Enjolras stared at him. “You got it?” he repeated, before a grin broke across his face. “You got it?! Holy shit, Grantaire—” He stood and crossed to him to pull him into a tight hug before kissing him, slow and sweet. “Is it the wrong time to say I told you so?” Grantaire rolled his eyes, though he was also smiling slightly sheepishly. “Well, it’s definitely the right time to tell you that I’m proud of you.”

“Hold that thought,” Grantaire said, his smile fading as he pulled away from Enjolras. “Do you remember where that job is located?”

“Didn’t realize that location mattered for me to be proud of you,” Enjolras murmured, leaning in to kiss him again, but Grantaire stopped him, planting a hand on his chest, and he frowned. “No, honestly, I don’t remember where that job is located, but—”

“Over 1000 miles away,” Grantaire told him quietly, searching his face for his reaction.

Enjolras jerked a nod of understanding, but felt it like a punch in the gut. It had taken him and Grantaire so long just to get to this point, this point where they were happy, where they finally had found a way to make things work, and now— “You should go,” he heard himself say, but it was as if someone else was saying the words. “Take the job, I mean.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I don’t have to make a decision right now,” he said, reaching out for Enjolras’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “I told them I needed a few days and they gave me a week to let them know. So we have time to...consider our options, I guess.”

“What options are there?” Enjolras asked, sinking back down onto the couch, a strange sort of buzzing in his ears. “This is your dream job. You have to take it.”

Indecision flashed across Grantaire’s face as he sat down next to Enjolras. “I don’t have to,” he said quietly. “I like my current job just fine, and, well…” He hesitated. “I may not have my dream job here, but I have you. And that can be enough for me.”

Enjolras barked a laugh. “The words ‘can be’ are doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence,” he told Grantaire dryly.

Grantaire didn’t laugh. “Even so,” he said, with just a hint of stubbornness creeping into his voice. “I may not believe in much, but I do believe that we make our own happiness, and you are a pretty fucking big part of mine. So the idea of giving that up for a job…”

“Your dream job,” Enjolras corrected quietly.

“What if the only dream I care about is you?”

Enjolras just shook his head. “But it’s not.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might try to deny it, but he settled for shaking his head as well as he looked away. “All I know is that I don’t want to leave you,” he said, his voice low. “And I’m not even going to bother suggesting long distance because you and I both know we’d never be able to pull that off, but that means…”

He trailed off and Enjolras swallowed. “I know,” he said softly. “But as much as you may pretend otherwise, this is your dream job. Your dream career. And I’m not going to stand in the way of that.”

Though Grantaire nodded, something darkened briefly in his expression before he asked Enjolras, “Then will you come with me?”

Enjolras blinked. “You want me to move across the country with you?”

“Yes,” Grantaire said, as if it was a simple request and not asking Enjolras to uproot his entire life. “Because I love you, and I don’t want this to end.”

Enjolras wet his lips, trying to figure out an answer that wasn’t him blurting that Grantaire was out of his goddamned mind. “I love you and I don’t want this to end either,” he said carefully, “but what you’re asking is…a lot.”

“I know that,” Grantaire said, something urgent creeping into his voice and he shifted on the couch to face Enjolras more fully. “It’d be a big change and I realize your timeframe would probably look a bit different than mine, but if anyone can pull it off, it’d be you. And it’s – it’s our shot. Probably our only shot to make this work. So I’m willing to take it, if you are, too.”

There was a part of Enjolras that wanted so desperately to be able to say yes, to kiss Grantaire and tell him that he was coming with him, to watch his face light up like a kid on Christmas morning. But that part was so small compared to the billion reasons that Enjolras had for staying, and so he shook his head, and he pulled his hands away from Grantaire’s. “I love you,” he repeated, as if the words might soften the blow. “But I just – I can’t. Les Amis’ work is here, my life is here, and those aren’t things that I can just pack up and move across the country.”

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable. “Right,” he said flatly. “Your life.”

