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“Uh, okay?”
“Really?” Enjolras asks, beaming at him, actually beaming at him, and Grantaire has no idea what’s going on right now, but knows what he has to say to keep that brightness in Enjolras’ eyes.
“Really,” he says, and when Enjolras pulls him in, crushing their lips together forcefully as his hands reach to tug Grantaire’s shirt off, he makes a mental note to be more agreeable regarding Enjolras’ views if this is how it ends all the time.
—
“He said yes,” Enjolras tells Combeferre and Courfeyrac, when they come over.
He’d been quite reluctant to let Grantaire out of bed, but Grantaire had laughing kissed the protests off his lips and told him that Eponine was on a blind-date and needed him as backup. He’d pouted a lot and tried to cling onto Grantaire, but eventually let him go.
Courfeyrac gasps. “You asked him!”
Enjolras smiles. “I told you I was going to,” he says.
“Still!” Courfeyrac exclaims, and then launches himself at Enjolras, hugging him tightly. “Combeferre! Enjolras is getting married!”
Combeferre grins. “I’m just right here, I heard.”
“Grantaire said yes!” Courfeyrac yells.
“Nobody is surprised,” Combeferre tells him, and then moves to gently peel Courfeyrac off Enjolras.
“How did you ask?” Courfeyrac asks, still grinning happily. “What did you say? What did Grantaire say? Did he cry? Did you cry?”
Enjolras rolls his eyes. “It was surprisingly uneventful. I asked him to marry me, he said okay.”
—
Eponine snorts when she sees Grantaire. “Hair mussed, shirt buttoned all wrongly, lips swollen, fifteen minutes late,” she notes. “I’m guessing you had a really good night. I’m surprised you didn’t cancel on me.”
“I would never cancel on you,” Grantaire tells her. “What if Montparnasse turns out to be a serial killer?”
Eponine shrugs. “Then we’ll have to see who’s faster with a knife.”
“Do you have knives on you?” Grantaire asks, and then holds up his hands. “No, wait, I’m sorry I asked. How many knives do you have on you?”
Eponine grins. “Your hickeys are distracting me,” she says instead of answering his question. “Enjolras went all out, huh?”
Grantaire flushes slightly, pulling at his shirt collar even as his lips tip up in a grin. “He was acting really odd tonight, kept rambling about social construction, and I figured it would save us a lot of trouble if I just agreed with him on it all, and then he, uh—”
“Jumped you?” Eponine asks, laughing when Grantaire scowls. “Bet you’re regretting playing devil’s advocate to him now, aren't you?”
“Shut up,” Grantaire mutters without heat, and swats her playfully. “How did Montparnasse say you would recognise him again?”
—
“What do you mean you didn’t get him a ring?” Courfeyrac asks with a scowl, and then smacks Enjolras on the arm for good measure. “Why didn’t you get him a ring?”
“He’s better with things like that,” Enjolras admits sheepishly with a shrug. “I figured he’d want to pick his own ring.”
Courfeyrac’s scowl deepens. “That’s no excuse to not get a ring. Combeferre, back me up here.”
Combeferre sighs. “The lack of a ring doesn’t make the proposal any less valid,” he says. But before Courfeyrac can squawk in indignation, Combeferre adds, “I would have personally gone with a ring, though. Grantaire would have liked anything you picked just on the basis that you picked it.”
Courfeyrac’s grin is smug.
—
Eponine and Montparnasse seem to be hitting it off. Montparnasse has been here ten minutes, and so far he’s has made Eponine laugh three times. It’s a very good sign that Grantaire won’t have to spend more time watching them from the corner of his eye.
His phone pings with a message, probably Eponine to tell him he’s off best friend duty.
It isn’t.
From: Joly
CONGRATS!!!!!!! WE ARE ALL VERY HAPPY FOR YOU!!!!!!
Grantaire blinks at his phone.
To: Joly
ooookaaaaay? …why?
From: Joly
Oh, come on, we all know now. Jehan was with us when Courfeyrac texted, and he cried.
Context. He’s missing context in this situation, because there’s no way he has no idea why his friends are congratulating him. He needs context.
To: Joly
did my cancer tests come back
From: Joly
WHAT
From: Joly
WHAT CANCER TESTS
From: Joly
GRANTAIRE
He’s too busy laughing to formulate a response, and it’s another few minutes before Joly sends another text.
From: Joly
Right, so Jehan said you’re probably just being an arse and wanted us to stop bothering you so you can celebrate with Enjolras.
Grantaire frowns and checks the date. It’s not his or Enjolras’ birthdays, not their anniversary, and Enjolras hadn’t said that there was anything to celebrate.
What is he missing?
His phone chimes again.
From: Joly
You don’t have cancer, right?
From: Joly
RIGHT?
—
“You had a ring prepared,” Combeferre says, when Courfeyrac all but skips out of the apartment to run to the nearest store to get them some beers.
Enjolras frowns. “How did you know that?”
Combeferre arches an eyebrow.
“Right,” Enjolras says, grinning ruefully, “why do I even bother asking? You know everything.” He sets his cup of tea down on the coffee table and settles back against the couch. “I had it in my pocket, but I was too jittery to take it out when I was asking him, too relieved to remember it when Grantaire said yes, and then, uh, my pants were in the living room, and I didn’t want to leave the bed to get them?”
Combeferre bursts out laughing and Enjolras scowls at him.
“Promise me Courfeyrac never hears about it,” Enjolras says. “He’ll never let me live it down.”
Combeferre laughs again. “He won’t hear it from me, I promise.”
“I don’t know if Grantaire will like it,” Enjolras says after awhile. “The ring, I mean. Do you think I should just let him pick his own ring since I haven’t given it to him?”
