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Chapter Text

He first saw her when he came in to ask for the job application, and when the owner had noticed the direction of his glances, she had laughed, and said, "Yeah, that group comes in every evening," R had known that he needed this job.

She was like fire, lightning crackling out of her narrow face, framed with perfectly straight, dark brown hair. She was tall, as tall as R, but too thin to look like she could even stand, bones awkwardly poking out at every angle. He thought she was Japanese after his first shift, when he heard her talking in rapid fire Japanese to another one of the group, but not even a moment later she turned to one of the two that always flanked her (he thought of this as her lieutenants; one of them could still her with a hand on her shoulder, and the other could turn even her frostiest glare into a smile) and switched to Spanish.

He worked three nights a week, and every Monday and Thursday the group would come in and she would stand in front of them, hands splayed out on the table in front of her, and talk and talk about human rights, about homophobia and transphobia and racism and sexism and prejudice against magic users and R was more than a little bit infatuated. Sometimes she could even make him feel like maybe change was possible.

A month in, R was sitting behind the counter, doodling on a napkin, and not looking at her (her name was Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras), not paying attention, of course he wasn't. But she was so wrong about this, and he found himself standing up and his traitor mouth opening and he told it to stop, but it wouldn't, it was too late.

"That's all great if you only want to reach rich students," he found himself saying (and not just saying, but saying with his accent, his southern accent he thought he had obliterated years ago because people looked at him like he was stupid), "but if y'all want to get anybody from the workplace, you're gonna have to meet after work hours."

The group fell silent, they were all staring at him, he could nearly feel their eyes boring into him, but he couldn't look up, he didn't want those eyes to burn tracks through his eyes.

"What?" he heard her say quietly, but with so much force, so much venom.

He looked up, of course he did, his traitor mind never listened to him, and sure enough she was angry and staring at him and one of the men--the hispanic one, it started with a c--was already reaching out to stop her.

"Well, I mean, it's all great to try to get upperclass folks like y'all to learn more about witches, but it ain't gonna do shit for working class people."

"Dont call them witches," she hissed, and shook off the hand, "Let go, Combeferre." Combeferre; that was it. The one who never failed to calm her down.

"I'm just pointing out the obvious," his mouth helpfully supplied, even as he told himself, sit down, shut up, go back to making stupid doodles you know that's all you're good for, there's nothing else a witch like you could ever do you know that (and when did he start talking to himself the way his mom did?)

The other one of the lieutenants grabbed her arm and started whispering to her quietly. And eventually she didn't look like she would murder Grantaire anymore. She opted for ignoring him, and turned back to the group. Honestly, R was glad he wouldn't have to face her, though he was right, he was sure. Nobody would be able to go to a rally held at 3 in the afternoon, certainly not him and he knew that he was the kind of person they were supposedly helping.

The group broke up and left in twos and threes a little after nine, as it always did. Combeferre and Enjolras left together, arguing about something in nearly inaudible Spanish that Grantaire might have been able to understand if he had ever taken more than high school Spanish. Courfeyrac came up and leaned against the counter, though, grinning crookedly.

"So, I realize I never learned your name," he said cheerfully.

Grantaire pointed to his name tag.

Undeterred, he just laughed, and said, "I'm Courfeyrac."

"A pleasure."

He grinned, and said, "I hope you know that we're grateful for that excellent point you made."

"Ah, yes, I could see the gratitude written plainly across Enjolras' face," Grantaire said, rolling his eyes.

"You know Enjolras?" Courfeyrac asked, surprised.

Grantaire wanted to disappear into the shadows, oh hi, friendly looking spiderweb, mind if I join you? "No," he said. "Not really. I just hear you guys shouting her name every other minute." He risked a glance up, but Courfeyrac was already nodding, accepting the explanation without question.

"We do get loud sometimes," he agreed, and shrugged, like, what can you do? "But yeah, I just wanted to let you know that we'd be happy to hear your input, if you notice us making some obvious mistake that we all missed."

Oh, no, Grantaire thought. Now my mouth has permission to say stupid shit. Oh, no.

Chapter Text

Courfeyrac and Enjolras are the first to arrive for the next morning, and R can only thank whatever god decided to smile down on him that finals week drove hoards of college students into the cafe, because he can pretend he doesn't see Courfeyrac's wink or Enjolras's look (whatever that's supposed to mean) when they ask for their drinks (a large white hot chocolate with cinnamon and whipped cream and a triple shot espresso). So he keeps his head down, ignores their attempt at starting a conversation by gesturing to the line, and turns to the frantic-looking kids behind them, giving them their evening doses of caffeine and ignoring the people gathering in the back of the cafe as best he can.

And it goes pretty well for him, considering how much his mouth hates him (he knows it's not really his mouth that hates him but he doesn't like to follow that road of thought). Courfeyrac gives him a pitiful, longing look at the end and if Grantaire weren't so not into guys he might have even considered it flirting.

Or at least, it goes well until the meeting ends and everyone leaves except for those three because, of course, they always traveled in a pack, of course all three would approach the counter at once and maybe, maybe R would get lucky and they just wanted another drink for the road or something because he was so not ready to, like, discuss world peace.

"What can I get you?" R asks, steadfastly not looking up from where he's wiping off the counter.