Enjolras huffed an impatient sigh. “I didn’t mean – you’re part of my life, too, of course, but—”

“But not as important a part as Les Amis.”

Enjolras flinched. “I didn’t say that.”

Grantaire shook his head. “You didn’t have to.”

“We can still find a way to make this work—”

But Grantaire had already stood up from the couch, and he didn’t look back at Enjolras as he told him, still in that same flat voice, “We don’t have to talk about it right now. I wouldn’t start the new job for a month, so we have time.”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, standing as well, and he reached out to catch Grantaire’s arm. “Besides, I’m sure you want to tell everyone, celebrate the good news.”

“Right,” Grantaire said, not meeting his eyes. “The good news.”

After that, they never revisited the conversation.

Enjolras didn’t try to convince him to stay as he watched Grantaire pack up all his belongings, watched him sort their life together into a pile of ‘yours’ and ‘mine’. He didn’t try to stop him when he called realtors to find a place to move into. He didn’t tell him he was making a mistake as he loaded up the car that would drive him out of his life.

No matter how much he might’ve wanted to.

But when neither man could finally deny it anymore, standing embracing each other one last time before Grantaire left, Enjolras found that he couldn’t let go. Not yet. He gripped the back of Grantaire’s shirt, trying not to let the emotion that had been building in his chest over the last month burst out. “I’m not ready to say goodbye,” he murmured.

“Me neither,” Grantaire told him, and Enjolras kissed him, just once, before finally pulling away.

“I’ll come visit—” he offered, but Grantaire shook his head.

“It may be easier if you don’t. At least, not for a while.” He managed a small, watery smile. “Clean break and all, y’know?”

Enjolras tried to return his smile, somewhat unsuccessfully. “Sure, yeah. I know. I get it.”

Grantaire surged forward to pull him into one last fierce hug. “Never doubt that the only thing I ever believed in was you,” he whispered in Enjolras’s ear.

Enjolras swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I know,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I love you.”

Grantaire smiled sadly at him as he pulled away. “For once, I don’t doubt that either.”

And with that, Enjolras had nothing left to do but to watch Grantaire leave, waving goodbye even as he felt his heart break as Grantaire pulled away from the curb and left him behind.

- - - - - - - - - -

It was freezing cold outside but Enjolras preferred the biting temperatures to the crowded heat inside the restaurant. As happy as he was for Combeferre and Courfeyrac – and he was happy, not the least because this had been delayed three different times because of COVID – they had far too many people that they had considered ‘vital’ to their wedding party and thus insisted attend their rehearsal dinner.

“Rehearsal dinner,” he scoffed aloud to himself, rubbing his hands together as his breath fogged the air. “What the fuck is there to rehearse? They walk to the front, repeat some words, and walk back out again.”

“I see you’ve really captured the gist of a wedding,” an achingly familiar voice said, and Enjolras turned to find Grantaire standing there, smiling a little crookedly at him. “Then again, you always were a romantic.”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras’s mind went blank. “I didn’t realize you were going to be here.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “I was invited,” he said, a little coolly.

Enjolras would’ve blushed if he wasn’t so cold. “No, I know, I mean, I’m the best man – well, Combeferre’s, at least – but I meant to the, uh, the rehearsal dinner,” he managed, unusually ineloquent. “You’re not in the wedding party or family, and I just thought…”

He trailed off, and Grantaire’s expression darkened. “Yes, well, Courfeyrac seemed to think making me sit all night in the hotel by myself when there’s a perfectly good open bar just down the street was tantamount to cruel and unusual punishment.”

“He may have been on to something,” Enjolras murmured, feeling like he too needed a drink, and not just because his ex had unexpectedly shown up at his best friends’ rehearsal dinner.

Grantaire looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it. “Anyway, I guess I’ll, uh, see you inside—”

He started to sidle past Enjolras, who reached out to wrap a hand around his wrist to stop him. “Wait, sorry, that was – you just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

Grantaire managed a wry smile. “Sorry I didn’t give you the opportunity to use your rehearsed speech.”

