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They leave the aquarium exhausted and happy. Musichetta swings both Joly and Bossuet’s hands as they walk while she talks excitedly about some random facts on lemon sharks that Bossuet is sure he’ll forget —not that he doesn’t care; he really does, since Musichetta is so passionate about them, but his memory really isn’t that great. Bossuet only got pinched once at the interactive tank, which is a win in his book, and they’re all full of the crisps they managed to sneak into the tour. All in all, it was a very successful date, much like all their other dates. They’ve found out that even botched plans —which really happen all too often, what with Bossuet’s luck— are fun, as long as the three of them are together.
Joly organised this date, found the “Late Night at the Aquarium” event, arranged their schedules accordingly, and with Joly’s meticulous planning involved, nothing of import ever goes awry. Joly’s dates are always the best, and they’re all giddy when they reach the lobby of the aquarium. Joly’s meticulous planning, however, isn’t completely infallible.
“Shit, my weather app said the rain would stop at 9,” he says, dejected, when they see that the torrential rain of this afternoon has barely let up.
Bossuet wraps a comforting arm around Joly’s shoulders just as Musichetta drops a kiss onto his head. She’s naturally tall, but she decided to wear heels tonight —“for great butt purposes, and in case anyone tries to pick a fight with us,” she’d explained— so she easily towers over both her boyfriends and uses her power generously to bestow numerous kisses on their hair, their temples, and their foreheads.
“It’s okay, love. You couldn’t know. We can just get a taxi home.”
Bossuet’s face falls, his arm feeling like lead around Joly’s shoulder. He’s spent the last of his monthly date budget on his ticket to the aquarium. He’s actually spent the last of his entire budget on that ticket, and he’s planning on living off whatever is left in their cupboard for the coming week. Try as he might, Bossuet is always a little short on money.
“I don’t think I can afford a taxi ride home, guys…” he confesses sheepishly.
“We can cover for you if you want?” Musichetta asks, throwing a concerned look at Joly. The Metro is out of the question; the germ nest it represents gives him panic attacks. She and Bossuet therefore expect him to insist, unwilling to walk in the rain and risk catching a cold.
He surprises the both of them, leaving Bossuet gaping for a moment. “It’s okay, we don’t have to,” Joly says, squeezing Bossuet’s hand, though the shakiness of his voice betrays his nervousness. “Exercise is healthy, anyway.”
Bossuet beams at him. Living with them and Grantaire, they’re all quick to pitch in and any idea of debt between them feels ludicrous, but Bossuet doesn’t like to ask for help or feel indebted more than he has to. He’s grateful for Joly not to push the matter, putting Bossuet’s comfort above his own hypochondriac tendencies. He goes to give him a short peck as thanks, but Joly draws it out and deepens it into a proper kiss, no doubt welcoming it as his own stress relief. Bossuet knows Joly fears catching something from the unkind weather.
Bossuet, who isn’t one to refuse such gifts of kisses, almost misses Musichetta’s hurried “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Sure enough, when they pull back, Joly’s lips deliciously swollen and shiny and his eyes bright, Musichetta has disappeared into the gift shop in a blur of long legs and tight, dark curls.
“She’s probably looking for cute key rings,” Bossuet says.
“Should we go after her?” Joly asks.
“Nah, you know she likes her time to roam in peace.”
“That’s true.”
They wait in companionable silence. Bossuet wraps an arm around Joly’s shoulder once more as he checks his phone. Joly spends most of his time watching the pouring rain worriedly, only stopping to laugh when Bossuet shows him a meme or a cat video.
“Oh, R texted the flat group chat,” Bossuet says when his phone pings.
“What does he say?”
“He’s at home with Enjolras, they cooked together.”
“That’s cute! The kitchen hasn’t burnt down?” Joly asks cheekily; Enjolras’ abysmal cooking abilities are notorious in their friend group. His infamous exploits in the kitchen have been duly reported by Courfeyrac throughout the years and still, they never fail to make them laugh.
“I think Grantaire did most of the cooking, probably in between makeout sesh interruptions.”
“I’m sure he did, he’s a smooth one.”
“He is. Ah, they grow up so fast…” Bossuet sighs wistfully, making Joly snort.
