Spotify Wrapped 2022 Fics
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Recent works
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Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing?”
Grantaire didn’t even glance over at him, adjusting the saddle with a practiced eye. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”
Enjolras scowled. “Looks like you’re packing up.”
Now Grantaire did look over at him, a small smile creasing his face. “I always knew you were more than a pretty face.”
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I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch) by kjack89
Fandoms: Les Misérables - All Media Types
24 Feb 2023
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Enjolras paused. “You know, you could always come with me and find out.”
He said it casually, as if it was the first time he’d made such a suggestion and not the fiftieth, which helped explain why Grantaire matched his tone as he countered, “You could always stay here and tell me.”
It was an old argument, the kind that had been played out so many times that neither even needed to speak the words anymore to know how it would end: a stalemate, just as it always did. Enjolras just shook his head as he buttoned his vest before pausing, catching sight of something on Grantaire’s night stand. “Wait a minute, is that—”
Grantaire blanched, scrambling across the bed to grab the picture frame, but Enjolras beat him to it, snatching it triumphantly away from him. “You framed my mug shot?”
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“So this is it, huh,” he said.
Grantaire nodded. “This is it.”
And yet, despite the finality of that statement, neither man seemed willing to leave, Enjolras to go back inside, Grantaire to drive away.
It would be cleaner, Enjolras thought, if they didn’t still love each other.
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“Take a seat, I’ll bring your usual.”
Enjolras headed obediently toward the bar, sitting down on a bar stool as he remarked, “I wasn’t aware I had a usual.”
Grantaire just winked at him, and Enjolras’s stomach gave a traitorous little flip-flop. He watched, intrigued, as Grantaire bustled with something on the back of the bar before turning around to present a steaming mug with a flourish. “Irish coffee, hold the Irish.”
Enjolras laughed lightly. “Did you—”
“Put in enough sugar to give a bull elephant diabetes?” Grantaire finished. “Of course. You know I know how you like it.”
Enjolras did know, just as he still knew Grantaire’s coffee order, and how he liked his pillows arranged on his bed, and the hundreds of other little details he’d learned from when they were together, the hundreds of other little details he would never forget, no matter how long they’d been apart.
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“What are you doing?” Feuilly asked, his voice sharper than intended.
“Corpus delicti,” Grantaire grunted, and Feuilly’s frown deepened.
“You know that I am not trained in the law as some of our brethren, but—”
“If there is no body, then a crime cannot be proven to have been committed,” Grantaire told him, with the kind of clarity of conviction only a drunkard could possess.