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The music was blaring through Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment, and ordinarily whoever was responsible for the loud noise would be subjected to, at the very least, a death glare from Enjolras, but Enjolras was sitting in the corner, a shiny party hat perched resignedly on his blond curls, surprisingly not glaring at anyone, surprisingly enjoying the New Year’s Eve party.
Instead, he was more relaxed than he had probably been in weeks, leaning back in the chair, smiling up at Bossuet, who was in the middle of a long-winded story of the various ways he had almost accidentally killed himself that day. On his other side, Courfeyrac, who was wearing those obnoxious plastic glasses shaped like “2013”, kept trying to press a glass of champagne into his hand, and, surprisingly, Enjolras finally took the glass and took a few sips.
From across the room, Feuilly, who had volunteered for clock-watching duty, called out, “Two minutes til midnight! Find the person you want to kiss!” Though Enjolras rolled his eyes, his grip on his champagne glass tightened, and he glanced around the room, painstakingly pretending that he wasn’t looking for a certain dark-haired artist, painstakingly pretending not to be disappointed when he didn’t find him.
He nudged Courfeyrac and asked in what he hoped didn’t sound like an urgent or worried tone, “Have you seen Grantaire?”
Courfeyrac gave him a look that told Enjolras he wasn’t buying a damn thing Enjolras was trying to sell. “Last I saw, he had disappeared to the bathroom,” Courfeyrac told him blithely. “Granted, that was, like, twenty minutes ago, but our darling cynic probably got a little lost on the way back, seeing as how he was more than a little drunk.”
Enjolras made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat, but he certainly didn’t try to deny that for some reason, Grantaire had been drinking heavily from early on in the evening, heavier than he normally would for an occasion such as this. “Well, I’m going to go find him,” he said, still trying to keep his voice down so that everyone around wouldn’t hear him (he needn’t have worried; as soon as he had said “Grantaire”, all other conversations had pretty much ceased, waiting with almost baited breath to see what would be said or done). “He should be with everyone to ring in New Year’s.”
“Right,” Courfeyrac said, drawing the syllable out as long as he could, his eyes narrowing. “Sure. He should be with ‘everyone’. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.” Enjolras rolled his eyes but didn’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to stand and head down the hallway towards the bathroom. Courfeyrac snorted and shook his head. “God, I hope they kiss and solve all their tension. New Year’s is perfect for it. People are basically contractually obligated to make out.”
Joly, who had quickly claimed Enjolras’s chair after he stood, raised an eyebrow at Courfeyrac. “Oh, really?” he asked coolly. “And who is contractually obligated to kiss you this year?”
Courfeyrac looked startled by the question for a moment, then glanced around the room. “Hey, Ferre! Kiss me at midnight?” Combeferre stared at him blankly for a moment, then nodded, a small, secretive smile touching his lips as he turned back to his conversation with Bahorel. Courfeyrac turned back to Joly, smiling smugly. “See. Easy as that.”
Joly just shook his head and glanced at where Enjolras had disappeared. “Well, let’s hope Enjolras has as much luck as you,” he muttered, and gave Bossuet a sideways look. “And a hell of a lot more luck than Bossuet.”
In the meantime, Enjolras had made his way to the bathroom, which he found unoccupied, and he frowned, wondering where Grantaire could have gotten to. He was about to give up and go back into the living room, but then heard what sounded suspiciously like bed springs coming from his bedroom, and he pushed the door open to find Grantaire curled up on Enjolras’s bed, snoring lightly.
Enjolras was torn between laughter and disapproval, and settled for crossing over to the bed and touching Grantaire’s shoulder gently. “Grantaire?” he asked quietly. “Are you alright?”
Grantaire made a snuffling noise and rolled over, blinking blearily up at Enjolras. “Enjolras,” he whispered, breaking into a smile. “Is it the new year yet?”
“Not quite yet,” Enjolras told him, just as Feuilly shouted, “One minute to midnight!”
Enjolras sat down on the bed next to Grantaire, reaching out to brush Grantaire’s curls out of his face. “Dare I ask if there’s a specific reason why you’re almost passed out in my bed?”
Shrugging, Grantaire didn’t lose the small, sweet smile he was giving Enjolras as he said, “Well, see, ‘m drunk, and your bed is comfy.”
“Right, but it was the drunk part I was referring to,” Enjolras told him. “Is there a specific reason you got as drunk as you did? Because honestly, it’s…” He stopped himself from saying ‘it’s not like you’, because that was really a lie as far as Grantaire was concerned. Grantaire vacillated from one extreme to the other, it seemed, but he certainly had not been this drunk in awhile. Enjolras cleared his throat and finished, “It’s not what I was expecting from you, so I figured there had to be a reason.”
Grantaire nodded slowly, his head falling back to the bed, and for a second, Enjolras thought he had passed out again. But then he muttered, “Wanted to kiss. At midnight. Got nervous.”
Enjolras, who had been stroking Grantaire’s curls gently, froze, and he asked softly. “Who did you want to kiss at midnight?”
Now Grantaire cracked one eye open and grinned at him, a devilish grin. “You, you idiot,” he said, before yawning loudly, the countdown from the living room echoing through the apartment. “Fucked it up, didn’t I?”
“10, 9, 8—”
Enjolras’s own smile was gentle as he ran his fingers through Grantaire’s curls again. “No,” he told him.
“7, 6, 5—”
“You didn’t fuck it up.”
“4, 3, 2, 1 — HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Enjolras bent and pressed a kiss to Grantaire’s forehead. “Happy New Year, Grantaire.”