"I wanted to apologize," Enjolras says, and R can't help but look up, Enjolras's voice is so soft, so unlike anything he's heard her say. God, she looks so scared; if he didn't know better, he would've said she looks scared of him.

"Um, for what?" R asks.

"At the last meeting, when I--what you suggested was a good idea. I would have done well to listen to you when you said it."

"Oh. No worries," he says, and turns away, hoping they would get the hint and leave him alone. He isn't the type of person they should be hanging out with, and he knows that. He isn't the kind of person they should make friends with; he isn't the kind of person who got friends.

"No," she says, and she sounds angry again, and there she is, there's the righteous fury and indignation he's heard all these times. "It's important."

R sighs, and throws the washcloth down on the counter. He crosses his arms, and faces the three again. "Look, I don't give a fuck if you think it's important." He sees Enjolras stiffening, knows that his barbs are hitting and he wishes he could stop, but he knows he has to make a clean break, can't have them trying to be friends or else they'll get hurt and god, no, he can't let anyone get hurt again. "And I don't care about whatever stupid causes you've come up with to help witches. I'm just trying to do my job. And, right now, you're in my way, so unless you're going to order something you can get out so I can close up."

"They're not witches," Enjolras hisses, and she looks like she's about ready to fling herself over the counter and attack him.

"Get out of my way," Grantaire says flatly, and sets his jaw so his face is immovable, unemotional. He is detached. He does not care.

"Enjolras, stop," Combeferre says quietly, and she turns and looks at him and he arches one eyebrow, and suddenly she shrinks down again, all the anger gone. She seems very small, all of the sudden, and R can see her shoulders beginning to turn in on herself, and if he didn't know better, he would've sworn that she was about to cry. But Combeferre drags her out, and Courfeyrac follows behind, only pausing for a moment in the doorway to flip R off.

Grantaire watches them leave, and tries to ignore the hollowness gnawing away at him. It's for the best.

***

 When they get back to their apartment, Enjolras starts kicking chairs, practically vibrating from all of her tension. The other two know better than to try to stop her, so they silently watch for a moment, before Courfeyrac opens his phone and sighs.

"Marius is having a crisis," he says, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. "I have to go."

"All right," Combeferre says, with a half smile.

"Sorry to leave you with this," Courfeyrac adds, gesturing to Enjolras, who was now glaring at the couch.

Combeferre just shrugs, and pushes Courfeyrac out the door.

"Are you done beating up those pillows yet?" Combeferre asks. Enjolras looks up, her hands clenched tightly and breathing heavily, and glares at Combeferre for a moment, before her face collapses and she sits down on the couch, tears already forming in her eyes. "Hey," he says, sitting down on the couch beside her and pulling her against him.

"It is important," she whispers into his shoulder. "It does make a difference."

"Yes," Combeferre answers, and wraps his other arm around her. "Sometimes it's only a little difference, and sometimes it's not obvious, but it does. He just couldn't see that; just forget him."

Enjolras shakes her head, sniffling, and says, "I can't just forget him. I have to--if I can't get one person to respect magic users, what use am I?"

"You make me smile," Combeferre answers promptly.

Enjolras laughs into his shirt. "That's not what I mean."

"You can stop Courfeyrac from making stupid speeches. You can get Marius to stop swooning over mystery girl and get him to focus."

"Only sometimes."

"You can get Jehan out of his bad days. You can write speeches that make hundreds of people listen to you. You're kind and loyal and--"

"Oh, shut up," Enjolras says, pulling out of his arms to clap a hand over his mouth. Her eyes are still wet, but she is smiling again. "Stop being stupid."

Combeferre grins and pushes her away from him. "One guy being a prejudiced asshole doesn't mean everything you do is worthless."

"I know," Enjolras says, and stands up.

"I just thought I should remind you."

"But," she continues, ignoring Combeferre's comment, "that doesn't mean I should give up on him."

"Enjolras--"

"I will convince him."

"Not everybody can be convinced."

Enjolras shook her head. "Everybody can. I just have to figure out how."

Chapter Text

Grantaire's plan failed spectacularly. He isn't really sure why, though, since he had seen how much his attacks had hurt Enjolras, and every single thing he knew about people said that she should be avoiding him, if not actively seeking out ways to hurt him.

But she isn't, she's just staring at him, and all he's trying to do is make drinks for people but there Enjolras is, staring at him and talking about how worthwhile and human magic users are, and hell, he thought he didn't care about that so much anymore. He thought he had buried that part of him that whispered he wasn't like everyone else because of the magic that boiled inside him. But her words make him feel warm and this stupid high school crush, because yeah, that's what it was, there was no use denying it, this stupid high school obsession wasn't going away.

And she stays after all the others have left, too, papers and books spread around her and he isn't sure what to do, if he should prepare or something. But she just sits there, sits there and works until finally it's 9 and the cafe's about to close and Grantaire is wiping down the machines, wondering if he's going to have to throw her out.

"Sorry," she says, stuffing the papers inside of her textbook. "I lost track of time." She smiles at him, and, god, she has dimples how is that even legal?

He can't even tear his eyes away for a moment, but he does, and stares straight into the reflective metal of the coffee machine, and shrugs. "That's okay."

There's a pause, and Grantaire looks up again to see if maybe she managed to leave without opening the door?? but she's still standing there, on the other side of the counter, hugging her books against her chest.

