Chapter Text
Sometimes the universe seems to be a cheeky bitch. That suspicion is mostly fueled by events that are so unlikely that they couldn’t possibly be accidental. Sometimes the universe seems to be a bit bored and so it starts to play with the little mortals on earth just to entertain itself. It probably thinks it is funny to play match maker. Well, maybe it’s funny for the universe, the little humans who are the subjects of these shenanigans definitely think differently.
Well, I say universe, but you could easily replace it with fate - or god (call it want you want).
The universe (fate, god, etc.) was especially cheeky when it started to meddle with the lives of two young men. One a cynic with a passion for dancing. The other an idealist with a passion for justice. It may take something as old, wise, and crazy as the universe to think those two capable of loving each other. But the moment you see them together there is no way to imagine the one without the other.
This beginning is a little bit too pathetic – for this is simply as story of two people learning to leave behind past misunderstandings and to love. But then again, the universe (fate, god, etc.) always loves a dramatic start.
Grantaire was a cynic. He started to be one when he was thirteen. It was also around that time he started drinking too much. It took him some five, six years to stop the drinking. The cynicism stayed, though - but maybe not with the vehemence it had when he was sixteen. He learned to lose himself not in alcohol but in music and movements, which is – of course – far healthier than intoxication. Being one with the music helped him calm down, it made him forget how rough the world could be. In loosing himself in the steps of his feet, in the sequence of postures, he found happiness. The stage was a home he found when he thought he would never have one. He felt free when he was up there.
After his life took a drastic turn when he was barely fourteen he never thought he could be happy again. He did. He moved to the big city, and he couldn’t believe his luck when he got the opportunity to become a member of the towns ballet company (one of the best after all!) and when he first realized that he was genuinely happy he was afraid because he had to re discover that feeling.
Grantaire’s life took another turn when he was 26 and broke his toe. This is where I suspect the universe to have its finger in the pie. As they say.
A broken toe isn’t the most dangerous injury, but the feet are a dancers main working equipment and so Grantaire was angry. It meant he couldn’t dance for a few weeks, and that right at the same time he was announced to be one of the principals. He worked hard for that and now he broke a toe.
And not even while he was dancing.
He broke his toe because he fell down some stairs. It would be funny, but it really is not.
He and Éponine decided to move in together, after all they spend almost every minute together. She was member of the corps de ballet and the first person he became friends with after moving to the city. They were carrying Éponine’s bed up three flights of stairs (without much difficulty – dancers are just muscles and determination, after all) but the last corner was a bitch. It seemed to be narrower than the others without apparent reason and they were stuck. Éponine was at the top, trying to navigate the thing, while Grantaire started to feel the whole weight of it.
“PIVOT!” He heard Éponine laughing.
“I hate you! Why isn’t it moving?”
“R, I think the stairway is smaller up here?”
“For fuck’s sake” Grantaire grunted and tried to push the bed upwards but it was moving exactly zero centimeters.
“We should push it higher. Maybe that will work?”
“I swear to god, if it’s not working I’ll leave it and you have to sleep here. My hands start to hurt”
“Don’t de such a cry baby.” Éponine’s red face appeared some two meters above Grantaire. She counted to three and both of them pushed and pulled the bed up, there was a screeching sound when the headboard scratched against the wall but the bed actually moved.
“PIVOTE”, Éponine shouted triumphantly but at the same moment the bed made some sort of jumping movement, Éponine lost balance, and the bed came crashing down.
Grantaire had to let go in order to not get hit by the flying bed, stumbled against the wall and slipped down three steps. The bed came to a halt on the landing and Grantaire let out some of the more colorful swears he knew.
“OHMYGODAREYOUOKAY”, Éponine squeezed around the bed and helped Grantaire up. He pulled a face and sat down again.
“I think my toe is crushed”, he looked at her in horror, “Fuck”.
“I am so sorry!” That Éponine looked like she was about to cry oddly calmed Grantaire’s nerves. She never cries. He pulled of his shoe and looked at his left foot. Two of his toes already started to turn a lovely shade of blue-purple-red-yellow.
“I’ll drive you to the hospital. Maybe they can straighten them or something.”
“I don’t think that’s what you do with broken toes, Éponine.”
“I don’t care. Grantaire, your foot…”
She still looked in horror at his foot and he started to wonder why he wasn’t more freaked out because his foot. He let her help him up and they stumbled to the van they had rented for the move. His toes started to throb with pain and Éponine stared cursing again because they didn’t think about putting ice on them. But, luckily, it was only a five-minute ride to the next hospital and Éponine supported him on the way into the ER. A bored looking woman was sitting there. It was 11 am on a Tuesday and that’s apparently not the time when a lot of accidents happen.
