Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

College was a strange experience for Enjolras. It gave him a freedom he was unaccustomed to, having grown up with well-meaning but overprotective parents. Now, in his first semester of university, he was almost at a loss with what to do with himself. He had spent so much time sneaking out of his room that having the freedom to simply get up and leave without worrying about anyone yelling at him was a little unsettling. He almost wanted to climb out the window out of habit. He didn’t even have a roommate to try and not disturb. He was all alone in a new city.

And he was bored. It was a Friday night and he had finished his homework assignments. He supposed if he had friends, he would socialize with them. It was October already, and he still hadn’t connected with any of his classmates. His parents had been eager to shove him into housing and classes their friends’ children were in, but Enjolras didn’t click with any of them. By the time he realized this, it felt like everyone else in his classes had already grouped off, and it felt awkward to join clubs in the middle of the semester. So he spent a lot of time by himself.

He didn’t mind. He delighted in exploring Boston. It was so different from the wealthy suburbs he had spent his childhood in. He loved the different neighborhoods, and he loved people watching. He glanced at his watch. It was only 9, so he decided to get out, stretch his legs, and breathe in something that wasn’t the stale, weed-infused air of his dorm building.

Enjolras decided to take the T to the Commons, and from there, he could go back to campus by foot. It would be a lengthy walk, but one he would enjoy. He hadn’t visited that central part of the city at night, and he was curious to see what it was like when it was peaceful and not filled with bustling workers and tourists.

When he emerged from the station, the chilly autumn air hit him like a slap in the face. He quickened his pace. Taking the T back to campus was not an option because that would feel too much like quitting, but he decided he could take in the sights on a leisurely stroll some other time. Preferably when he was properly bundled up.

His plan to power walk through the Commons was thwarted in a matter of minutes when he heard the gentle strum of a guitar and the sound of a strong, clear voice. His footsteps faltered as the melody caught his unwilling ear. The cold air carried the musician’s beautiful sounds throughout the night. He could keep walking. He should keep walking back to his dorm, but his footsteps faltered, and he found himself not taking the fork in the path that would take him where he needed to go, but instead the one that took him closer to the source of the song.

He found it, at the foot of a bridge. A man around his age with wild, black curly hair that poked out of a knitted hat leaned against the base of the bridge, his eyes shut as he strummed his guitar. Enjolras meant to pass by. He had already deviated enough, but something about the peaceful expression on the man’s face, and the intoxicating melody he played made Enjolras get off the sidewalk and stand in the grass so he could listen. The man’s voice was beautiful. It was deep, it was melodic, it was soulful. Enjolras almost felt like he was intruding on someone baring their soul through song, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away.

When the song ended, Enjolras wasn’t sure what to do. Should he clap? It would be slightly awkward in the deserted park, and felt an almost inappropriate response to such an intimate performance. He decided to reach into his wallet and pull out the all the bills he could find. He made his way forward, and dropped them into the man’s guitar case. When he looked up, the man’s eyes were now open, and fixed on Enjolras. Enjolras offered him a smile. Not a polite, close-lipped smile, but a full (if a little shy) one that he hoped conveyed the warmth he felt after hearing the man’s song. The man smiled back.

“You’re amazing,” Enjolras said in a rush, feeling the urge to make sure the man knew that he was something special. A performance like that warranted more than just money. It deserved honesty. The man seemed to sense the Enjolras’s sincerity, because his smile widened, reaching up to his eyes, which crinkled around the corners.

“Well then,” he said. His speaking voice was huskier than his singing voice. It was just as beautiful, if a little more rough. “This one’s for you.”

Enjolras scooted back to his original spot so the man could continue to play without feeling crowded. This time when he played, he kept his eyes open and focused on Enjolras, watching Enjolras as closely as Enjolras had been watching him. His gaze would have been intimidating, if his kind eyes and slight smile didn’t soften his features. Enjolras tried not to squirm under such scrutiny. Instead, he let the new song ground him.

He tuned everything else out except the melody and the man’s stare. He had no idea how long he stood there; he knew it couldn’t be more than a few minutes, since the man was still playing the same song, but felt like it could have been forever. Time felt suspended. He hardly felt the cold, and barely registered the fact that his teeth chattered. Then the man stopped his song abruptly. He was frowning. Enjolras took a step back, suddenly nervous he had inadvertently done something to upset him. The man cast a dark look at Enjolras before stuffing his guitar back in his case.

Enjolras took that as his cue to leave. He hastily turned around and hurried down the path in the opposite direction, feeling like an idiot. The silence of the empty Commons was broken when he heard someone running down the path behind him. He automatically moved to the side to make way for the jogger, when the jogger stopped. Enjolras looked up to see the music man standing beside him.

“Oh,” Enjolras said. “Hello.”

“You’re in a hurry.”

“I thought maybe you wanted me to leave.”

“Of course I wanted you to leave.” The man sounded exasperated. “Your teeth were chattering. What’s wrong with you? Why would you stay if you were that cold?”

“I liked your song,” Enjolras said honestly.