"You need something?" he asks, straightening up and meeting her eyes squarely. Her eyes skitter away.

"I was just--I wanted to give you this," she says, and throws some papers down on the counter. She turns and heads for the door, and Grantaire looks at them. Christ, they're publications from the Magic User's Society, like he didn't know too much already about that school, and he wants to laugh, it's so useless, so stupid for her to give these to him, he could recite them forwards and backwards, could write better himself.

"What, you think I have a use for these?" he asks. She turns, her hand already on the door.

"I think it'd be a good idea for you to look at them," she answers.

"They'd make good kindling," he says, "but I don't have time to read this kind of bullshit. Sorry."

Her eyes narrow, and she takes her hand off the door. "Make time, then," she answers. "If you're going to go around spreading poisonous opinions, you've surely got time to educate yourself."

He laughs, shakes his head, and drawls, "My mother never taught me to talk pretty like you. If you leave these, they're just going to get thrown away."

"If you refuse to open your eyes to the suffering of other people," Enjolras hisses, and he swears he can see quills rising from her back, "then you had better learn to shut up. If your opinion disrespects other people's lives, then you're unworthy of respect."

"Oh, I know," Grantaire answers, smiling as if his stomach hadn't turned to stone, "You don't have to tell me I'm unworthy of respect--I knew that already."

"This is not a joke," Enjolras says, and moves across the room to stand across from him again. "People's lives are ruined because of people like you."

Grantaire clenches his teeth, willing away the screaming already coming to his mind, willing away the faces. "Oh, believe me," he says. "I know."

"Then why do you spread that bile about other people?"

And he loses it. All the meditation, all the fencing and boxing and dancing lessons to teach him to breath, to focus, to contain himself, all disappear. He smashes his hand down against the counter, and the magic leaps to his hand, like it always does, and he can see the other kids in front of him, backing away, pleading for him to stop and he can't.

He sees the kid on the stretcher, paramedics rushing him to the hospital, feels the cold steel of the handcuffs on his wrist and the heady scent of magic keeping him from thinking from moving from acting and he sees Enjolras.

He sees Enjolras in the dim light of the cafe, sees her backing away, her eyes wide as they reflect the blood red light spilling out of him, and he sees the tendrils of it leap away to encircle her, to smother her or strangle her or end her.

And he sees his mother, shouting at him.

And he stops.

Chapter Text

The red lights hang around Enjolras's face, casting it in shadows, and making her hair shine red. She looks terrified, but she still says, "Grantaire, please."

Grantaire closes his eyes, and folds the magic into itself, again and again, until a tiny ball of intense light comes to rest in his palm. He closes his fist around it, and feels the energy, all the anger and pain and suffering, dissolve back into himself.

"You should probably go," Grantaire says, closing his eyes. He had--he had threatened someone with magic. Again. Third time meant jail time and maybe a brand, and god, he knew he would be branded. Most people with violent magic were, and his was from the worst line of it. He had been trying so hard to turn his life around, but no, just one time losing his temper and it was all over.

"I--I'm sorry for what I said," Enjolras says softly. Grantaire's eyes snap open, and he stares at her like she grew another head. She was supposed to be screaming, running, calling the police, or at the very least furiously shouting at him. "I didn't realize..."

"Didn't realize you were talking to a witch." Grantaire finishes. "Well, you won't make that mistake again."

Enjolras looks startled, and Grantaire realizes what he said, how he implied that Enjolras would ever want to talk to him again and obviously she wouldn't. She was beautiful and kind and passionate and, most of all, not a witch. 

"I mean, since I won't be here anymore," Grantaire finishes hastily. "Working here. So you won't see me."

"Oh. You're quitting?" Enjolras asks, and it's such a normal question, like they had just passed each other on the street, not just been moments away from him hurting Enjolras or worse.

Grantiare grins crookedly, and shrugs. "I'll be lucky if I'm not in jail by morning," he answers. "And I'm sure I won't have a job."

"What?" Enjolras asks, and vehemently shakes her head. "No, no, there's laws to protect magic users--"

"And there's laws to protect people like you," he finishes. "Don't teach me the law, Enjolras."

"Well--well then we won't tell anybody," she says.

Grantaire raises an eyebrow dubiously. "You won't tell anybody that a near stranger you don't even like nearly killed you in an empty cafe?"

"You did not nearly kill me," Enjolras answers.

"Believe me," Grantaire says. "I did."

"Do you want me to turn you in?"

Did he? Kind of. It would be easier, to give in and give up. "I'm a realist," he says finally. "I hear you preaching all those lofty ideals each day, and I hear you claiming to be all noble and not turn me in. I also know that there aren't really people like that; I know that when you get home, the shock'll hit you and you won't be able to get to a phone fast enough."

"I won't," Enjolras says, and crosses her arms defiantly.

Grantaire laughs hollowly. "I'd rather you just call now. That way I don't have to worry about them, like, bashing down my apartment door and upsetting the neighbours."

"They wouldn't do that for something like this," Enjolras protests. "I mean, they're prejudiced and unfair but this is just one case--"

"Enjolras," Grantaire says, "Do you really believe that this was the first time? Do you honestly believe that children with magic don't lose it ever?"