“Hello. My name is Grantaire and I think I broke two toes.”
“Ah”
Silence.
“Uhm, may I see a doctor?”
“Sure. I need your health insurance card and then you can go to the waiting room. It may take a while”
The lack of interest was almost admirable. It probably took a lot of time to be that unfazed by people coming to the ER. Grantaire wondered if she would have reacted differently if he had an axe inside his skull. Probably not.
“Excuse me!”, Éponine didn’t take the calmness of the nurse with the same amusement as Grantaire, “we need someone to look at the toe immediately! He is one of the best ballet dancers in the country and if he’s not going to be treated RIGHT NOW he may never be able to dance again! Do you want this young man’s career on you record?” Éponine tends to get aggressively dramatic in situations like this.
“Ah”
The woman seemed to be completely indifferent to an eventual loss of dancing talent. Éponine looked like she was about to climb over the counter so Grantaire tried to pull her away in the direction of the waiting room.
“Thank you. But she is kinda right. I would appreciate it if I won’t have to wait for too long”, he said over his shoulder to the nurse. She still looked only slightly bothered.
“Hello. My name is Joly. And I would love to look at your feet”
“Thank God we’re at a hospital otherwise that introduction would be weird as fuck”, Grantaire stood up and took Joly’s outstretched hand.
“That’s true”, Joly laughed “please come with me to the treatment room. Can you walk or do you need a wheelchair?”
“Naah, I can hop on one feet if necessary. But I don’t think it is.” Grantaire sort of lolloped along and waved at Éponine who stayed at the waiting room.
Joly led him inside a small room with a bed where he sat down and put this foot up. Joly put on gloves and started to take a careful look at the two toes which by now had a blue-purple color and were swollen. When he touched them Grantaire couldn’t help but gasp in pain. His hands cling onto the paper blanket on the bed. Joly shot him an apologetic look.
“I think we better make an x-ray. It looks like they may be broken. But if you’re lucky they are only really badly bruised.”
“Shit.”
Grantaire was brought to a room (in a wheelchair this time. Joly said it would be faster (it was) and more fun (it was)) where a nice looking woman put a heavy lead jacket on him and told him to keep his foot as still as possible.
He had to wait almost an hour after that and he and Éponine watched bad telly in the waiting room where now a man with a nasty graze on his forehead lay across three chairs.
Joly called him back in the treatment room and told him that his little toe was broken but not complicated and that it would take three weeks to heal and that the other was just bruised.
“I have to put your whole foot into bandage though, because a little toe is really hard to put plaster on. You shouldn’t walk too much the next few days.”
“Will it heal completely? Can I move normally afterwards?” Grantaire was a bit afraid of the answer. The hour in the waiting room was enough to get over the shock and really
realize what it could mean for his dancing. What if he wouldn’t be able to dance again? He didn’t plan to be a teacher with 26. He wanted to end his dancing career because he was too old, not because of injury. His fear must have shown on his face because Joly looked concerned.
“Yes. I think there won’t be any problems. Are you an athlete?”
“No. Well, kind of. I am a dancer. Ballet.”
Joly smiled and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.
“I cannot promise, because that’s the first thing you learn in med school ‘never promise the patient anything’ but I am almost certain that your toe will be 100% okay again. But it is important that you go easy and be kind to that little toe. My friend Bossuet once broke all of his toes when his flip-flop got caught in a drain cover but they all healed”
“How did he manage that?”
“No clue. It’s his special talent.” Joly laughed and finished the bandage. He then handed him a crutch and said he should go to his GP for the backup checks.
When Grantaire came back to the waiting room Éponine just got off the phone.
“That was our new landlord. He wants to know why there is a bed on the stairs.”
Needless to say that his trainer was everything but happy. He shouted at them for being stupid and send Grantaire to his own doctor, who just confirmed everything Joly said. His understudy looked a little bit terrified when he learned that he would dance Grantaire’s part but soon he was all enthusiastic and the company calmed down and practice continued.
Grantaire attended the rehearsals to learn “by looking” – which was nice and also funny because he kept making jokes and shouting comments from the side – and had to go to the gym to compensated the lack of training – which was awful because he hates the gym and he suspected it to be some kind of punishment for breaking his toe and maybe also for being a distraction during training. Who knows.
The healing process was quicker than anticipated and two weeks after the accident (“the incident with the flying bed of doom” as Ép is now calling it), the bruised toe was almost at a normal colour and size again and the other was getting better every day. Grantaire was only using one crutch and could walk almost limp free.
