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.