Hello! Me again, how about 34 for enjoltaire? x
Alright, y'all knew I was gonna go angsty eventually, and with this song...can y'all really blame me?
34. "A Thousand Miles" by Vanessa Carlton
E/R, modern AU. Kindly refer to the tags for content warnings.
Grantaire yawned widely as he shuffled into the kitchen wrapped in a red terry cloth robe. He blinked blearily at the clock before going through the same motions he did every morning.
They were rote by now, having done this thousands of times, so much so that he almost fell back asleep as he went through his routine: slipping a paper filter in the coffee maker, pouring coffee grounds into the filter, filling the pot with water, pouring the water into the coffee maker, and, finally, hitting brew.
He stood at the kitchen sink as he waited for the familiar smell of fresh coffee to waft over him, waking him up just enough that he could finally reach out and grab the two coffee mugs from their hooks on the wall. His, a white porcelain mug that proclaimed in a fancy script, âThere might be vodka in thisâ; Enjolrasâs, a red mug boldly labeled, âFirst coffee, then dismantling white patriarchal power structuresâ.
Grantaire set his next to the coffee maker and carried Enjolrasâs over to the red canisters that lined the counter, a wedding gift from Enjolrasâs mother, who disapproved of both their union and their disorganized kitchen, apparently. He grabbed the second-largest one, pulling it towards himself and popping the top open with practiced ease before taking the scoop hanging from its side and scooping three heaping spoonfuls of sugar into Enjolrasâs mug.
Satisfied, he returned the canister to its position before crossing to the fridge and grabbing the French vanilla flavored creamer, which he brought with him back to the counter.
By this point, the coffee maker was emitting the terrible groans and gurgles that signaled it was finally about done, and Grantaire sighed with relief as he poured first Enjolrasâs mug, leaving plenty of room for creamer, and then his own, as close to the brim as he could without spilling.
With a practiced eye, he added creamer to Enjolrasâs mug, stopping at the perfect point when the coffee was just turning more beige than tan. He returned the creamer to the fridge and then finally lifted both coffee mugs and carried them to the kitchen table.
He set Enjolrasâs down first before slipping into the seat across the table. He blew on his coffee to cool it before taking his first sip, his eyes fluttering closed with the pure ecstasy that accompanied his first hit of caffeine.
Then the time for savoring was over, and Grantaire spent the next five minutes downing the steaming liquid as quickly as he could manage without burning his tongue.
His second cup off coffee was drained at a slightly less breakneck pace, and then Grantaire stretched and yawned. âShower time,â he announced, picking up his coffee mug and Enjolrasâs and carrying them to the sink. He set his empty mug inside before hesitating and then dumping Enjolrasâs out, watching the barely still-brown liquid circle down the drain, just as he had every day for the past six months.
And just as he had every day for the past six months, he paused before leaving the kitchen, swallowing past the lump in his throat as he looked at the last good picture he had ever taken of Enjolras, stuck up on the fridge with a magnet shaped like a guillotine.
âGood morning,â he said, his voice hoarse, and he stared longingly at the picture, at Enjolrasâs smile tinged with just a hint of exasperation as he had looked up at Grantaire, taking his picture for the hundredth time that day, the day they got Enjolrasâs diagnosis.
It was a good picture.
Which was why he had chosen it for Enjolrasâs obituary.
âI miss you,â he told the picture of Enjolras, frozen in time much the way his coffee routine now was. He hesitated, a thousand unsaid words swirling in his mind.
But in the end, he fell back on routine. âRemind me we need more creamer,â he said.
Then he went to take a shower. Alone.
- - - - - - - - - -
Some couples had a morning breakfast routine. For Enjolras and Grantaire, it was coffee.
Come rain, shine, or hectic schedules, they still made time every morning to have a cup of coffee together. Sometimes that time saw Grantaire perching on the counter in the bathroom while Enjolras gulped his cup in the shower; other times, it was the two of them in bed long past when they were supposed to get up, wrapped in blankets and each other. Some days those precious few minutes were the only time they saw each other, and they treasured it.
Even when Enjolras was out of town on business, they called or Facetimed each other to share their morning cup of coffee.
It was the one consistency in their lives that Grantaire could count on.
It was the one thing that he couldnât bring himself to give up, even with Enjolras gone.
He knew it was silly, knew he was wasting money and coffee and whatever else, but he couldnât imagine going to the grocery store and returning without Enjolrasâs preferred brand of creamer. He couldnât imagine not having to refill the canister of sugar ever three months because Enjolras preferred his coffee to taste disgustingly sweet.
He couldnât imagine coming home from work to find only one coffee mug in the sink, waiting to be washed.