Enjolras frowns. "But still--"

"My mother is dead," Grantaire says, and carefully keeps his face flat. He doesn't even know why he's saying this; he would say it's just to prove Enjolras wrong, but really. Really it's the way she's looking at him the way she looks at her causes, with all the passion and indignant anger and he shouldn't like someone wanting to fix his life, but he does. Or maybe he's just trying to scare her away again, since somehow threatening her hadn't seemed to work.

"I--I'm sorry?" she says, but looks confused.

"When I was four. My magic first showed up when I was four; we were walking home from the park. I ran into a crosswalk; she grabbed my hand to pull me back from the car that was about to hit me. And--" Grantaire took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," Enjolras says, her eyes wide.

"My magic showed up," Grantaire says. "Car got blown backwards. The air bags saved the driver. My mom wasn't so lucky. I killed someone when I was four--do you think they'll let the fact that I still lose control at 23 go unnoticed?"

"We won't tell them," Enjolras says fiercely.

"It's a nice thought," Grantaire says, and his voice turns to a low, dark mockery of words he's heard time and time again, "but I'm the reason those laws were invented. I'm a danger to society, and should be put away."

Enjolras reaches over the counter and grabs his hand, the one he had folded the magic into. He stares at it in surprise, then up into Enjolras's face. She's so close. "No," Enjolras says fiercely. "Not if I can help it."

Chapter Text

Grantaire doesn't know what to say at first. He wants to believe Enjolras, wants to believe in that perfect, beautiful world she's painting, but worlds like that don't exist, at least not for witches. Even if it is hard to remember that when there's condensed righteous fury in human form a foot away from your face, holding your hand.

"It's a nice thought," Grantaire says, and pulls his hand out of hers. She instantly lets go and takes a step back. "But I know how the world works. I won't blame you, either. I really am a danger, and this clearly showed it. I'd appreciate it if you would call now so I don't have to worry all night until someone comes for me."

"I'm not going to," Enjolras answers, an irritated frown appearing. "I'll argue this as long as it takes; I'm not going to call anybody. And until you stop thinking I'm going to call someone the instant I'm out of sight, I'll just have to keep on convincing you."

"Hope you weren't planning on doing anything for the next few years," Grantaire mutters, and rests his head in his hands. 

"Why are you so quick to lock yourself away?" Enjolras asks. "Why can't you just accept that you get another chance?"

"Because--because people don't get second chances. Or at least not outsiders like me. Like witches."

Enjolras crosses her arms stubbornly. "I'm not a magic user," she says, putting slight emphasis on her correction, "but I am an outsider. So maybe we have to stick together."

Grantaire scoffs, and gestures at her. "Please. Attractive, non-magical girl? Maybe sexism, maybe some racism, but people aren't like they were. It's not so hard to be an asian girl."

"I'm not an Asian girl," Enjolras answers. "I'm a native Hawaiian, and a trans girl at that. And, no, it's not the same as being a magic user, but that doesn't mean I'm going to hand you over to people who notoriously mistreat magic users."

"Clearly it's not the same, since you don't understand why I'm so fucking worried," Grantaire spits.

"I'm sorry!" Enjolras nearly shouts. "I don't know what you want me to do!"

Grantaire closes his eyes and rests his head in his hands again. "Neither do I," he answers softly.

After a long pause, Enjolras softly says, "If we're just going to stand around and shout at each other, we don't have to stay here. Why don't--why don't you come to my apartment? It's really close, and then I can still convince you before you go home."

It's not like it is a hard decision for Grantaire; return to a one-room apartment which just lost its heat and wait for police, alone with his thoughts, or go to the undoubtedly warm apartment of the most interesting person he had met in a very long time. He nods, and pushes down the thought that he was starting to trust one person an awful lot, too much.

"All right, then," Enjolras says, and pushes herself off the counter.

"All right, then," Grantaire answers, and finishes closing up the cafe.

***

Honestly, Enjolras isn't even sure what's going on at this point. Sure, she knows, but all she wanted to do is stop the barista from saying slurs, and now she's bringing him back to her apartment to convince him that she's not going to call the police and put him in jail for life.

Sometimes she's not sure what she did to get her life to this state of absurdity. Ferre is always telling her to take a step back and look at a situation before she leaps on the first solution, especially since so often she's the one that gets hurt in her solutions, but she can't help it. She's spent too many nights staring at nothing, wishing for sleep, to put that on anyone else and maybe this wasn't the best solution since she doesn't even like people in her apartment, other than Feuilly, that is. Oh, god, Feuilly isn't working tonight, there's another variable to add to the insane equation.

Grantaire holds open the door for her, and they go out into the streets, where it's started to snow slightly, leaving the city feeling empty and muted. Grantaire locks the door, and turns around with a sigh. She smiles slightly at him, and starts walking home.

"Are you a student?" she asks, once the silences drags on too long.

He snorts, and says, "Yeah, right."

She ducks her head, and says, "Sorry, that was--stupid question. Did you ever think about studying, though?"

"They don't tend to encourage people to develop battle magic."

"Is that all it manifests as?"

Grantaire nods, then tips his head, reconsidering. "It's all labelled as battle magic," he says finally, "but it can be used for other things?"

"Yeah?"