Grantaire smiled almost blissfully up at him, but his eyes were closed as sleep threatened to take him again. “Happy New Year, Enj,” he managed before his breathing evened out and he relaxed completely.
Enjolras waited until he was sure Grantaire was fully asleep, then stood, crossing to the door and shutting it softly behind him as he left. Combeferre, who was looking very pink and slightly tousled, met him in the hallway. “Grantaire?” he asked, nodding in the direction of Enjolras’s bedroom.
Nodding as well, Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him. “Courfeyrac?” he guessed.
Combeferre’s answering grin was all he needed to confirm his suspicions, and he chuckled goodnaturedly. Then Combeferre’s grin faded slightly, and he asked, “Everything ok between you and Grantaire?”
Enjolras just shrugged, though he also managed a small smile. “It’s a new year,” he said simply. “Who knows what it will bring?”
The music was blaring so loudly that Grantaire actually had to shout to get Courfeyrac’s attention. “Hey! Have you seen Enjolras?”
Courfeyrac turned to look at him, grinning from behind his stupid plastic ‘2014’ glasses. “He said something about running upstairs to your apartment for something,” he shouted back, before holding out a cup to Grantaire. “Want a shot?”
Grantaire looked dubiously at the glass. “I’ll pass, thanks,” he called back, scratching at the elastic string of his part hat, which was making his chin itch. “I’m going to run up and see if I can find him. If we’re not back before midnight, tell Combeferre thanks for the party!”
“What, and I don’t get any thanks for it?” Courfeyrac asked, mock-indignant.
Rolling his eyes, Grantaire pulled Courfeyrac to him and kissed him squarely on the lips. “There. Is that thanks enough for you?”
Courfeyrac winked at him. “It’ll do for now. Now go find Enjolras! It’s almost midnight!”
Grantaire grinned at him and headed towards the door, waving over his shoulder as he weaved through their friends. He took the stairs up to his and Enjolras’s apartment two at a time and headed inside, looking around for Enjolras.
Their apartment was cozy, since Grantaire’s stuff tended to take up far more than Combeferre’s ever had, his art supplies spilling out of his studio and taking up residence wherever Grantaire got inspired. And, of course, with Combeferre’s library now a whole flight of stairs away, Enjolras had purchased most of the same books to add to his already extensive collection. Their stuff didn’t match even slightly, Grantaire’s kitschy, oddly-patterned things sticking out amongst Enjolras’s more utilitarian belongings, but it still somehow worked.
It was still somehow home.
With a practiced step, Grantaire worked his way through the living room to their bedroom, knocking cautiously on the door as he opened it. “Enjolras?”
Enjolras looked up at him from where he was sitting on the bed, his party hat still on his head. “Hey,” he said, grinning up at Grantaire, who felt his breath catch in his throat the way it always did when Enjolras smiled at him, even after all this time.
“Hey,” Grantaire said, a little breathlessly. “It’s almost midnight.” He took a few cautious steps into the room, his eyes narrowing. “Is there a reason you’re up here by yourself? You’re not pulling a me from last year, are you?”
Laughing slightly, Enjolras shook his head and beckoned for Grantaire to come join him on the bed. When Grantaire had sat down next to him, Enjolras pulled him close, kissing his temple before telling him, “It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it?”
Grantaire laughed almost helplessly at that. “Yeah, that’s probably the understatement of the century,” he agreed, smiling crookedly at Enjolras, at the man he had been in love with for what felt like forever, but whom he had actually started dating last January, his first real “Valentine”, the man who held his hair back as he puked on St. Patrick’s Day (telling him off the entire time for getting as drunk as he did), the man who let Grantaire pull him out of bed at 2 in the morning just to go dance in the rain, the man who had presided over rallies and riots and somehow come out mostly unscathed (they both had a mutual agreement not to discuss the June 6th incident which had landed Enjolras in the hospital for a week), the man who had kissed and held Grantaire almost every single night, who had asked him to move in together, to build a life together. “It’s definitely been quite a year.”
Enjolras nodded, his expression turning serious. “I don’t want it to end,” he said, his voice soft and a little sad. “This has been one of the best days of my life, and I don’t…I don’t want this feeling to ever go away.”
Something fell in the pit of Grantaire’s stomach and he said quickly, panicking, “It doesn’t have to end! Just because the year is over doesn’t mean—”
Enjolras cut him off by kissing him, a swift peck to the lips, and further cut off any ability Grantaire had once had for speaking by getting down on one knee, pulling a ring box from his pocket and opening it up. “I know. This feeling doesn’t have to end, and I never want it to. Spend the rest of your life with me, Grantaire. Make every year feel as amazing as this one has felt. Marry me.”
Grantaire stared at Enjolras, his mouth dry, his palms sweaty, completely at a loss for what to say. They could clearly hear their friends beginning to count down to midnight from the floor below, the silence was that absolute. Enjolras shifted slightly and swallowed. “I fucked it up, didn’t I?” he asked, clearly nervous, his eyes wide.
Grantaire shook his head. “No, you didn’t,” he whispered, reaching down and pulling Enjolras up to kiss him soundly. “You didn’t fuck it up at all. Yes, I will marry you.”
Enjolras’s smile was even brighter than the fireworks bursting outside their apartment as he slid the ring on to Grantaire’s finger, and when he leaned in to kiss Grantaire, it was the sweetest, gentlest, most perfect kiss they had ever shared. “Happy New Year, Grantaire,” he whispered.
Pulling him down on to the bed so that he could kiss him properly, Grantaire whispered back with a smile like no other, “Happy New Year, Enjolras.”