“Who said I rehearsed a speech?”

“Experience,” Grantaire said dryly. “Though I imagine it was probably a little awkward for your boyfriend to sit through assuming you still use him as an audience like you used to with me.”

He said it casually enough that Enjolras almost didn’t realize what he was really getting at. “Oh I, uh, I’m not seeing anyone.”

Again Grantaire arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Your instagram pictures would suggest otherwise.”

Enjolras flushed. “I mean, there are, y’know, guys,” he mumbled. “Grindr exists and I haven’t been living like a hermit. But no one serious.”

No one like you.

“Well, that’s a relief, since I already stumbled across your Grindr profile and I was worried I was going to inadvertently cause an incident at Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s wedding,” Grantaire told him, and Enjolras barked a laugh.

“What did you do, get back to town and immediately get on Grindr?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t been living like a hermit either.”

Enjolras had hardly expected him to, but he decided it was still better to avoid continuing that particular conversation. “It’s really good to see you,” he said instead, and he was surprised to find that he meant it, and not just because Grantaire looked good.

Like, really good. Like ‘get back at your ex by showing up to a wedding you know he’s going to be at looking amazing’ good. Not that Enjolras thought that was what was happening here.

Hopefully, anyway.

“It’s good to see you as well,” Grantaire told him, finally extricating his arm from Enjolras’s grip. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should go say hi to our hosts—”

“Wait,” Enjolras repeated, and this time Grantaire did of his own accord. “I feel like we should, I don’t know, catch up or something. Something more than our relationship statuses.” He paused, his breath fogging the air between them. “It’s been three years.”

Something shifted in Grantaire’s expression. “I’m aware of how long it’s been.”

Enjolras swallowed. “Right,” he said, shifting his weight. “So…how’s the job? Everything you hoped it would be?”

“Yeah, actually, it’s been great,” Grantaire told him. “Tough with COVID, obviously, but I love what I do, so.” He paused. “How’s things been with Les Amis?”

“Great, great,” Enjolras said. “Still fighting the good fight, you know how it is.”

It looked like Grantaire was tempted to roll his eyes, but he managed not to. “I sure do. Well anyway—”

For a third time, Enjolras stopped him. “Wait.”

“What now?” Grantaire asked tiredly. “Seriously, Enjolras, what do you want from me?”

Enjolras shook his head, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Clearly you have something you want to ask me, so spit it out.”

There were a million things Enjolras wanted to ask, but only one came to mind: “Fine,” he said, lifting his chin before asking, “Was it worth it?”

Grantaire recoiled, his expression hardening. “Are you – are you serious?”

Enjolras nodded. “It’s the only thing I’ve wanted to ask you for the last three years.”

Grantaire let out what could charitably have been called a laugh, drawing a hand across his face. “I cannot believe you’re asking me that, like I’m the one who chose to end this.”

“Well, you were,” Enjolras said, a little defensively. Grantaire rolled his eyes and he scowled. “You were! You’re the one who left!”

“And you’re the one who let me go!” Silence fell between them before Grantaire heaved a sigh. “Christ, I need a drink,” he muttered. “See you inside, I guess.”

This time, Enjolras didn’t try to stop him.

A half hour or so later, however, he found him at the bar. “Hey,” he said, a little awkwardly, sliding the glass he held over to Grantaire. “I bought you a drink.”

Grantaire didn’t look over at him, just taking a swig of beer. “Nice try,” he said, “but it’s an open bar.”

“It’s only an open bar for beer, wine, and their rather extensive list of ‘signature cocktails’,” Enjolras pointed out, taking Grantaire talking to him as a sign that he could sit down next to him. “Speaking of, did you see that they named one after each of us?”

“Did they?” Grantaire murmured.

Enjolras nodded, refusing to be dissuaded by Grantaire’s attempt at feigning disinterest. “Yeah. Mine’s called ‘The Leader in Red’ and I’m pretty sure it’s just a Dirty Shirley.”

