tonight.”

Grantaire grinned. “Excellent point. I almost forgot.” He leaned in and pressed a swift peck to the corner of Enjolras’s mouth. “Now let’s go home.”

Enjolras grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together as they started toward the door. Courfeyrac stared after them, shaking his head slightly, and Combeferre glanced up at him. “What?” he asked.

“Is that what all of us have to look forward to?” Courfeyrac asked, slightly disgruntled, gesturing toward Enjolras and Grantaire. “Is that what love turns into?”

Combeferre just shrugged, looking back down at his laptop. “I certainly hope so.”

Courfeyrac frowned at him but didn’t say anything, just shaking his head as he looked critically back at Enjolras and Grantaire, watching as Grantaire lightly swatted Enjolras’s ass, and Enjolras elbowed him, laughing, before pulling him in and kissing him. “Yeah,” Courfeyrac said slowly, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I hope so, too.”

#enjolras #grantaire #enjolras x grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #joly x bossuet #joly #bossuet #combeferre #courfeyrac #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #fluff #valentine's day #developing relationship #established relationship

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