Summary: It’s a hard semester for everyone, Combeferre and Joly are working an internship, Éponine works two jobs and somehow gets it all done, and Grantaire drinks himself an inch from incoherent every night. Enjolras doesn’t have it worse than anyone - better than most, actually. But this year keeps knocking Enjolras down and, for the first time, cannot figure how to get back up again.
CHAPTER ONE.
It was Friday night. Every other student in the city was off doing something fun and frivolous. Enjolras was not. He was not one for fun until work was complete. The blonde man could laugh louder and harder than all of his friends and co-workers combined, but he’d simply have to party on Saturday instead. He was only days out from the start of exams week. Desires could wait. His computer was open on the bed, resting on a red pillowcase and gray sheets. It was playing a documentary film about the Paris Climate Accords that was required for a biology class - his lowest grade this semester was this class. He cared about science and certainly about climate change, but he was just fundamentally bad at the subject. There were others who could handle it. Enjolras could be the change in other areas.
Enjolras did not focus on the monitor, but instead his hand scrawled ferociously in a yellow spiral-bound notebook. One could hardly blame him for his excitement. Not only had he prepared a new pamphlet for his student political organization - which he would need to remember to copy at the library the next day - but he had discovered this American politician called Harvey Milk. He was working on final stage research and outlining for a research project on him for his World LGBT Advocacy class. That remained one of about two classes that were worth him expending a fuck on during this particular semester.
The number of credits he had chosen was much too high. 7 classes (one having a lab) was an irrational choice. It was Enjolras’ first year funding half of his own housing off-campus. He worked a real job. As real as scanning books and accepting payment could be. This, really, was the first year Enjolras had learned that everyone was correct in telling him that he was incapable of doing everything he assumed he could.
He did not live alone, but it felt like he did. The other half of the rent was supposed to be paid by Combeferre, who had been gracious and helpful and always so willing to do his part. Until he wasn’t and moved out. Combeferre had moved in with a very tall and very stupid man that Enjolras sincerely enjoyed named Courfeyrac. The two men cared terribly for each other, so Enjolras was happy to see them be able to make a sort of home together. Combeferre’s replacement was not gracious or helpful and almost never willing to do his part. René Grantaire had crashed into the apartment like a car fire. Enjolras was decently sure he would not enjoy his time with Grantaire whatsoever; that they would be professional and nothing more to each other. That never happened. Initially, he was very pleased that Grantaire never imposed an organizational system for Enjolras because everything he had sat in stacks, falling off of shelves and spread across each open surface. Grantaire picked up on this philosophy and effortless operated within it. For a while, they seemed to make perfect sense to each other.
In mornings, Grantaire would get coffee brewing, immediately being able to remember how Enjolras took it. In exchange, Enjolras would sit in destroyed stack of leaflet rough drafts and crack an egg and a shot of hot sauce into a glass for Grantaire. They moved in perfect sync like Aristophanes four-limbed love people. Before too long, they stopped being roommates and started being bedmates. Their relationship lacked definition, but both miraculously kept their affections exclusive and they liked this way.
Then Grantaire’s drinking, once consisting of some wine, a few beers and maybe one or two of something a little stiffer over the course of an entire week turned into several bottles of wine, a case of beer and empty liquor bottles collecting in the trashbagless bin in front of the kitchen sink. So Enjolras tried to take some actions.
The bedroom door swung open.
“Good evening, mon Ange,” Grantaire often called him this. My Angel. Grantaire thought was funny because he may as well have been saying Mon Enj. My Enjolras. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy...”
Grantaire stood, leading against the doorframe. Whether for physical support or confident swagger was still unclear. He looked bad. Enjolras felt sick to his stomach to consider saying that about this person he cared for, Grantaire could never really look bad to him, but he was glassy eyed and sallow. Grantaire pushed himself off of the door, and walked to the side of the bed, crouching to his knees to throw an arm around Enjolras flat to the bed body.
“You smell like alcohol.” Enjolras stared plainly.
Grantaire scoffed. “Good nose you’ve got there,” he reached out and gently flicked Enjolras across the nose. “I was, in fact, drinking.”
Enjolras sighed, refusing to look over at his... whatever they were. If he looked at him now, he would get emotional. Hysterical or angry, it wasn’t yet clear which. “We talked about this.”
“I know, but look at me—“
“Hey, how much did you drink?”
“Oh, am I being cross-examined now?”
Enjolras sat up on his knees in bed, Grantaire’s arm sliding away. He was looking at the darker haired man now. His blue-green eyes burned. “No, but I can call a witness, if you’d like...” he extended his fingers to the other side of the bed for his phone. Marius would know. Éponine perhaps was there. Bahoral, or Courf, maybe. Wouldn’t take too many calls to figure it out.