"I mean, most of their labels are fairly useless," he finishes, mumbling the end, and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Enjolras nods, but her thoughts are already starting to drift towards the apartment, starting to worry about--god, of all the things--how clean she left it. She doesn't even know where that came from, she doesn't care about what other people think about her habits.

"One of our causes right now," she says instead, rooting her thoughts in the concrete, "is to try to open non-magic universities to magic users."

Grantaire laughs. "Why?"

"So that--I mean, if we did, you could study some non-magic future, get a better job than just a barista."

"What makes you think I'd even want to?" he asks, hunching his shoulders up against the cold and walking ahead of Enjolras a little.

"That's not what I said," she says. "Well, it is. But I mean that it gives you the choice. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be a barista, or, like, a blue collar job, or anything else. But if you're forced into it because your magic falls into the wrong category, or it's just not strong enough, that's wrong. People deserve to be given the same opportunities as their peers no matter what."

"That sounds grand and all," Grantaire agrees, "but you're forgetting that primary magic schools don't teach all of that--reading, writing, math, whatever they teach right away at non-magic schools. They have to focus on control first, so any magic student ends up very far behind their non-magic peers. You can say that you want a magic high school grad to go to a non-magic college, but they'll be too far behind in everything. They'd struggle along for the first semester or two, then fail all their classes and drop out."

"Then we should open the lower-level non-magic schools, too," Enjolras says.

Grantaire outright laughs at that. "And, what, forgo studying control? You'd have magic children running around with no grasp of their powers. It'd be a disaster."

Enjolras sets her chin stubbornly. "Fine. So we create classes in the magic-schools that are designed to give magic students the same education as non-magic users. Start the same, then if your powers aren't usable or are too weak, you can switch focus so that you can have any opportunity you want."

"Sounds very nice," Grantaire answers, "I'm sure you're very aware of all the prejudice, economic issues, and sheer stress that would cause, so I won't bother arguing it."

"You argue with everything," she says, "even conversations you're not a part of."

Grantaire smiles crookedly at her. "One of my charms."

"So why don't you argue about keeping yourself free?"

"Because--"

"It's okay, I get it," she says, and gestures to her apartment building. "This is it." She adjusts her bag on her shoulder, gripping the strap tight enough that it digs into her palm.

He follows her quietly, smiling when she glances back to make sure he's still there.

Chapter Text

Feuilly and Enjolras had been living together ever since Enjolras had let slip that her parents cut her off when she came out to them. It wasn't hard for Feuilly to sell it to her, either; Enjolras worshipped nearly everything about them at the time. She still does, but now she also knows that Feuilly isn't always the doggedly determined saint who fights back against anybody who dares look at them wrong.

Feuilly's in the kitchen when they come in, cutting onions (of course Feuilly would cook on one of their two evenings off), and calls out, "How'd it go?" when they hear her come in.

"Not as I intended," Enjolras answers wryly, glancing at Grantaire and letting him come in behind her. Feuilly looks up and raises their eyebrows when they see Grantaire.

"Hello," they say, put the knife down and wipe their hands off on their pants. "You must be--"

"Grantaire," Grantaire answers, "but you can call me R."

Feuilly nods, and they and Enjolras have a short but intense conversation in significant looks.

"Well, R," Feuilly drawls, "would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Um," R says.

"It's no trouble," they add. They're pretty sure that it's no trouble, anyway. Enjolras is not the best at nonverbal communication, and they honestly aren't entirely sure why the barista who was supposedly an argumentative bigot had somehow gotten invited home by Enjolras of all people, who only ever let Ferre and Courf come over.

"I'd appreciate it, then," R answers.

"Feuilly's an amazing cook," Enjolras says, smiling uncertainly.

"Yeah," Feuilly says, with a short laugh, "You could even say I've got a gift."

R looks confused, so Enjolras says, "Feuilly's a magic user."

Feuilly looks at R, just waiting for him to say something derogatory, to make fun of Feuilly, to be scared, to do something to warrant Enjolras's anger from last night. He just nods, though, and accepts it as an explanation of the joke.

"Could you give me a hand for a moment, Enjolras?" Feuilly asks, and Enjolras nods, though looks surprised. R hangs back awkardly, so Feuilly can grab Enjolras's sleeve and murmur, "Why's he here?"

"He's a battle mage," Enjolras answers, just as quietly, pulling her sleeve out of Feuilly's grasp. "I couldn't--he thought I was going to call the cops on him."

"For being a mage?" Feuilly asks, frowning.

"No, for--well he lost control and used magic."

"What?" Feuilly asks, no longer quietly, shock and anger and fear playing out over their features. They turn to R, and open their mouth to say something. Enjolras grabs their arm, though, so they look back.

"Don't," she says quietly.

"Don't? Are you insane, Enjolras? Do you have any idea what--" they gesture vaguely, furiously, losing control of words.

"大丈夫はよ," Enjolras says

"だいじょうぶ?" Feuilly asks. "へええ。やさしい人じゃないだよ。Battle magic, Enjolras. 分かる?
"ん。危なくないはよ。"
"本当に。本当に危なくないと思って"。 Feuilly asks, outraged.

"Um," R says, interrupting them. "Should I--I can go."

"No, it's fine," Enjolras answers, glaring at Feuilly.

"Oh, sure, fine," Feuilly says, and throws his hands into the air.