Grantaire snorted. “Nice. Isn’t that what I bought you on your 21st birthday?”

“Sure was,” Enjolras said with forced cheer. “Yours is even better – ‘My Full Glass’, which is just a beer and a shot.”

“Classy.”

Enjolras scooched the glass he’d brought closer to Grantaire. “But this is none of those. This is Johnnie Walker Blue, neat.”

For the first time, Grantaire looked mildly interested, glancing over at the glass of amber liquid. “What is that, 50 bucks a pour? And this looks like a double.”

Enjolras smiled at him. “I remember what you like.”

“Maybe,” Grantaire said, picking up the glass but not drinking from it. “But you should have learned from your parents that there are some things you can’t throw money at to fix.”

“I’m not trying to fix it,” Enjolras told him. “Just trying to say I’m sorry. That’s not how I wanted that to go.”

Grantaire nodded, once, and took a sip. “Me neither,” he said. “After all this time, that was not the reunion I had pictured.”

Enjolras’s stomach seemed to do flip-flops at the realization that Grantaire had pictured this moment too. “So what did you picture?” he asked, his voice low.

“Oh, music swelling, fireworks going off in the background, the usual,” Grantaire said, with a wry sort of smile. “Like something out of Courfeyrac’s dumb rom-coms, you know.”

“Us running towards each other in slow motion?” Enjolras suggested, laughing lightly. “Embracing as if we’d never been parted?”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “Well, something like that anyway,” he said.

Enjolras searched his expression for a long moment. “I shouldn’t have said that you were the one who left. I mean, you were, but we were – equally complicit in the decision.”

“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” Grantaire said.

“And I know it doesn’t change anything, and it doesn’t make it better, but for what it’s worth, and what I actually wanted to say when I saw you again, letting you go was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

Grantaire propped his chin on his hand. “Then why did you?”

“Because it’s what you would have done, if our places had been reversed,” Enjolras said simply. “You know you never could have forced me to stay. You would have let me go.”

“And you would have left too,” Grantaire said softly, “if our places were reversed.”

Enjolras wanted to deny it, but he knew he couldn’t. He would have left, and knowing him, he wouldn’t have looked back. At least, not like this. “Yeah,” he said. “I would’ve.”

Grantaire took another sip of whisky. “So was that more the speech you actually had planned?”

Enjolras laughed. “Closer, at least,” he said, nudging Grantaire gently with his shoulder. “And was that closer to the reunion you had pictured?”

“Closer, at least,” Grantaire agreed. He tilted his glass towards Enjolras. “I’d say we should cheers, but you appear to be sans drink.”

“Well, I’ll have to fix that, won’t I.” Enjolras leaned over the bar and flagged the bartender down. “Can I get a, uh, ‘leader in red’?”

The bartender complied and moments later, Enjolras had the pale red drink sitting in front of him, with three maraschino cherries, no less. Grantaire looked amused as Enjolras took a long gulp. “Don’t forget, that may taste like pop, but it’ll knock you on your ass.”

“How could I forget?” Enjolras said with a laugh. “This drink almost got me arrested on my 21st birthday.”

“Yeah, but how is that different than any other night?”

“Touché.” Enjolras took another big sip. “When the hell did you start calling soda ‘pop’, by the way?”

Grantaire snorted. “I live in the midwest now,” he reminded him. “I guess I picked up a few mannerisms.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Are you midwest nice now, too?” he asked, mock-sourly.

“Nah, I got too much coastal elite in me for that shit.”

Enjolras laughed, but before he could say more, Combeferre gestured to him from across the restaurant. Enjolras sighed and drained his drink. “Duty calls,” he told Grantaire.

Grantaire winked. “Don’t worry, I’ll order you another one.”

“You sure know how to spoil a boy,” Enjolras told him, grinning when Grantaire laughed.

Combeferre watched him walk over with narrowed eyes, and Enjolras wasn’t remotely surprised when Combeferre muttered, “You two seem cozy.”