Even if he knew that Enjolras would never again sit at the table and drink his coffee, it gave him a moment, no matter how fleeting, of pretending like he would, of feeling like things were normal.
Grantaire didnât think his heart could take it if he stopped.
- - - - - - - - - -
Grantaire had just taken his first sip of coffee when a knock sounded on the door, and he frowned. He wasnât expecting company, after all, and most of his friends knew to ask him if he was up for visitors before stopping by.
He set his coffee down on the table and stood to open the door, blinking in surprise when Courfeyrac swooped in, air-kissing both his cheeks before brushing past him into the kitchen. âHope you donât mind us stopping by,â he called, as Combeferre gave Grantaire a somewhat bemused wave in greeting. âWe just wanted to see how you were doing.â
âWell, Courfeyrac wanted to, anyway,â Combeferre told Grantaire in an undertone. âI recommended we call instead, butâŚâ
He shrugged somewhat helplessly and Grantaire managed a smile. âBut heâs incorrigible,â he finished for Combeferre, following him into the kitchen. âWell, I know a little bit about what thatâs like.â
Courfeyrac scowled at both of them as he plopped down at the table. âExcuse me for being worried about you,â he sniffed. âWe havenât seen you in weeks.â
âIâm sure it hasnât been that long,â Grantaire scoffed.
Combeferre cleared his throat. âWeeks may be a bit of an exaggeration,â he allowed. âBut still, like Courfeyrac said, we wanted to check on you. Especially since thereâs this public art project that came up at the last Les Amis meeting, and I thoughtââ
âWhat are you doing?â Grantaire interrupted loudly, and Combeferre blinked, confused, while Courfeyrac froze, his hand on the handle of Enjolrasâs coffee mug.
âSorry, I justâŚâ Courfeyrac trailed off, quailing under the intensity of Grantaireâs glare, and he slowly pulled his hand away. âWere you going to drink that?â
âOf course not,â Grantaire snapped, snatching the cup of coffee and pulling it to himself, cradling it between his hands. âThis is Enjolrasâs coffee.â
Understanding crossed Courfeyracâs face, followed by a look of something like pity that Grantaire had become far too acquainted with over the past six months. Grantaire quickly looked away, and thus missed the looks that Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged.
Combeferre cleared his throat before asking carefully, âYou still make coffee for Enjolras?â
There wasnât really any point in denying it, and Grantaire jerked a shrug. âYes,â he said. âAnd before you ask, or insinuate Iâve finally lost it, I know heâs dead.â The words came out harsher than Grantaire intended, and Combeferre flinched, his own grief visible for just a moment. Grantaire registered it, but he didnât have it in him to comfort Combeferre, not now, not over this. âAnd I know itâs a waste, and Enjolras would be disappointed in my continued personal failing to take into account my environmental footprint, but coffee was our thing. Our time. And if it gives me just one moment of feeling like heâs still here, I donât see that as a waste.â
He said it like a challenge, and Courfeyrac shook his head. âI donât think Enjolras would see that as a waste, either,â he said gently, hesitating before adding, âButâŚâ
âHe wouldnât want you to live like this,â Combeferre said hollowly. âHolding onto him like this.â
Grantaire tasted bile in the back of his throat and he stood, abruptly, and carried Enjolrasâs coffee mug to the sink. âWell,â he said, dumping its contents into the sink, âluckily, since heâs not here anymore, he doesnât get an opinion.â
He turned back to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, crossing his arms in front of his chest. âDid you need anything else?â he asked pointedly.
Combeferre frowned, and looked like he wanted to say something, but Courfeyrac shook his head, standing and tugging Combeferre up as well. âNo,â he told Grantaire. âNo, like I said, we just wanted to see how you were doing. And weâve overstayed our welcome.â
He ushered Combeferre toward the door, though it looked for a minute like Combeferre might try to argue, or say something else. Grantaire trailed after them, instantly feeling guilty for how quickly this had gone wrong. He reached out and caught Courfeyracâs arm. âLook, he started, a little awkwardly, âIâmââ
âI know,â Courfeyrac said, leaning in to give him a quick, one-armed hug. âJust know weâre here if you need us, ok?â
The problem, which they both knew, was that Grantaire needed Enjolras. And that was the one thing no one could give him.
Still, he forced a smile. âOk,â he said.
He gave them both an awkward wave before closing the door after them and wandering back into the kitchen, looking at his own cup of coffee without any real desire to drink it. He glanced at the picture of Enjolras on the fridge and scowled. âDonât even start with me,â he said, his voice low. âYou have no ideaââ
He broke off, his chest tight, and he looked away. After a long minute, he said softly, âIâm trying, ok? Iâm just â Iâm trying.â
The picture of Enjolras didnât respond, and Grantaire retreated to his bedroom where he could leave all thought of coffee far behind.