"Dammit, Feuilly," Enjolras says, "This isn't--he's a person."

"Yeah, a person with dangerous magic and, apparently, no control. This is--there's a reason they make magic users learn control, okay? Maybe you're just clueless or hopelessly naiive, but you can't just ignore someone having no control. Even my magic could be dangerous."

"So, what? You want to throw him into jail? Yeah, that's going to solve all his problems. I'm sure he'll learn control there."

"At least he won't kill you!" Feuilly says, and shoves past Enjolras, past R, and leaves the apartment, grabbing his coat and boots on his way but not pausing to put them on.

Enjolras closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," R says softly. "He's right, though."

"They," Enjolras answers, equally quiet. "Feuilly uses they pronouns."

"Oh."

Neither of them move for a long moment.

"They are right. I am dangerous."

"No, they aren't," Enjolras says. "They're scared and weren't expecting this." She finally opens her eyes again, and sighs.

"Well, maybe they'll see sense and call the police, then," Grantaire murmurs to himself.

"No, they won't," Enjolras says instantly, shaking her head. "They don't really mean all of that."

"It'd be a solution, though," R says.

"Not really. I had been hoping--" Enjolras cuts herself off with a sigh, and picks up the knife Feuilly had been using to cut onions. "Never mind. You any good at cooking?"

"I should go," Grantaire answers. "They're right that I'm a danger to you. Even if you don't call the police, you should keep your distance."

"R, seriously. Take your coat off; help me make something out of this. When Feuilly calms down they'll be back, and then we can sort this all out."

"I really don't see how that's going to change anything."

"Feuilly is," Enjolras begins, then hesitates and gestures vaguely with her knife. "amazing."

"Okay?" R asks.

"They went to the National Institute, graduated top of their class."

"So they went to a fancy, expensive magic institute?"

"So they got a full scholarship to the best magic institute in this country, maybe the world. Because they are amazing."

"I don't see how this has--"

"They are soaked in magic. They also never lose control; I had been hoping that they might--"

"--be able to help me," Grantaire finishes, shaking his head. "Enjolras, I'm sorry, Feuilly might be nice to you, but I'm not their girlfriend; they aren't going to want to help someone like me. I'm hopeless."

"What?" Enjolras asks.

"You think I didn't try to learn control before now?"

"No, I meant--I'm not Feuilly's girlfriend."

"That's the part of this conversation you have a problem with?" R asks, and rolls his eyes. "I mean, whatever; I don't care."

"And I do," Enjolras answers, with a disbelieving smile. "It's annoying and infantilizing and makes me feel like shit, so you know, don't say it."

"Okay," R says, raising his eyebrows. "It was a normal enough assumption."

"Yeah," Enjolras answers, "And if I was straight I probably wouldn't care, but I don't really appreciate people trying to sexualize all my friendships."

"How was I supposed to know you're gay?"

Enjolras heaves a long-suffering sigh. "I'm not gay."

"But you said--"

"There's more than just gay and straight," she snaps. "Bisexual, for one, which I would expect people to actually know. I'm asexual, though. Aro ace."

"Okay, I'm sorry I assumed," Grantaire says. "I don't see why it's such a big deal."

Enjolras sighs. "Because I hear it, and things like it, every day. It's like you hearing people mock magic-users because they assume you're not one."

"Sorry."

Enjolras shakes her head, and stays quiet. A moment later she says, "Nice job getting me off topic, by the way."

"I actually wasn't trying," he answers.

"If Feuilly says yes, would you try it, though? I get that it's a huge commitment and you've tried before and all, but..."

"I don't know if I even have time," Grantaire answers, and shrugs. "I have three jobs, Enjolras."

"Feuilly works most of the time, too. They could probably make odd hours work. If they say yes."

"Get Feuilly to say yes," Grantaire answers, and puts his knit hat back on. "and I'll think about it. I'm going home. You're obviously stupid enough to call the police."

Enjolras grins and him and winks, and goes back to cooking as Grantaire leaves

Chapter Text

Grantaire felt sick. Now that he was out of the whirlwind of energy that was Enjolras, he could actually think about what he had done.

He knew she wasn’t going to call the police on him, he trusted her that far (and since when had he started trusting people again?), but he hadn’t lost control in so long. He'd thought he'd had that part of himself pinned down. Not so long ago, he didn’t itch for a drink to drown that part of him. Alcohol inhibited magic and, God, did he need something to get rid of it.

He could hear Feuilly’s voice echoing through his head, “Battle magic, Enjolras.” He didn’t need to speak Japanese to know what the rest of the conversation had been about. He had heard it enough times before.

Slush covered the sidewalks, soaking through his boots (had it not been there when he was with Enjolras, or had he just not noticed?), and the wind bit through his scarf. He buried his face in his coat and trudged home, ignoring the growing numbness in his hands.

When he finally got there, they felt more like blocks of woods than hands, and he had to struggle to unlock the door. The apartment was cold, but not nearly as bad as it was outside. After shedding his coat, boots, and now-soaked socks, Grantaire buried himself under a pile of blankets and tried to turn off his mind.

If someone had asked him, R would have said that he barely even thought about Enjolras and Feuilly, nope, he was too busy working. And, true, he was busy working, so it was really only half a lie.