“Did you guys see? The way to Enjolras’ heart is through his stomach, who would have known?” Musichetta offers as greeting when she returns from the gift shop, her phone in one hand, a brand new umbrella in the other. “To think we could have avoided unbearable pining if Grantaire had just thought to bake cookies for Enjolras.”
“An umbrella! ‘Chetta, you’re a genius!” Joly exclaims.
“Nah, I think you two are just a little slow,” she teases, kissing both their cheeks.
“Well, we most definitely are, but that doesn’t make you any less of a genius,” Bossuet says warmly.
“I’ll take it! I chose the turtle umbrella because the octopus one would have been too spooky for Boss.”
“A genius and the kindest person on Earth? Do you know how much I love you, Musichetta?”
“I think I have an idea.” She grins. “Come on, let’s get home, I’m getting hungry again, and my feet hurt from those heels.”
“I have your flat pumps in my bag if you want, ‘Chetta,” Joly says, and he does. Joly is always prepared. He also has blister plasters ready, along with the rest of his first aid kit.
They leave after that, because Musichetta’s stomach does growl, and they’re getting close to being kicked out of the aquarium. The umbrella she got, it turns out, is brilliant ; the turtle has its little paws sticking out, and Bossuet is extremely excited to examine it further. It is, however, also much too small. In all fairness, there are three of them, and few umbrellas could comfortably fit them all; a turtle umbrella from the aquarium’s gift shop never really stood a chance.
They huddle closely together, Bossuet in the middle, holding their turtle-like shelter as steadily as he can, his lovers on either side of him. Joly’s hand is wrapped around his arm, and Musichetta holds his opposite shoulder, leaning over Bossuet to stay out of the rain as much as possible.
They’ve been together for a while now, and they’ve always been affectionate in public, uncaring of the looks that might be thrown their way. Holding hands is practically their natural state, because there’s nothing that can be done that shouldn’t be done holding hands. So they’re used to synching their steps and matching their paces, but this, huddled this close — this is a whole new challenge altogether.
Miraculously, they make it five minutes before the inevitable happens. Bossuet’s foot, already completely soaked from the deep puddles that have formed throughout the day, gets tangled in Musichetta’s maxi skirt. The wet pavement is slippery, so he skids as he tries to catch his balance, and his head rocks forward and knocks into the umbrella pole. The movement, sudden and strong, takes Musichetta and Joly by surprise. Both their grips on Bossuet are tight, and they jolt forward with him. The weight of three grown people is too much; they tip over and fall forward in a tangle of limbs, Musichetta and Joly sprawled onto Bossuet.
As soon as he registers what happened, his jeans entirely drenched and his forehead hot from the bruise that is sure to bloom, Bossuet bursts out laughing.
Musichetta snorts as Joly’s shoulders start shaking in silent laughter. “I guess our date is finally complete. Thanks, Boss,” she says.
“You’re very welcome, babe. Always here to bring that trademarked Bossuet Cherry On Top,” he wheezes.
“So much for not getting wet, huh?” Musichetta says. The umbrella indeed lies upside down on the ground, half its ribs bent in an awkward angle. They landed in a puddle, and the rain is still falling, hard as ever. They’re soaked already.
“It was always going to happen,” Joly agrees as he stands up, and he surprisingly doesn’t look too upset about this development. Joly is anxious, but he’s also been dating Bossuet for a few years. He knows the risk better than most.
“I think the turtle is dead now…” Bossuet says when he gets up. “Should we just run home?” He and Musichetta look to Joly, unsure. “Grantaire said there’s soup ready for us, and we can draw you a bath when we get home so that you won’t catch a cold.”
There’s a beat of silence, Bossuet’s eyes jumping from Musichetta to Joly, though the rain running down his face is making it increasingly hard to see.
“Last one home has to massage my feet!” is all that Joly says before he takes off, sprinting, leaving Musichetta to scramble back up and Bossuet to fight with the broken umbrella.
They follow on Joly’s trail, euphoric. The ground is wet and slippery, and they all almost trip on several occasions, ankles deep in puddles on the uneven Parisian sidewalk. They’re so soaked, they might as well be swimming rather than running, but they can’t seem to stop laughing.
Joly’s dates really are the best .