#madisonmaximus

Thenext day, Combeferre hands him a card. Soulmate LossSupport, it reads. Tuesdaynights, seven o'clock. There's alocation, a contact number and e-mail, and Enjolras looks atCombeferre, bemused. “I told you last night. I was five. I hardlyremember anything.”

“Itstill matters. And I respect that you don't want to talk to me aboutit while Éponine and I are still so new, but I'm concerned aboutyour mental health at this point. Just go to one meeting. If itdoesn't help, or seems like the wrong fit, we'll talk about otheroptions.”

Enjolraswants to object, but he's hyper-aware of his scar in ways that hehasn't been since he was a child, and he doesn't want to be thisshaken every time one of his friends finds their soulmate. “I'lltry,” he promises, and Combeferre breathes out, relieved.

*

“Welcometo the club nobody wants to join,” says a stranger almost as soonas Enjolras walks into the community center for the meeting the nextweek. There are a dozen people scattered through the room, but theone speaking to Enjolras is his age or just a bit older, with darkhair and the inadvisable beginnings of a mustache and ridged,distorted skin on his neck.

Enjolrasjust blinks at him for a second, because he's never been addressedthat baldly before by someone he's never met. First meetings arealways a matter of dancing around, picking pretty phrases, askingfriends for introductions to see how likely it is that the magicwords will be said. Enjolras is used to doing it, even if there's noreason for him to care. It's polite. “Thank you,” he says, whichwould be unforgivably boring first words under other circumstances.

“Wehaven't had someone new in a while.”

“Afriend told me I should come. He found his soulmate, and … well, hefound his soulmate.”

“Iwould drink to that if Simplice ever provided anything but fruitpunch at these meetings. Myroommates are a triad, and apparently I was excessively dramaticabout it because they worried me into coming.”

“Grantaire,”someone says nearby, and Enjolras turns to find an older womansighing at the man, who must be Grantaire. “Don't scare him off.”She turns to Enjolras. “I'm Simplice, and I'm in charge of thismeeting. We try to stay as low-pressure as we can—don't feel likeyou need to spill your secrets tonight or any night, but we're alwayswilling to help as much as we can. We share some sorrows, though thecircumstances are always different.”

“Thankyou for the welcome.” He turns to Grantaire. “Both of you. Idon't really know how this works.”

Simplicesqueezes his arm. “You listen, and if you want to, you speak.That's all.”

*

Listeningturns out to be hard. He and Grantaire are the youngest in the group,and Enjolras barely feels like he has a right to his grief, listeningto the stories of the others—the frail old woman who lost herhusband to a long illness after forty years, the man who knew hissoulmate had died before the hospital called to tell him about heraccident, the woman whose words are still stark and black on her armbut whose wife is in a coma in the hospital and won't ever wake. Theyall speak up bravely. They talk about being invited to weddings andgritting their teeth, about a child who's afraid of meeting hissoulmate because he's afraid of losing them, about the pity of anyonewho sees the scars and how it grates.

“Ididn't even know it bothered me,” Enjolras says into a silencetowards the end of the meeting, and everyone turns to him, attentiveand patient. “I barely remember having a mark—I was five when hedied, and I'd certainly never met him. My parents were almostrelieved, because his first words to me were That's goingto be a hell of a bruise in the morningand they didn't like that. But my best friend met his soulmate lastweek, and … and it seems that it bothers me. I don't know what todo with that.”

“Theloss of potential hurts,” a man who hasn't yet spoken assures him.“I lost mine when I was in my twenties and I never met her either.Searched the obituary pages for months, but I never found her, so shemust not have been near me when it happened.”

“Isit better?” Enjolras asks, honestly curious. “Does it feel betterafter a while?”

“Ihave a girlfriend now—her soulmate turned out to be way better as afriend than a boyfriend, and she's the one who got me coming to thisgroup. But it will always trip me up.”

“Let'stalk about that loss of potential,” says Simplice gently, andEnjolras lets her tease her feelings out of his head until the houris over and everyone starts saying their goodbyes.

Heonly realizes on his way home that Grantaire never said a wordthrough the whole meeting.

*

“Hey,”someone calls on the street afew days later, and when Enjolras turns around, there's Grantaire,jogging a little to catch up to him. “Enjolras, right?”

“That'sme. And you're Grantaire.” Enjolras has no idea how to have aconversation with him outside of the safe confines of the communitycenter, when he only knows one thing they have in common. “Sorry,can I … help you with something?”