That’s when the universe (fate, god, etc.) decided to make its next move.
Grantaire was at his favorite coffee shop for lunch break, ordering a salad with chicken breast and a chai latte when he, quite literally, ran into Joly when he turned around to walk back to his table.
“Shit, sorry”, he mumbled and pulled a face because he accidentally put weight on the broken toe, “oh hey! Hello Doc”
“Hello broken toe. How’s the foot?” Joly laughed. He did that a lot, apparently.
“Quite good actually. Only one toe blue anymore.” Grantaire smiled and nodded to the other man that stood next to Joly, who looked at R’s foot with so much interest, that Grantaire had no doubt that he was a doctor, too.
“Good to hear. It would have been a shame to not be able to dance anymore because of one broke a toe. But I guess if it happens during dancing it would be like dying for love or something.”
“That is such a nice and slightly pathetic comparison that I would love to say that it’s like that but I think it would not be the same. Besides, I didn’t break it during dancing. Embarrassingly enough, I slipped on the stairs.”
Joly laughed and the guy next to him made a giggly noise, that Grantaire hadn’t expected from him. He didn’t look like someone who giggles. He was tall, round spectacles on his nose with a serious expression around the eyes. When he saw Grantaire’s confused look, he stretched out his hand.
“Hello, I am Combeferre.”
“Grantaire. I guess, you two are colleagues?”
“Well, kind of” said Combeferre and pushed his glasses up his nose “we’re finishing med school right now and are doing our internship at the same hospital.”
Someone behind them cleared their throat quite obviously and Grantaire stepped aside to make room at the counter and pointed at his table and invited Joly and Combeferre to join him. They sat down shortly after with giant mugs of coffee and talked a bit about med school and Combeferre seemed to be really interested in his dancing.
It became a semi regular thing for them to meet at the coffee shop. Med school wasn’t far away and Joly and Combeferre often brought their books and papers with them to study in the cozy atmosphere. Grantaire met Bossuet who proudly told him the flip-flop-drain-cover-story. Whenever they happened to be at the coffee shop at the same time they sat around a table, talking or just enjoying silent company.
After a month Grantaire was able to use his foot again and he felt so much relief when he discovered that he could use it as if the broken toe never happened that he wondered if he had been more worried that he had realized. As a little celebration he and Éponine made a huge bowl of Spaghetti Bolognese and Grantaire allowed himself a glass of red wine.
It was summer now. The ballet prepared for the next season and Grantaire got his first major part as Tybalt in Romeo and Juliet. He decided to grow a beard for that. Éponine said he looked like a pirate, but their director liked it. In the past weeks he had become close friends with Joly and suddenly found himself integrated in his group of friends who all seemed to like him. Except for Éponine, he never really had a bigger group of friends and he enjoyed it immensely.
A few years ago, he had times when dancing was all that kept him together. When the physical exhaustion after a training session was a welcomed distraction form the emotional exhaustion. The shadows of his past were still haunting him. The feeling of incompetence, of uselessness, and isolation sometimes crept in on him especially when he couldn’t deliver the performance on the level he knew he was able to reach, and then he had to be careful not to lose control again. Éponine helped him. They helped each other. They knew the look on their faces, knew when the sadness in their eyes was becoming too much to bear alone. Maybe ballet with its competitiveness and exhaustion wasn’t something one would think healthy for them, but oddly enough ballet was the anchor that worked for them. Together they worked through their lows, through the shadows and self-doubts. Grantaire couldn’t imagine his life without Éponine but he knew that it would be dangerous to cling to much, to not allow people into his life. Because that was a mistake he did before and so he welcomed this sudden flood of new people.
He liked Joly, who may be the most hypochondriac person he ever met but who’s also such a happy person.
And Combeferre who is a little quite but so warm and always willing to help. He’s basically a walking encyclopedia and interested in everything.
Soon after Combeferre, he met his best-firend who Grantaire could only describe as a “fucking ball of sunshine and energy”. Courfeyrac was a lawyer, something Grantaire couldn’t quite believe when he heard it the first time but Combeferre assured him that Courf could be serious, he just didn’t like it.
When Grantaire met Courfeyrac’s boyfriend for the first time he was reminded of a painting by Kandisky. Mainly because every item of clothing was a different color and shape. Jehan wrote poetry and worked at a bookshop and Grantaire soon discovered that he was one of the strongest minded and yet kindest people he ever met - his morbid kind of humor was like the cherry on top.