- - - - - - - - - -
The first few weeks after Enjolras got his diagnosis were a blur of doctors appointments, planning meetings, and every opportunity that Grantaire could seize to pretend that this wasnât happening, that there had been some kind of mistake.
One morning, he was especially reveling in that pretense, bundled in a blanket, his head pillowed on Enjolrasâs chest, Enjolrasâs heartbeat loud and soothing against his ear. For the first time in awhile, they had no place to be, no one to see, and Grantaire was quite content to never leave the bed or face the world again.
Enjolras, however, had other ideas. âAre we ever going to talk about it?â he asked quietly, and Grantaire groaned, squeezing his eyes closed for a long moment before sitting up.
âYes,â he said, avoiding Enjolrasâs eyes. âLater.â
âLater when?â Enjolras asked, sitting up as well.
Grantaire pushed the blankets off and stood, grabbing his green plaid bathrobe and tossing Enjolrasâs red terry cloth robe on the bed for him. âAfter coffee,â he said.
He headed to the kitchen, fully expecting Enjolras to stay in bed and wait for him to return with the coffee, but instead, Enjolras followed him. âSooner or later, we are going to have to talk about it,â he reminded Grantaire, leaning against the counter and watching Grantaire getting the coffee maker ready.
âDo you think I donât know that?â Grantaire muttered as he grabbed both of their mugs.
âSometimes I wonder,â Enjolras said evenly. âAfter all, denialâs not just a river in Egypt.â
Grantaire groaned at the joke, but he couldnât quite stop the smile that crossed his face as he shook his head. âThatâs terrible,â he informed Enjolras.
Enjolras just shrugged, accepting the cup of coffee Grantaire handed him. âMaking terrible jokes is usually your job, but I figured someoneâs gotta do it.â
Grantaireâs smile faded. âForgive me if I havenât really felt like making jokes lately,â he said quietly.
Wordlessly, Enjolras reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him close and leaning in to kiss his temple. âWhat do you say we take these back to bed with us?â he murmured, and Grantaire tilted his head up to kiss him.
âIâd say thatâs the best idea youâve had all morning.â
They returned to the bedroom, Grantaire draining half his cup of coffee on the way, and clambered back into bed together. Grantaire opted to leave his coffee on the nightstand for the moment, instead choosing to curl up with his head on Enjolrasâs chest like before.
Enjolras, for his part, had always been a better multitasker, and was content to sip his coffee while stroking Grantaireâs hair. And he even managed to find time to tell Grantaire gently, âAvoiding it isnât going to change anything.â
Grantaire closed his eyes. âI know that,â he said. âBut I still just want to hold onto things as they are for a little bit longer.â
Enjolras sighed. âI guess I canât blame you for that.â
Grantaire worried his lower lip between his teeth, torn between saying what he had wanted to since that first day, when they had first found out, or staying in his bubble of denial for a little bit longer.
But since Enjolras had already popped the bubble for the day, now seemed as good a time as any for the truth to come out. âI donât know how to live without you,â Grantaire whispered, and Enjolrasâs hand stilled.
âI know,â he said, his voice a low rumble against Grantaireâs ear. âBut I need you to figure it out. Because knowing youâll be ok is the only way that Iâm going to get through this.â
Grantaire almost wanted to laugh at that, but he managed not to. âBut youâre not going to get through this,â he pointed out, sitting up.
Enjolras sighed again and turned to set his coffee cup down on his nightstand. âYou know what I mean.â
âDo I?â
Enjolras scowled. âBe serious.â
Grantaire managed a small, half-smile. âI am wild.â
To his surprise, Enjolras laughed at that, turning to face him. âSee, and thatâs what Iâm going to miss most,â he said, almost a little wistfully.
Grantaired arched an eyebrow. âMe being an ass?â
âExactly.â
For a moment, Grantaire was tempted to laugh along with him, but he couldnât quite bring himself to, not now that this particular can of worms had been opened. âBut you wonât miss anything,â he said, a little sharply. âYou wonât be here to miss anything.â
Enjolrasâs smile faded. âMaybe miss is the wrong word,â he said. âI donât know if you can miss something youâll never have. But I want sixty more years of this, of you being an ass and making fun of how I drink my coffee every morning.â
Grantaire swallowed, hard. âI want that too,â he managed.
âBut I mean it,â Enjolras continued steadily. âI need you to be ok.â
âWhy?â Grantaire asked, a thousand verses of despair caught up in that single word.