The man scoffed. “Well it wasn’t worth getting hypothermia over. If you like it so much, I can tell you when my next gig is so you can come. My next indoor gig.”

“Okay,” Enjolras mumbled.

“In the mean time, you should warm up.”

Enjolras nodded, feeling chastised. The man fell in step with him. “You’ve done your civic duty,” Enjolras said, embarrassed. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not babysitting you,” the man sounded amused. “I’m escorting you. And not because it’s my civic duty, but because I want to.”

That dumbfounded Enjolras. “Why?”

“Because I just had to meet the beautiful boy with the amazing smile and no sense of self-preservation.”

Enjolras’s cheeks turned pink. “I…I don’t-”

“Have a sense of self-preservation. I know,” the man said cutting him off with a cheeky grin. He leaned in a little. “I believe this is the part of the conversation where you tell me your name.”

“Enjolras.”

“Enjolras.” The man repeated slowly, like he was savoring Enjolras’s name in his mouth. “Enjolras.”

“And you are?”

“Grantaire.”

Enjolras extended his hand to shake Grantaire’s. Grantaire looked down, and took accepted it carefully. Enjolras felt a surge of warmth as soon as their fingers met, but wrote it off as his numbing fingers being shocked by the sudden heat.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Enjolras.”

“You too,” Enjolras murmured. He wasn’t good at this. He was intrigued by Grantaire, in a way he was rarely intrigued by anyone, and he never knew what to do with these kinds of feelings. So for lack of a better plan, he let Grantaire escort him to the closest T station, completely forgetting that wasn’t part of his original plan. Because he felt he had to get to know the beautiful man with the amazing voice.

Once out of Grantaire’s hypnotic presence, Enjolras returned somewhat to his senses. And in the end, Enjolras didn’t go to his gig. It wasn’t that he wasn’t tempted. He was tempted - incredibly so. When the train finally arrived, Grantaire walked Enjolras to the door and said casually, “Next Thursday. Ten o’clock, Donovan’s Pub on Boylston.”

“Got it,” Enjolras said.

“You want to write it down?” Grantaire said with a smile that seemed almost shy.

“I’ll remember,” Enjolras told him as the doors closed.

And he did. He remembered all week and all Thursday, and at ten o’clock when the gig started. He remembered, but couldn’t bring himself to go. The longer the distance between his and Grantaire’s meeting, the more Enjolras was able to convince himself that Grantaire was just being nice, that Grantaire was nice to all his potential fans, that Grantaire had probably forgotten about him as soon as Enjolras was out of sight.

It was probably for the best. Enjolras had chosen to attend Harvard because he had a definite, if somewhat vague purpose in mind: to get the best education possible and to use his knowledge to help people. Everything else was superfluous. This first semester was all about getting settled and getting good grades and getting the lay of the land. In his second semester, he would join volunteer groups, and political groups, and any other group he thought might be useful. He was aware his goal of “changing the world” was a broad one, so he was relying on his classes, then the club he would join to help him narrow down what he wanted to do exactly. It was daunting, and he didn’t need distractions.

Grantaire was a distraction.

Enjolras frowned. It was so unlike him to be this…fascinated. He had felt attraction before of course - he was not a robot, no matter what his high school peers had said. But he had always managed to quell any fledging fascinations with people before. He had always been fine alone. Why should Grantaire be the exception?

And even….even if Enjolras wanted to get to know Grantaire better, who was to say Grantaire felt the same? Enjolras’s hometown was overwhelmingly heterosexual, so he had very limited exposure to any kind of queer relationships. Sure, Enjolras had known since he was a very young age that he wasn’t interested in women, but that didn’t mean he had experience with dating men. Maybe his own attraction to Grantaire was clouding his judgment. He had read too much into Grantaire’s friendliness, and worse, had projected a stupid crush onto a total stranger. It was embarrassing, and Enjolras was annoyed at himself for getting distracted, and so he shoved the memory of that evening down.

“He was just being nice,” Enjolras said aloud in his empty room with as much finality as he could muster. It hadn’t been a mistake not to see Grantaire’s show. If Enjolras had gone, he would have just made a fool out of himself. He nodded decisively and got back to work, though every so often, flashes of piercing blue eyes and snatches of an angelic voice flitted across his treacherous mind.

He stifled a groan. This was going to be a problem.

Chapter Text

When he aced his midterms, Enjolras knew he had made the right decision not to go to Donovan’s. What had be been thinking? Jeopardizing a class this important, therefore threatening to derail his entire plan for his future - on a whim? Ridiculous. 

Still, as the weeks went by, he wasn’t quite able to put Grantaire out of his mind. Enjolras didn’t like to dwell on the past too much, not when he could focus on changing the future. But still, the dreaded question “what if” popped into his head when he least expected it. What if he had gone to Grantaire’s show? Would he have still done well on his midterm, and also gotten to have fun? He tried to shake that thought. No one could have it all, Enjolras told himself. He had chosen to dedicate his life to making the world a better place, so he needed to hunker down and really just focus on that. Work hard, study, spend all his time in the library--

“You should go to City Hall,” Lamarque said. 