Grantaire knew he found his people. He felt comfortable and he found himself opening up to them like he only ever did to Éponine. To see that they welcomed Éponine, too, silenced the nagging feeling of guilt he had at the beginning, when he didn’t spend as much time with her as he used to.
On a particular hot night at the beginning of July they all met at the park for a picnic and to enjoy the soft night air. Everyone made food and drinks and Bahorel, a two meter guy with tattoos all over his body and the biggest smile imaginably, brought a badminton set and soon they were in the middle of an improvised tournament. Éponine was currently playing a match with Courfeyrac, which involved a lot of shouting and laughing and insults.
“That’s fucking unfair”, screamed Courf after Éponine made an impressive jump and hit the shuttlecock only vaguely back into his direction, “no dancing tricks!”
Grantaire laughed and shifted his weight onto one elbow to grab a strawberry out of a bowl.
“You two are very close.” It wasn’t so much of a question, more like the statement of an observation. Combeferre looked at Ép who was now chasing Courf around the grass because he had stolen her racket.
“Yes. I’ve known her since I moved here when I was 20,” he looked up at Combeferre, who was sitting cross-legged. “I don’t think I could have become the charming person I am right now without her.”
Combeferre smiled at that, but there was a hint of sadness in the smile that Grantaire couldn’t place.
He tried to read the other man’s profile for he was still watching the now re-started game of badminton. He looked a bit tired but that’s no surprise because he was practically living at the hospital right now.
His eyes followed the game and suddenly Grantaire thought he understood.
“I came to the city with nothing but the hope that I would be able to dance,” he started to say quietly, not looking at Combeferre. “I met Ép at auditioning day. She shouted at me because I accidentally ran into her. She was a bitch, she looked like she would kill everyone in the room. I liked her. We were one of the few to be accepted and we basically never been apart from that moment.” Grantaire stopped because he had to smile at the thought of 18 years old Éponine and the terrified looks the other girls had on their faces. But Grantaire had caught a quick glimpse of her face just before she went onto stage for her audition. She looked downright scared. But it was only a second and then she had a smile on her lips and the determination of a warrior in her eyes. He knew she would make it.
Combeferre looked at him and there was the sadness in his smile again.
“You are perfect for each other.”
“We actually are perfect for each other,” Grantaire said it without joke in his voice because he wanted Combeferre to understand. “I was only half-joking right now. I don’t think I could’ve made it without her. But I think you have a false idea about our relationship. We are friends, nothing more.” He looked Combeferre straight into the eyes, and he thought he saw a little spark of hope.
“Oh, I thought…,” he actually blushed a little bit (at least, Grantaire thought he did, it was hard to tell with Ferre’s caramel like complexion.) “I am sorry. I had not right to assume...”
“Oh god, no. You have nothing to be sorry for!” Grantaire said with a laugh.
“We never thought about us that way. She lives for the company, for ballet.” And then he added with a wink (because why not play a little game of cupid?), “But I know under the layers upon layers of self-control and snark, she is a little romantic dragonfly.”
Yes, now Combeferre was definitely blushing.
“But if you tell her I said that and endangered her reputation as a stony Amazon, I’m gonna kill you”
At that Jehan looked up from the notebook he was scribbling in and said thoughtfully: “Please don’t kill Ferre. But if you do, I know places to hide a body.”
Grantaire’s roaring laughter and Combeferre’s slightly terrified expression attracted the others and soon everyone was gathered at the blanked and they started eating.
Courfeyrac handed beer bottles around, Combeferre put slices of a quiche Grantaire had made on paper plates.
“OK, Ferre, why is there a whole coconut in your bag?” Bossuet was presenting it with a questioning look.
“I was wondering if we would find a way to open it without a knife!” Combeferre looked like an excited child who was allowed to watch twenty extra minutes of television.
“That could end very badly,” Courfeyrac said, but looking delighted all the same. “Do you want a beer, too, Grantaire?”
“Oh, no. Thank you. I’d love to, but I should not” Grantaire always felt self-conscious when he said something like this. Even though the reaction that followed was always the same.
“Oh right! I bet your trainer doesn’t allow too much alcohol. But I have coke, if you want?” Courfeyrac handed him a bottle and started to talk about the many ways he knew to crack a coconut.
He used to drink. Grantaire knew that he was on the best way to become an alcoholic, but he was 16 and everything was against him – even he himself. Drinking made him forget and when he started to remember it was all the more painful, so he drank even more. It was a vicious circle and he didn’t know how to escape it.
But when – suddenly – the escape route did open up, he took it because he knew it was probably the only chance he’d ever get. He thought that maybe the universe had taken pity on him, yet he wasn’t sure if the universe even knew he existed. Fairly few people seemed to know or care. When he was 18, he decided to not drink himself into oblivion anymore, to not take stuff to forget.