Combeferre rolls his eyes. “Just give it to him,” he tells Enjolras. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“I’ll give it to him when he comes back,” Enjolras decides. “I was really nervous about the whole thing.”
Combeferre snorts. “He wouldn’t have said no,” he tells Enjolras.
“I’m really glad he didn’t,” Enjolras says, smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
—
From: Eponine
HOLY FUCK I JUST SAW COURFEYRAC’S TEXT WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING HERE GO HOME R
From: Eponine
i am happy for you, really
From: Eponine
also we are talking about this tomorrow HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME WE WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT YOU AND ENJOLRAS
“No, seriously,” Grantaire mutters, “what the hell is going on?”
These are the things he knows:
A good thing just happened to him. Said good thing involves Enjolras somehow. It is a thing that all his friends apparently know about. It is a thing that makes all his friends happy.
See? The things he knows are not helpful at all.
—
Courfeyrac gets emotional after his second beer and Combeferre ends up having to drag him out of Enjolras’ apartment, because if they continue to let Courfeyrac continue drink, they’re going to have to crash the night, and Combeferre doesn’t want to intrude on the happy couple the night of their engagement.
“I’m so happy for you!” Courfeyrac is saying, loud enough that his neighbours surely can hear, but Enjolras doesn’t really care today, because he’s happy, and if Courfeyrac wants to be happy for him too, he can. “I’m so, so happy for you! I’d almost given up on seeing you get married!”
Enjolras rolls his eyes and Combeferre looks on at Courfeyrac fondly.
“That’s a lie,” Combeferre says. “We all knew they would end up getting married.”
“But now they’re actually getting married!” Courfeyrac cries, and lunges at Enjolras to hug him again. “So, so, so, so happy for you. The happiest for you.”
“I know,” Enjolras says, grinning. “I’m very happy for me too.”
Courfeyrac gives him one last squeeze before he loops his arm around Combeferre and they both enter the elevator, Courfeyrac still yelling, “My best friend is getting married!”
Enjolras ends up grinning stupidly after them by his door because fuck, Grantaire is his fiancé now, what a wonderful thought.
—
“You’re back early,” Enjolras says, pleased, when Grantaire lets himself back into their apartment.
Grantaire blinks at him blankly for a moment before he breaks out into a smile. Enjolras must have been the one behind the congratulatory texts. The thought that Enjolras cooked up a con just to get Grantaire to come back home to him early makes Grantaire smile.
“Couldn’t wait for me to come home, could you?” Grantaire teases, crossing the living room, and plopping down next to Enjolras on the couch, curling into him comfortably. “What did you tell our friends?”
“The truth,” Enjolras says, fingers curling around his hip.
Grantaire is just about to make a quip about Enjolras loving his booty so much he can’t even bear being away from him for ninety minutes when Enjolras continues with, “Oh, I have something for you. I got a little overexcited just now, but Courfeyrac was very adamant about there being a ring, and Combeferre kind of agreed.”
Enjolras pulls away from Grantaire to reach into his pocket to pull out a ring, a simple gold band, and then slips it onto Grantaire’s ring finger without any fuss, and what the fuck is going on?
Grantaire gapes at him and then looks to the ring. Gapes at Enjolras, gapes at ring. Rinse and repeat. “What.”
Enjolras face falls. “Do you not like it?” he asks, biting his lip. “I knew you would prefer picking your own. We can take it back, exchange it for something you like better.”
“What.” Grantaire is so confused. “Wait, step by step, what is this? Why are you giving me a ring?”
Enjolras frowns. “Isn’t it customary to present your significant other with a ring when you’re proposing? I know I should have given it to you just now, but I asked you to marry me and you said yes and I just got so excited about the whole thing—”
“You asked me to marry you,” Grantaire says.
“And you said yes,” Enjolras says. “Well, you said okay, but surely that implies the same thing.”
Grantaire stares at Enjolras. He runs through the conversation they had just before the amazing sexy-times, thinks back about how Enjolras was surprisingly jittery and how he wouldn’t stop moving his hands, thinks back about how happy Enjolras had looked when he said okay.
Enjolras proposed to him.
Enjolras asked Grantaire to marry him.
And the whole time it was happening, Grantaire had no idea because he is actually the stupidest person in the world.
When he snaps back to himself, there is a look of horrifying understanding coming onto Enjolras’ face.
“You didn’t know I was proposing,” Enjolras says.
“You started the conversation by telling me that marriage is a social construction!” Grantaire cries, flailing his arms a little for emphasis. “You asked me to marry you. And I didn’t notice! Why would you even want to marry me? I’m such an idiot, oh my God.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Enjolras says, taking Grantaire’s hand in his, running his thumb over the gold band on Grantaire’s finger. “You’re brilliant and I love you.”
Grantaire’s breath hitches, because even though Enjolras says it often, it never fails to surprise Grantaire to hear Enjolras say that he loves him.
“I love you,” Enjolras repeats, softly, smiling at Grantaire. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me, R.” He pauses and then adds, “I’m proposing again, if that wasn’t clear enough.”
That makes Grantaire laugh.
“Yes,” Grantaire says, and then tears up, much to his chagrin. “Yes, of course, yes.”
“For real this time?” Enjolras asks, letting go of Grantaire’s hand to cup his face, stroking Grantaire’s cheek with his thumb.
“For real this time,” Grantaire says with a laugh, and then tugs Enjolras in for a kiss.
—
Courfeyrac falls off his chair laughing when Grantaire tells the story the next night at the Musain, and Enjolras doesn’t even scowl at him because he’s too busy trying to hide his own smile.