Work Text:
When Enjolras pulls into the driveway, he takes the keys out of the ignition and just sits there for a few minutes, replaying the phonecall he had received at work in his head once more and listening to the rain pelting hard on his windshield. The waves of emotion wash over him, and he takes his time sorting through each one before they have the chance to overtake him.
In the decade that he and Grantaire have been together, they’ve had the time to work through how to communicate with one another effectively. They still get into the occasional fight, but gone are the days of shouting matches and thrown books, especially now that they have their daughter to think about.
Enjolras takes one last deep breath before opening the car door and dashing through the rain and into the house.
Grantaire is not in the kitchen or living room, but Enjolras knows he’s home because his cell phone is under their key hook. He ultimately finds his husband exactly where he expected to: in the studio.
“Hey R, I just got home, can I come in?” he asks, gently knocking on the door. Ten years or not, frustrated or not, Enjolras can’t help the small smile that creeps into his voice every time.
“Yeah, sure, but I’m kind of doing a thing.”
Enjolras opens the door. Sitting in the center of the room on a stool is Grantaire, canvas facing away from the door to catch the natural light from the windows despite the pouring rain. Stepping gingerly onto the tarp, Enjolras tries to avoid any spots that may look fresh and comes up next to Grantaire for a kiss. Grantaire gives it automatically, attention immediately diverting back to the painting in front of him.
“What’s this?”
“A commission piece. It’s a garbage subject in a garbage style, but it’s what they want, so who am I to argue?”
Enjolras thinks it looks fine, but he knows better than to argue this point with his husband. He moves himself to the sofa pushed under the windows, allowing him to watch his husband work. Pulling out his phone, Enjolras pretends to check his emails and feigns a casual visage. “Did Marie get home all right?”
“Had her afterschool snack and zipped off to Jeanne’s. I called her parents to make sure they were okay with it, no worries, and she has her umbrella with her.”
“Did she say anything about her day?”
Grantaire’s brushstrokes pause a fraction of a second, and if Enjolras was uncertain before, the flicker of a smile at the corner of Grantaire’s mouth removes all doubts that he might have had. “Nothing particularly memorable.”
“I got a phonecall today from the school.”
Grantaire finally looks over at Enjolras with impressively-crafted surprise. “Did you now?”
“I did.”
“Well that’s odd, I thought I was the primary contact for the school. We should really talk to them about that”
“I was informed that they wanted to speak with me personally about this issue.”
Grantaire turns back to his painting. “Well I hope it wasn’t anything serious, she seemed fine when she got home.” He resumes painting for a while, and Enjolras waits for Grantaire to ask. “So what was the matter? Was our little girl staging her first rally? Demanding equal playground-access for all? I’m pretty sure she’s not protesting the dress code yet, she looked like she came home in the same clothes she left in.”
“Interestingly,” Enjolras draws out slowly, “it was her teacher that called me.”
“Oh really?”
“Really,” affirms Enjolras. “It would seem that there was a calling out incident during Social Studies.”
“‘Calling out’? ‘Calling out’ as in ‘speaking without permission’ or ‘calling someone out on their bullshit’?”
“Both.”
“Well good for her,” Grantaire says, smiling. “Don’t let the man keep you down, Marie.” He paints for another minute. “Who did our dear girl call out?”
“That would be where the issue lies.” Enjolras takes a moment to compose himself. “It would seem that Marie called the teacher out.”
He sees Grantaire’s smile grow wider and hears the way he barely contains his giggle. “And what, praytell, could our fourth grader possibly be prepared to call a teacher out on?”
The dance is nearly complete. “Her teacher tells me that Marie interrupted the lesson by declaring it all to be ‘bourgeois propaganda.’ Repeatedly and loudly.”
Grantaire swallows hard, putting in paintbrush down on the easel and turning his whole body to face Enjolras. Enjolras watches him thread his fingers together, hiding his mouth behind them. “And was it bourgeois propaganda?” he asks, voice breaking with suppressed laughter.
“You bastard, I know you taught her it just to get me in trouble again!” Enjolras shouts, unable to suppress his own mirth any longer. Grantaire's cackling has him doubled over, gasping for air to keep up.
“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for the pay-off on this one??” Grantaire manages between peals of glee. “She couldn’t even say ‘bourgeois propaganda’ in second grade, I had to just teach her the definition and hope she’d remember it when the time came!”
“You absolute asshat! Why??”
“Never too young to overthrow the system. Also, this was right after you had gotten in trouble for the back-to-back playground protest and petition for longer snacktime,” Grantaire explains with tears in his eyes. Enjolras covers his face with both hands. “Was it even actual bourgeois propaganda?”
“If you’ve been coaching her on the definition for two years, probably,” Enjolras assents. “The teacher wouldn’t even tell me why I was being called in, the legal office probably thinks Marie’s dying.”
“How did the meeting go?? I’ve been waiting literal years for this Enj, don’t hold out on me now.”
Enjolras at least has the grace to look bashful. “Well, the teacher called me in and told me what Marie’d done and asked what I thought we could do to try to prevent it in the future.”
“Yes, and you said?”
Enjolras lets out a huff. “I merely suggested that perhaps she consider…not propagating bourgeois propaganda.”
Enjolras is certain that the neighbors can hear Grantaire as he bounces off of his stool and into Enjolras’s lap. “It’s the perfect crime!” he declares between bursts of laughter. “No one will ever believe that you didn’t do it!”
Outside, the rain continues to fall, but in Grantaire’s studio Enjolras has never felt more at peace in the world.