He even managed to mimic surprise when, at his next shift at the Musain, Feuilly cut through the line (though with only two customers, it wasn’t exactly what one would call a proper line) to lean on the counter. The girl who was about to order glanced at them uncertainly, before inching away slightly and ordering.

“Hi, Grantaire,” Feuilly said.

“Give me a sec,” R muttered, feeling his stomach twist some. Feuilly might be offering to help him, and as much as that hurt his pride, if they had the solution, god, he would give up a lot more than his pride. Then again, they might just be there to decline.

Feuilly lounged against the counter, waiting for R to finish serving the others, fiddling with a straw wrapper someone had left behind.

After both customers had left, R sighed and turned to Feuilly with a tight smile. “Hi,” he said.

Feuilly’s mouth quirked up in half a grin. “Hi. So, Enjolras told you about her gallant plan, right?”

“Gallant?” R asked. “I’m not sure that’s the word you want. While modern usage has erased many of the connotations, traditionally, it refers to the same sort of masculine chivalry that I am sure Enjolras fights strongly against.”

Feuilly snorted. “And you don’t?”

“Of course not,” R said, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m offended. I am a nice guy; I treat all ladies with respect and chivalry.”

Feuilly shook their head, fighting back a grin and looking back down at the wrapper. “You’ll drive Enjolras insane. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to do this at our apartment, after all.”

R brightened. “You’re agreeing?”

“Turns out that Enj is very persuasive. Who would’ve guessed.”

R laughed softly at that, then asked, hesitantly, “Do you think...Do you really think you might be able to help?”

Feuilly met R’s eyes again and shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out. And that way is for you to come to my apartment in the evenings, I’m thinking after ABC meetings? If you really can’t do that then I might be able to make Sunday night work--”

“No, after the meetings is fine, if you can wait for me to close up.”

“I’ll see you then,” Feuilly said, and left, tossing the wrapper into the trash on their way out.

Grantaire was nervous enough during the meeting, messing up one order two times in a row and giving one customer way too much change. He was that nervous before the meeting ended and everyone left except for Feuilly and Enjolras, and of course Enjolras would walk with them, they were going to the same place, but really it was unfair. Maybe she didn’t have to worry about pesky things like crushes but he did, and god, she just made all the tension ten times worse.

He wasn’t complaining, mind you. If Enjolras was there, he thought it would be likely he would follow her into battle. Maybe drunk and complaining all the way, but he would still go.

God. He was fucked.

So, I mean, with that in mind it was totally understandable that he was nervous, maybe one of his hands was even shaking slightly, when the three of them started walking towards the apartment, him trailing after the other two.

“Are you alright?” Enjolras asked him, walking nearly backwards to look at his face. “You look awfully pale.”

“I look--” Grantaire asked, and twisted his mouth to one side. “It’s probably because I’m white.”

Enjolras rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Besides, it’s not like I--auugh!”

The last part came shortly after the heel of Enjolras’s boot landed on a particularly icy patch, and as she was walking backwards she couldn’t recover herself in time. She went down hard on the pavement. Her already-heavy skirt immediately started darkening with the salty slush she was now sitting in.

Feuilly stopped walking and looked down at her, pressing their lips together to hold back a smile; Grantaire lunged forward, asking, “Oh my god, are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, biting her lip. “Fine.” She stood up stiffly, ignoring the hand R offered, and stalked off towards the apartment, her skirt clinging to her legs where it got wet.

Feuilly started laughing, covering their mouth with one hand. “God, Courf would’ve paid to see that.”

Grantaire couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face, and a moment later he was laughing, too. They started after Enjolras, avoiding the icy patch, breaking out into giggles every other moment.

When they get in the apartment, Enjolras had discarded her shirt onto one of the couches, now just wearing a cami, and was fighting with the ties on her skirt.

“It’s wet,” Enjolras complained, turning to them and showing the inside of the skirt, which was tied. “I can’t get it out.”

Feuilly rolled their eyes and said, “That’s your problem.”

Enjolras turned to Grantaire who, after on helpless look at Feuilly, went over, muttering, “If you wanted me to undress you, all you had to do was ask.”

“Gross,” Enjolras answered.

R started picking at the ties, doing his best to ignore Enjolras who was right there, and he could feel the heat radiating off of her skin.

“Your hands are like ice,” Enjolras complained, pulling away some.

“Look, if you’re going to moan about my help--” Grantaire said, standing up straight again, and oh. Enjolras was only a few inches shorter than him, so their faces were only a few inches away when she stood up straight, if he just leaned in he was pretty sure--

“Oh, whatever,”  Enjolras said, glancing back down, apparently unaware of how close they were, turning, and stomping off to her room. “You men are all the same. Useless.” she declared, before slamming the door behind her.

Grantaire blinked a few times before turning to Feuilly and clearing his throat. “So, um, control,” he said.

“Yeah,” Feuilly answered, though they didn’t move. “Um--it might not be my place to say this, but you do know that Enjolras isn’t really, um--”

“I know,” R said, glaring at Feuilly. “Please just drop it.”

“Gladly. Come here.”

Feuilly dragged two low meditation stools into the center of the room, and sat down on one, tucking their legs beneath it.