Only Éponine knew this. He left that part of his life (The Lost Four Years) behind when he moved. But the question if he wanted a drink still stung. He occasionally drank – wine when there’s something to celebrate but never more than two glasses. But those are rare occasions and he’s proud that he found this strength inside him.
And it is so easy to say that he doesn’t drink because of his need to be physically at his best at all times. It is true but only half of the truth. He didn’t drink because he wanted to continue being the Grantaire he came to accept, to even be proud of from time to time.
“The best way to open that fucking coconut is to climb on top of the nearest building and drop it.” Grantaire pointed at an apartment building on the other side of the little park. When he saw the sparks in Courfs eyes he knew that that was exactly what they were going to do. The shocked look on Combeferre’s face and the quite mumbling from Bossuet that he’d probably fall off that damn roof with his luck were not taken into account and so they all took off to find a way into the building.
Bahorel decided to just ring the first bell his enormous thumb landed on and the group huddled around the speaker, waiting for the inhabitant of the flat to say something.
“Hello?”
It was the voice of a woman. Sounding slightly surprised.
“Erm, yes, hello,” it was Courfeyrac who had the courage to speak first. “We’d like to see if we can crack a coconut open if we throw it from the roof and we would really appreciate it if you could open the door so we could maybe get on the roof? Please?”
Silence
“Sure thing”
They cast unbelieving looks around and Grantaire could hear Éponine say “holy fuck” and see Combeferre nodding in agreement.
The door-lock buzzes and they all tried to squeeze in at once and walk up the stairs trying to make as little sound as possible. On the third floor they can see a woman leaning in the doorframe, she was all curls and honey colour and had a wicked smile on her lips.
“So, you lot want to throw a coconut down my roof?”
Grantaire heard Bossuet trip over the last step and stumble against the wall. Joly grinned at him and put a hand around his elbow to steady him.
“Yeah. We had a picnic and a friend had a coconut and we were debating the best way to crack it open and I said that we should throw it off a roof. So here we are. And I bet you are interested in the result.” Grantaire tried his most convincing smile.
“I actually am,” she said. “And mostly I wanted to see who would do such a stupid thing. I see, and I approve. But this building doesn’t have a roof you can walk on…well, nine people don’t look like they are about to kill me so: come in. You are very welcome to throw that coconut out of my window.”
They all looked at her like she’s some kind of vision until Éponine makes a move.
“Hi, I’m Éponine. Thank-you for letting us throw that fucking coconut out of you window. They are all nuts.”
After that they all introduced themselves, Jehan handed strawberries around and they started to debate whether to throw it out on the concrete or in the small garden on the other side of the house. Feuilly had the brilliant idea that someone should stand on the street to collect the pieces of the coconut. And also to watch out for passing people because Combeferre was nervous that someone would suddenly step out of the house and be killed by the falling coconut. (He also said to no one in particular that Enjolras would not allow this, if he’d be here. His concerns in the whole coconut affair was quite funny, after all he brought the damn thing.) So Grantaire and Courfeyrac went downstairs and were cheered on by the rest when they appeared on the pavement.
Jehan was standing at Musichetta’s (the name of the coconut-experiment-host) balcony and dramatically declared some Shakespeare in the direction of Courfeyrac who made heart-eyes.
“Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”
Courfeyrac shouted back that Jehan was the Mercutio to his Benvolio at which Grantaire snorted and mockingly did some of the steps Romeo does at the balcony scene he had to see in practice all the time while he had his broken toe in bandage.
Both Jehan and Courfeyrac did some sort of squeal-y sound and Courfeyrac almost begged him to do some more. Grantaire laughed and said that he wasn’t wearing the right shoes. Still he did one simply entrechat and a sort of mocking grand jeté. Then he bowed deep and declared:
“Now. Let’s smash some fucking nut!”
(The explanation of Combeferre “Actually, coconuts aren’t really nuts. They are stonefru…” were hushed by Éponine putting her hand over his mouth.)
As one can imagine the coconut burst into a lot of pieces, but everyone was more than satisfied by this small act of destruction. A lot of laughter and story-telling followed in the cozy living-room of Musichetta’s flat, while everyone was nibbling at a piece of coconut.
It was one of those nights that brings friends closer together and that will later be brought up in conversation with the phrase “Do you remember that night we threw the coconut out of the window?”
A few years later it would be in the context of “Do you remember how Joly and Bossuet met Musichetta? It was the night of the coconut.”
Maybe there was a piece of universe inside that coconut...