“Well, we’re trying anyway,” Enjolras said noncommittally.

Combeferre made a noise in the back of his throat that Enjolras couldn’t tell if it was meant to be supportive or not. “Just remember,” Combeferre said, his voice low, “if you do absolutely anything to ruin this wedding for Courfeyrac, I will murder you with my bare hands.”

He clapped Enjolras on the shoulder with more force than necessary, and Enjolras shot a slightly guilty look at Grantaire.

Of course, Enjolras never was particularly good at self-preservation, which was how he found himself spending most of his evening with Grantaire, their conversation seeming like it had never ended, their laughs filling Enjolras’s chest with warmth.

And when Courfeyrac finally announced that the bar was closed, Enjolras followed Grantaire outside, the words popping out his mouth before he could stop them: “Can I walk you to your hotel?”

Grantaire gave him a measured look. “Only if ‘walk me to my hotel’ doesn’t turn into ‘walk me to my hotel room’ which then would inevitably turn into ‘walk me to my bed’.”

“What makes you think it would?” Enjolras asked mildly.

“Because we’re us,” Grantaire said. “And the only thing that ever came easy to us was sex.”

Enjolras smirked. “Are you calling me easy?” Grantaire just gave him a look and he sighed. “You’re not wrong though. Sex was always easy for us.” Grantaire hummed in agreement. “And really fucking good, if memory serves.”

Grantaire gave him a slow grin. “That too.”

Enjolras didn’t hesitate, what little sense of self-preservation he had once had having long since disappeared for the night. “So then why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Why shouldn’t I walk you to your bed, so to speak?” Enjolras asked boldly, and Grantaire just stared at him. “For old time’s sake. I mean, you’re single, I’m single…so why not?”

Grantaire sighed, his smile disappearing. “Because it’s not easy anymore, Enjolras.”

Enjolras took his hand, lacing their fingers together like they’d never stopped. “But it could be. For one night. No strings, nothing messy, just us being together.”

Grantaire pulled his hand away. “Either you haven’t gotten laid in awhile or you’re being exceptionally naive, even for you. We have too much history to even begin to pretend something between us, even for just one night, wouldn’t be messy and full of strings.”

“You don’t know that.”

Sighing, Grantaire looked away. “Believe me, I do. We could barely go five minutes when seeing each other for the first time in three years without dredging up the past. You really think sleeping together’s going to solve anything?”

Enjolras shook his head. “This isn’t about solving anything, it’s just about spending a night together.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “And then, what, I leave again and you get to blame me for the next three years?”

“I never said I blamed you for going—”

“Didn’t you?”

The challenge was clear in Grantaire’s voice, but Enjolras didn’t back down. “You made a choice and I respect the choice you made. What more do you want me to say?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Grantaire said sharply. “Not now, at least. But three years ago? I wanted to fight for me, Enjolras. And you never did.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Enjolras demanded, a muscle working in his cheek. “Tell you not to go?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”

Enjolras swallowed. “Because you know I couldn’t—“

Something softened in Grantaire’s expression. “I know,” he said, his voice low.

“So what then?” Enjolras asked.

“You were supposed to ask me to stay.”

Grantaire’s words made the breath catch in Enjolras’s throat, and for a moment, he and Grantaire just looked at each other. Then Enjolras surged forward, cradling Grantaire’s face in both his hands, their noses brushing against each other before Enjolras finally kissed him.

Grantaire’s mouth opened against his with a sigh, and he balled his fist in Enjolras’s shirt to pull him closer. When they broke apart, Enjolras rested his forehead against Grantaire’s, everything about the moment as familiar and easy as breathing. “What happened to messy and full of strings?” he asked.

“You reminded me it’s already messy and fully of strings,” Grantaire murmured, kissing the corner of Enjolras’s mouth. “So we may as well at least enjoy ourselves for a night.”

Enjolras smiled a little stupidly. “For once you won’t hear me argue with that.”

“First time for everything,” Grantaire muttered before kissing him again.