Enjolras just shrugged. âBecause youâve always been my guide.â
Grantaire blinked. âCombeferre is the guide.â
Enjolras gave him a look. âCombeferre is the guide of the Cause,â he corrected. âYouâre my guide. Youâre the metric I rely on to know if Iâm making a difference, or to know how much more work needs to be done.â He bit his lip. âSo I need you to be ok, because then maybe this will all be ok. The fact that Iâll be dead wonât have to mean that everything Iâve tried to do will have failed.â
Grantaire shook his head slowly. âI donât know if I can make that promise. Being ok without youâŚâ
âI know,â Enjolras said heavily, reaching out to take his hand, twining their fingers together. âI know what Iâm asking is impossible. But I want you to at least try.â
Grantaire managed a ghost of his usual smile. âWell, how can I say no to a dying man?â he asked, the joke falling painfully flat, and he attempted to steer it to safer territory. âSo what do you want me to do? You want me to, what, get remarried?â
Enjolras snorted. âI donât know if Iâd go that farâŚâ He lifted Grantaireâs hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. âI donât want you to get stuck, the way you sometimes do. Stuck in your head or in the darkness. So whatever that looks like for you to not be stuck.â
Grantaire pretended to consider it for a moment. âIâm gonna bleach the tips of my hair like itâs 1998. Thatâll show you.â
âIf thatâs what you want to do, at least I wonât be around to have to see it,â Enjolras shot back.
âAss.â
âTakes one to know one,â Enjolras said, just a little smugly. âBut yes, something like that, something small.â He paused before suggesting, a little slyly, âSwitch up your coffee order even, or something like that.â
Grantaire wrinkled his nose at the thought. âThatâs an awfully big ask.â
Enjolras laughed. âFor you? I know.â His smile again faded, and he squeezed Grantaireâs hand before telling him softly, âAnd if you do ever decide you want to, yâknow, remarryâŚâ
âDonât,â Grantaire said, his voice tight. âDonât even say it.â
âGrantaireââ
Grantaire just shook his head, fighting back the tears he hadnât yet let himself cry. âLook, asking me to change the kind of coffee I drink is hard enough, ok?â he said, his voice trembling, just slightly. âSo letâs not push it.â
After a long moment, Enjolras nodded. âFine.â He paused before adding, âBut I am serious about the coffee thing.â
âOver my dead body,â Grantaire grumbled.
Enjolras just laughed lightly. âNo,â he said, pressing a kiss to the top of Grantaireâs head. âOver mine.â
- - - - - - - - - -
Grantaire slept horribly the night after Combeferre and Courfeyrac stopped by, and so he got out of bed when the sun was just barely beginning to creep over the horizon. The kitchen looked eerie in the dim light, but he felt it fit his mood.
He went through the same motions as he did every morning, but each step of his coffee making process seemed to hurt a little more now, like a scab had been picked off a healing wound.
Or maybe it was just that he had been reminded that he hadnât healed at all.
When the coffee was finished, he sat down across from Enjolrasâs mug like usual, but he couldnât bring himself to drink his coffee. Instead, he looked up at the refrigerator, at the man he wished more than anything was sitting across from him. âIâm sorry,â he whispered. âI know I said I would try, butâŚâ
He trailed off and made a face. âDonât even think about quoting Star Wars at me. Now is not the time.â He half-smiled before glancing down at his coffee, and Enjolrasâs, untouched across the table.
âWell,â he said, after a long moment. âI suppose it canât hurt.â He reached across the table for Enjolrasâs coffee, lifting it to his lips and blowing on it before giving Enjolrasâs picture a look. âIâm doing this for you, you know. Because I promised Iâd try.â
Then he took a sip of Enjolrasâs coffee.
And almost immediately spit it back into the coffee mug. âOh my God, that is disgusting,â he rasped, gagging at the hyper-sweet taste. âI cannot believe you drink this shit, Enjolras, holy shit.â
He paused, then corrected, âI canât believe you used to drink this shit.â
He set the mug of coffee down on the table swallowing both against the lingering taste in his mouth and the grief he could feel welling in his chest despite his every effort to tamp it down. âAnd still, I would drink this every single day if youâŚâ
He didnât finish the thought.
He didnât have to.
It wouldnât make a difference anyway.
He stood to carry Enjolrasâs mug of coffee to the sink, and once again stared down to watch the brown liquid swirl away. But this time, he felt something different than usual. Something a little less painful than usual.
As if maybe some real healing had started.
He glanced over his shoulder at the picture of Enjolras, and managed an actual smile. âI love you,â he said, because he did. âEven if you had the worst taste in coffee.â
He looked at the clock over the stove and debated drinking his coffee and showering, but decided against it. He had time to try to get a few more hours of sleep, and he could brew another pot of coffee after that.
And who knows â maybe heâd put a tiny bit of sugar in his coffee later.
He had tried. He was trying. And maybe later heâd find a way to try again.












