Fic: coda

[ingenious_spark]

Title: coda
Fandom: Les Miserables
Rating: PG13/T
Warnings: none
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire
Characters: Les Amis de l'ABC
Word Count: 917
Summary: A coda to 'nous faisons semblant'; one by one the Amis stumble across Enjolras and Grantaire's relationship.

Combeferre is the first to notice, but only because he is so well-versed in Enjolras’s moods. He sees the softness that edges into Enjolras’s whole being when he is left relatively unobserved with Grantaire. He sees that while they still argue, there is almost a playfulness to it, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief over that one. Their arguments had been getting more bitter and unhappy and it had hung like a pall over their gatherings. Combeferre had tendered Enjolras a delicately phrased word of warning, but also given his tacit approval. It had been rather amusing to watch Enjolras gradually unravel that mess of language, until he’d realized truly what Combeferre had meant. The shade of red the blond had turned had been spectacular, and had had Joly asking worriedly if Enjolras had contracted a fever.

Courfeyrac is a quick second to noticing the change, attuned as he is to matters of the heart. It does help, however, that he had forgotten his hat one evening and gone back to retrieve it, only to see the two in a… compromising position. He’d left as quietly as he had come, leaving his hat for the next day.

It had been a beautiful tableau though, Courfeyrac thinks. Grantaire seated on the windowsill, Enjolras standing between his legs, bowed over the smaller man, with his mouth pressed to Grantaire’s as if in benediction. It had nearly stolen Courfeyrac’s breath, the way Grantaire’s hands had been pressed to Enjolras’s elbows, while one of the blond’s hands was buried in that dark mane of curls and the other rested against the pale, smooth column of Grantaire’s throat, a claim if Courfeyrac had ever seen one.

Jehan is as close a companion as Grantaire will ever admit to having, other than Bahorel, whom he fights alongside and kickboxes with. The poet has ever been sensitive to the artist’s moods, and has been incredibly happy that Grantaire has been in an improved mood. It takes him longer to realize Enjolras is acting in a similar manner, but that delights him beyond all reason. He composes poetry, and gives both of the other men one that he feels represents the way they see the other best. Bahorel, by a similar vein, realizes quickly after. Grantaire has been much more cheerful, less apt to random brawling but more receptive to friendly matches. He figures out why one day when he sees Enjolras raise Grantaire’s hand to his mouth a press a quiet kiss to paint-stained knuckles. There is an adoration there that Bahorel will not speak of, and he takes Grantaire for celebratory drinks without telling the other man why. (It doesn’t matter why, they will never be able to speak of it freely but Bahorel may celebrate his friend’s victory while mourning over his own failure. Bahorel may be ever ready for a fight, but he is apparently not as brave as Grantaire.)

Feuilly finds out because a drunken Bahorel has dragged himself to his rooms once more, and Feuilly has permitted him to come in and sleep on his narrow cot. Feuilly does not understand why Bahorel keeps condemning himself as a coward with such melancholy directed at the world in general and Feuilly in particular, but he manages to gather that Bahorel is drunk because he was celebrating Grantaire’s good luck in love. Everyone knows that Grantaire only has eyes for Enjolras, and Bahorel had said ‘love’, not ‘conquest’, so Feuilly is forced to draw the conclusion that Grantaire and Enjolras are clandestinely seeing each other, and makes Bahorel go to sleep.

Joly and Bossuet find out jointly - more like they unravel their own private mystery. Joly had noticed the two acting strangely, and gotten increasingly worried that one or both had some form of imminently fatal disease, working himself up to the point that Bossuet had sat him down gently and told him to work through whatever had been upsetting him. Bossuet had seen it clearly enough after only a few words, and hushed Joly carefully — (‘Have you considered that they are suffering the advanced stages of reciprocated love, my friend?’). Joly’s face had cleared at that and his smile had been radiant. Bossuet had sat back, clearly pleased with himself, and that night he had obliquely congratulated the both of them, while Joly had given each an unexpected embrace, laughing gaily. Courfeyrac, smart as he was, had distracted everyone by declaring that clearly, since even their resident hypochondriac was in such high spirits (even though he was often in high spirits) this was clearly a day for drink and celebration. Nothing had been accomplished that evening, but Enjolras had stopped looking particularly bothered about it when Grantaire had occupied the chair beside him and begun complaining about his apprenticeship. Everyone turned a blind eye to the way that Enjolras cautiously draped an arm around the back of R’s chair and played absently with a few stray locks of dark hair.

Marius had stumbled in late that day, and been exceptionally confused, a frown growing on his face when he saw the way their fearless leader wasn’t even perturbed by their noisy celebrations, saw the closeness of their bodies. Courfeyrac swept him close in an embrace before he managed to say anything, murmuring gently in his ear that he would take Marius aside later and explain things in better detail, but for this once, to give the two their moment.

(…he never does, because later happens when the barricades rise)