“Lord God Almighty, Enj... Fine. A lot. Lost count after a couple rounds. But it’s Friday. I’m...” Grantaire cleared his throat, trying to sober his voice up some. “I’m not working tomorrow. Big deal. Don’t you ever get tired of talking about ol’ me?”
“Friday’s fantastic, but what about every other day that isn’t Friday?”
“It’s social. I’m social.”
“Grantaire.”
Fuck. “Mhmm?”
Enjolras’ jaw was tight. He was not going to yell. It was after midnight and the neighbors would call their pig of a landlord again. “Couch tonight.”
“It’s Friday!”
“René,” Enjolras had said this in the voice that mothers use when their child doesn’t understand why they can’t keep sticking their hand in the cookie jar. It was not mean, it was firm. Final. Grantaire sat up a little straighter. “Couch. Please. I love you to pieces, but this is getting fucking ridiculous. Sleep it off.”
Slowly, Grantaire raised himself to his full height. “You win. You always win. Happy?” He braced an arm on the bed and leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of Enjoras’ curls. The brunette swiped a discarded blanket off of this ugly leopard print chair that sat in the corner. Grantaire walked through the door, not bothering with a change of clothes for bed and shut it quietly behind him.
Enjolras was far from happy. It had been so truly okay and it’s not anymore. Everything was too much. Homework, organizing that protest, holding the pieces together for Grantaire when there’s clearly more going on than what he wants to share. Grantaire was Enjolras’ most important person and he was going to watch him finish his degree if it killed them both. Dear Reader, do not think for a second that Enjolras believed Grantaire was some kind of burden. He wasn’t. Enjolras loved him too much to ever consider him to be one, he just was unsure of how best to be supportive. No one ever supported Grantaire so Enjolras would simply have to be that person. There were too many things to care about in Enjolras’ life, too many problems. But that had historically been where he thrived. And Enjolras would find the time to fix them all. He always did.
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Hey Les Mis fandom I have an idea and want to know if people would be interested in watching it. So i love playing sims and I’m thinking of making a video series on like youtube of just Les Mis starting and it’s just the gameplay on full autonomy (sims just do/make their own decisions) and just having my snarky commentary in the back lmao
Edit: I would be posting them on a youtube account and post the links here as well
I feel like I read in the brick that Enj is an only child, is that right? Also, what is your headcannon for each amis on how many siblings they have?
Jehan is also said to be an only child in the brick
Tom Hooper gave Grantaire a sister and... let’s be real, we all jumped in the bandwagon with that. I headcanon that she’s Azelma’s age and they go to high school together (and date)
I could see Courfeyrac with a little sister as well, because he’d be a great though teasing big brother
Bahorel has a big family let’s be real, he’s probably the eldest of 5 or something, and grew up on a big farm, trying to ride pigs and all
Feuilly is an orphan, but have something or a bortherly bond with Montparnasse, who’s younger than him and who grew up in the same orphanage
Bossuet probably has younger brothers to whom he can recount his unlucky adventures just to make them laugh
Joly has an older half-sister but he never sees or talk to her much because their age gap is just too much for them to ever have bonded
I’ve always seen Combeferre as an only child for some reason
"Do you hear the people sing, lost in the valley of the night? It is the music of a people, who are climbing to the light." "Happy" Barricade Day, Les Mis fandom! #barricadeday #barricade #enjolras #combeferre #grantaire #courfeyrac #bahorel #feuilly #joly #jehan #bosset #lesmis #lesamisdelabc #lesamis
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Jehan is most famous for their poems, but they probably dedicate at least as much time to scrapbooking.
Their apartment is covered in bows, fancy papers, scissors, paint, fabric, calligraphy pens, stickers, and other miscellaneous art supplies at all times; Grantaire swears it's worse than his apartment.
They have a book dedicated to each year of their life, each ami, and each relationship. They throw an end of year party where everyone looks at the progression of the scrapbooks, drinks tea and eats leftovers from holiday meals.
Sometimes it's awkward-- when Enjolras and Grantaire broke up on Christmas Eve and had to look through the book detailing how lovely their relationship had been-- but Jehan still stands that ‘the plan worked’ seeing as the couple ended of reconciling by the end of the night.
normally its always fun- teasing Bosset about avoiding the Bar, laughing at Combeferre’s nerdy Halloween costumes, looking over the rallies and causes they’ve helped and planning for future action.
Jehan is always proud to show off the work they’re put in over the year creating an anthology that is as beautiful and vibrant as their life is.