Grantairestarts walking, and Enjolras falls into step with him. “I am justnow realizing how awkward it is to have me chase you down on thestreet. I just wanted to see how you like our little merry band oftragedy.”

“There'san oxymoron in there somewhere.” Enjolras considers. “I think itcould be helpful, but it's hard to feel like my story matters thatmuch. I don't even really remember having a soulmate. Compared tosome of them, who had them for forty years ...”

“Yeah,they had them,” Grantaire says, to his surprise. “Sure, it hurtslike hell to lose someone, but they had forty years together, andthat's, you know—that's a normal amount of time to have someone.You lost those forty years. You're not going to get them.”

Enjolrasconsiders that for half a block. “You didn't talk much at themeeting,” he finally says, because he has no way of responding tothat.

“Maybenext time,” says Grantaire.

*

Enjolrasgoes to three meetings. It's mostly the same group, one or twodrifting in or out, but Grantaire doesn't speak, as far as Enjolrascan tell. Maybe his grief is recent, Enjolras tells himself, and he'snot ready.

He'snot prepared to see Grantaire somewhere else, but he walks into theMusain to meet his friends—not to mention to meet Éponine for thefirst time—and finds Grantaire already at a table in there, sittingand talking to Joly and Musichetta. Enjolras curses himself silently,standing in the doorway, because he should have realized earlier.Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta talk fondly about their roommate,referred to always as R, and Grantaire said he lives with a triad,and there aren't a lot of them out there.

Grantairelooks just as surprised when he looks up and sees Enjolras in thedoorway, and Enjolras sighs and goes over to them. “You must be thefamous roommate,” he says, giving Grantaire an out, though hedoesn't seem the sort to take it.

“That'sme, practically a celebrity,” says Grantaire, and doesn't sayanything else about them having met before.

Thewhole meeting turns into more of a celebration, with Combeferre shylyintroducing everyone to Éponine, who seems tense and prickly butalso smiles whenever he ducks his head to address her privately andwho shakes Enjolras's hand briskly and tells him she's happy tofinally meet him. The addition of Grantaire makes the whole thinginto something like a party.

Grantaireis on-edge, though. Enjolras is almost sure until he catches sight ofJoly watching Grantaire with a frown, which confirms it. Grantaireis loud, of flower, almost-bitter speeches about love and romanceand, whenever it comes up in conversation as it always does withthem, politics. By the end of the night, Enjolras is baffled andlosing patience with him.

Grantaireseems to realize it, because at the end of the night, he clapsEnjolras's shoulder on his way out the door. “I would say I'm notalways like this, but actually I am, so … sorry, I guess? I'll seeyou around.”

Enjolraswalks home with Combeferre after he sees off Éponine, and thebeginning of the walk is quiet, as it often is, both of themrecovering from a few hours of warmth and laughter and constant talk.Combeferre is the one who breaks the silence. “Do you like her?”

“Verymuch, though I wouldn't say no to having a longer conversation withher one-on-one.”

Combeferrenods. “I was thinking of having her over to the apartment fordinner sometime soon. You'd be welcome, and I think I'd inviteCourfeyrac too. Just the four of us. She's going to let me meet hersiblings soon, so it only seems fair.” After a few steps, he speaksagain. “Did you know Grantaire? Joly keeps saying he wants him tocome to a meeting or two, but I thought he hadn't.”

“Ihappened to know him from somewhere else,” says Enjolras.

Combeferregives him a searching look, but he changes the subject, and doesn'tbring it up again.

*

Atthe next meeting of the support group, Grantaire seems full ofrestless energy. He doesn't speak to Enjolras at the beginning likehe usually does, doesn't flirt with Simplice until she scolds him andmakes him set out chairs for them all, just sits in his chair withhis leg jigging listening while one of the usual members talks abouta dinner with his dead soulmate's sister and all the awkwardness theycan't seem to shake.

ToEnjolras's shock, Grantaire speaks up as soon as that story is done.“I met my soulmate two days before she died,” he says, andEnjolras's stomach twists, because he'd assumed that Grantaire waslike him, one who'd never met the person who he was supposed to bewith. “We were thirteen, and we met doing some stupid communityservice shit, and she said I'm so glad someone else is asbored as I am and I was soexcited that she got stuck with Holy shiton her arm from birth on, and I only met her one more time before shedied.”