“Oh.” Enjolras closed his notebook. 

He was in Professor Lamarque’s office. He had marched in, armed with talking points, something he did any time Lamarque had office hours. Lamarque was a brilliant professor, and Enjolras needed to take full advantage of being in his class. He was also a notorious hardass, but he seemed to be warming up to Enjolras. 

“Sit in on a session, and just observe. You’ll learn a lot that way. It’s just as important as being in a classroom.”

“I see,” Enjolras said, trying to figure out where in his schedule he could fit this in.

Lamarque considered him. “Why do you want to be in this class?” 

“To understand politics,” Enjolras said.

“Why?”

“Because understanding the system is the only way to be able to change the system. Whether that is changing it from the inside and out, or understanding its weaknesses to dismantle it and create a better one in its place.”

“Politics isn’t academic theory. It’s a living, breathing organism. If you were a zoologist, or a marine biologist, you would go out in the field, wouldn’t you?”

“After taking the necessary prerequisite courses.”

Lamarque stopped him with a laugh. “Enjolras. You’re one of my top students. Not just this year, but in the past decade. You know all the content in all the books I’ve assigned you. Now I want you to take it a step further. Your coursework will not suffer, it will improve. Next week, when you come back, we’ll discuss. Now be off.” 

The City Hall community forum was a little depressing. It happened on a Thursday afternoon, and Enjolras was one of maybe a dozen citizen attendees. He looked around, wondering if he had mistaken the time. But his hopes were dashed when one of the council members thanked them for the “great turnout”. Enjolras frowned. How was this a fair opportunity for citizens to participate in democracy? He tapped his pen impatiently. If the political system were indeed a living, breathing organism, Enjolras couldn’t help but think it was on life support. Perhaps that was exactly what Lamarque had sent him down to City Hall to see. 

He was mulling this issue over when he exited back out onto the plaza. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, that it took a few seconds for a gentle guitar melody to pierce through. But when the familiar notes did, he stopped in his tracks, trying to locate the source of his noise. 
Grantaire. 

This was the same song that had stopped him in his tracks in the Common. It had the same amount of feeling, of heart and soul, and it was no wonder that the melody stopped Enjolras in his tracks again. 

Just as Enjolras located him, Grantaire’s eyes locked onto his and widened in surprise. Enjolras too was surprised that Grantaire remembered him. He must see hundred of people in a single day while busking. Then Enjolras was embarrassed, since that meant Grantaire would remember he hadn’t followed through and gone to Donovan’s. He realized Grantaire was watching him, seeing what he would do next. Perhaps he expected Enjolras to avert his eyes and scurry away. But now that they had seen each other, Enjolras thought it would be rude to ignore him. He made his way over to Grantaire. 

When Grantaire finished, he pointedly did not look at Enojolras as he packed his guitar away. Now it would be extremely awkward that Enjolras had come all the way over to not say anything, so he said, “I don’t have any cash today, but nice song.”

Grantaire stilled. He clicked his case shut. “Thank you. I played it as part of my set last week.”

He finally turned around, and ran a hand through his hair. He seemed to be at a loss of words. 

“Hello,” Enjolras said. 

Grantaire swallowed. “Hello.”

“I meant to come. But,” Enjolras paused. All his reasoning from earlier suddenly seemed ridiculous. Why hadn’t he gone? He had wanted to. And one evening off from his work wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Rather than make up a flimsy excuse, he concluded, rather lamely, ”Something came up.”

“Things have a way of doing that,” Grantaire said wryly, an amused glint in his eye. 

Enjolras felt like he was being mocked, and also that he deserved it.

“Well, maybe if you haven an email list, you can add me so that I can come to one of the next ones.”

“Or,” Grantaire said, with a bold smile, “you could give me your phone number.”

“Do you call all your listeners to tell them about your events?”

Grantaire chuckled. “I don’t know if you really are this oblivious, or if you’re being deliberately obtuse.”

“I…” Enjolras closed his mouth. 

“Still not sure,” Grantaire said, though he looked less amused, and was looking at Enjolras, suddenly serious. “Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But I think you’re very attractive and would like to take you on a date. What do you say?”

“A date?”

“Yes.”

“With me?”

“Who else.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Enjolras couldn’t stand the way Grantaire stared at him so softly -no one had ever looked at him with such tenderness - but he also didn’t want Grantaire to ever stop. 

“I’d like that,” Enjolras said. 

Grantaire grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said firmly, now decided. 

Grantaire rummaged around his pockets and pulled out a ragged old receipt. He flipped it over and handed it to Enjolras. “Here, let me give you my number. Uhh…” He patted his pockets again hopefully, then with a little more desperation. “Shit, I don’t have a pen. Um…”

Enjolras reached into his satchel and pulled one out. He scribbled his number down, hoping Grantaire could read his handwriting. “Here’s my number,” he said, handing the receipt back. 
Grantaire held it like it was something precious. 

“Okay. So it’s a date, then. I’ll call you.”

“It’s a date,” Enjolras confirmed, feeling something inside him glow warm and happy.