“Thatmust have been difficult,” says Simplice, and there are murmurs ofsympathy around the circle, but Enjolras is looking at Grantaire, andhe doesn't look like he's broken some kind of dam of mourning. Helooks angry.

“Andthe older I get, the more I think how cruel that was. Something outthere said she was supposed to be the best friend or the love of mylife, and I met her twice and she got—she died. And there arepeople in this room, they never even got that, but they have to mournfor the rest of their lives, and every time there's someone else, orthat they might want there to be, they have to deal with this stupidguilt because it's not what destiny had in mind for them, but why dothey even get words? If they're meant to be with a person, thenshouldn't that person stay alive?” Grantaire takes a deep breath,and sometime in there he looked at Enjolras and didn't bother lookingaway. “Maybe the people who get to be with their soulmates fortheir whole lives would have been with them anyway, whether they knewor not. But I wish none of it happened, because I wish I'd neverknown.”

“Manypeople feel bitterness towards the system, after a loss or an abusivepartner. You aren't the only one to share that opinion, though I'dask you to tread carefully around others' grief in this group,”says Simplice, and the conversation moves on without Grantaire, who'snow staring at the floor like all the energy has gone out of him.

Afterthe meeting, when Grantaire leaves as soon as Simplice calls it to aclose, Simplice calls Enjolras over to help her put the chairs away.“Is he okay?” Enjolras asks, because there's only one thing shecould want to talk to him about.

“Idon't know. But he's been coming to this support group for almost twoyears and that's the first time he's talked about his soulmate atall.” Enjolras looks at her, startled. He'd known Grantaire doesn'tspeak much during the meetings, but surely at least once he wouldhave mentioned it all. Simplice shakes her head. “I don't know iftonight was good or bad for him. But I hope you'll help him, if youcan.”

“I'lldo my best.”

*

Enjolrascalls Musichetta, because he really has no idea what else to do andshe's the only one of Grantaire's roommates who can keep a secret. “Ineed you to check on Grantaire.”

“He'ssulking in his room,” she says, wary. “Care to tell me why?”

“You'reone of the ones who told him to go to the support group, right?”Her silence is answer enough to that, though he can hear herbreathing. “Combeferre sent me. And I'm not going to tell anyone'ssecrets, but I think Grantaire could use someone tonight. Give him mynumber? He doesn't have to call, but … but give him my number.”

“Okay.”She sighs. “You okay? Should I be calling your support team?”

“I'mokay. Just worried about him. And Combeferre is right in the nextroom if I need him.”

*

Twohours later, Enjolras is thinking about going to bed even though heknows he won't be able to sleep when an unknown number calls hisphone. He picks it up without thinking twice. “Grantaire?”

“Ifyou're up for it, come on a walk with me.”

Heshould say no. It's getting late, and it's been a long night,thinking about Grantaire and his story and all his bitterness atsoulmates and the cruelty of the universe. “Of course,” he saysanyway. “Where?”

Twentyminutes after that, and after a brief and concerned interrogationfrom Combeferre, Enjolras meets Grantaire in front of atwenty-four-hour shop that he apparently just bought a bad coffee in,judging by the smell. They don't say anything at first. Grantairewalks and Enjolras falls into step, lets Grantaire steer them becausehe was the one to ask Enjolras to come.

“Idon't like letting the universe or God or whatever it is that gave usthese marks tell me what to do,” Grantaire finally says. “Neverhave. I mean, I was devastated when she died, I still visit her gravea few times a year, but I shouldn't have to be devastated. She shouldjust be some cool girl I met once during community service who died.I should be falling in lovewith people without fucking worrying that they'll leave me because ofsome mark, or thinking they'll never love me as much as they would ifthe marks didn't exist in the first place.”

“Assad as I am about the potential, I think I'm lucky. His death meansthat I grew up into someone he might not have been soulmates withanyway, which means there are possibilities. Sure, he would have beenone, if he'd lived, maybe the only one, but he didn't. And her deathmeans that you grew up into someone different, too. Maybe someone whoisn't her soulmate anymore.”

“Thenwhose am I?”

“Noone's. Or anyone's.” Grantaire doesn't seem to have an answer tothat, so Enjolras struggles for more words. “You and I, we'realways going to have our regrets. For them, for the lives we couldhave led or who we could have been. But we're alive, and from themoment they died our choices are our own.”

They'vewalked several blocks before Grantaire finds his answer to that. “Andif we fuck it up? Fall for someone we're not supposed to be with?”