“Um, meditation and I don’t get along,” R said, eyeing the other one surreptitiously. “And, I mean, you can’t possibly think I haven’t tried that--”

“Then how about you sit down and listen to me?” Feuilly asked, arching one eyebrow.

Grantaire ducked his head and sat down on the other one, his body easily folding into a meditation position even though he hadn’t tried it for years.

“So. Magic,” Feuilly said, and closed their eyes with a sigh. All the tension seemed to drain out of their body, and they suddenly looked four years younger.

Grantaire closed his eyes as well, and felt his breathing even out. Meditation helped, with stress and anxiety and all. Just not with magic.

“Every person is constantly producing and constantly expelling magic,” Feuilly said.

“As we all learn in kindergarten,” Grantaire added. He heard the door to Enjolras’ room open and close, but he kept his eyes shut.

“Shut up. Magic users can, when they choose to, produce more than their body naturally expels.”

“And also when they don’t choose to.”

“Like muscle tensioning, hyperventilation, adrenaline, and whatever else, magic production spikes when a person is scared or angry.”

“Didn’t know that before now,” Grantaire muttered.

“Shut the fuck up, or I won’t help you,” Feuilly said, in the same even tone they were using before.

“Sorry, senpai,” Grantaire said, ignoring Enjolras’ muttered ‘oh my god’ from the other side of the room.

“Enjolras, go back to your room,” Feuilly said calmly, then continued, “Generally, control over that reaction comes with control over emotion. People learn to stay calm and balanced.”

“Except for people like me.”

“Teachers only see what they were taught, all too often,” Feuilly said, and Grantaire could hear him moving, so he opened his eyes. Feuilly was holding his hands out, palms up. “So I’m assuming the teachers continually tried different ways to get you to stop being angry.”

“Yeah, that pretty much sums up the education system.”

“But magic has two parts: production and expulsion. If you can’t control how much you produce, you can, instead, send more magic out.” Feuilly frowned, and pools of blueish light gathered in their palms. They looked up at Grantaire and grinned. “So that’s what we’re going to do.”

Chapter Text

Heat magic is unequivocally the most common manifestation, showing up in nearly all types of magic, whether it’s the ambient heat of caretaker mages or the burning arcs of battle mages.
The difference between the two is the intensity, and while caretaker mages can rarely light even a candle because the heat does little more than feel nice on the skin, battle mages can rarely light candles because they end up destroying half of it in the attempt. It takes finesse, practice, and concentration for them to be able to isolate such a small part of their massive powers.
Or at least, that’s what Feuilly kept on telling Grantaire, as the mass of half-melted, charred wax started growing next to them.
Honestly, R’s pretty sure Feuilly stopped paying attention half an hour ago. Not that he blamed them, though. This was the third of these lessons, and he’d barely managed to make progress.
He launched a spark of red fire towards the newest candle, and watched, unsurprised, as the entire thing burst into flames. It went out a moment later, of course, but it now looked less like a candle and more like a first year art student’s attempt at modern sculpture.
Feuilly glanced up from where they were sketching lines of pale blue magic into the carpet, and looked skeptically at the candle. They kept their face blank when they looked at R, though.
“Just how powerful are you?” Feuilly asked, keeping their voice low and conversational. “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but at this point you should be drained; I would think you would be struggling to summon any magic, let alone enough to do--well, this.” They gesture at the pile of discarded candles.
R grit his teeth in frustration.
“I don’t think you’re going to get this.” Feuilly said, and looked back down at their pattern.
R slapped the floor of the apartment, and spikes of red magic went flying away from him. At the same moment, Feuilly flung their hands apart, sending their pattern after the spikes. There was a slight rumbling noise, but that quickly stilled.
R’s hands were still on the floor, and he realized he was breathing heavily. “I have to learn this,” he said.
“No. Not while you’re like this. You’re either calm or you’re not near other people.”
“Well, your magic stopped mine easily enough,” R snapped, leaning back and putting his hands on his legs again.
Feuilly raised their eyebrows. “Easily enough?” they asked. “Oh, yeah. You know cooking magic. Super good at stopping battle magic. R, I can make patterns to hold things together, to keep things safe. I have secure magic, but I can’t protect myself, or my friends, from yours. All I can do is hold things constant.”
R rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “This was just my last hope.”
“Then you give up too easily.”
“What, you have another brilliant idea?” R asked.
Feuilly sighed. “Do you really think you’re still calm enough to cast?”
R instantly opened his mouth to say that he was, but then hesitated. He would’ve said yes, always would’ve, but then he thought about the earthquake he'd very nearly caused in here. He wasn’t sure anymore. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.
“We can try, then,” Feuilly said, standing up and stretching. “But not in here; we’ll go outside. You have force magic, right?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Stronger than the heat.”
“You ever tried flying?”

According to academics, flying was achievable by any magic user with force magic. Force magic was also the rarest form, only appearing in battle mages and architect mages--which were essentially nonexistent. Battle mages were, of course, forbidden from becoming academics.
This meant, of course, that only two people, at that time, were both academics and had force magic. One, an architect mage, taught at university level, but did her best to stay out of large, academic discussions. The other, an old man named Mabeuf, had long given up magic, instead devoting his life towards herbalism and collecting old books, and so was generally forgotten about by, well, everyone, other than his housekeeper and a young student who was determined to apprentice under him. More on that later.
The point of this, of course, is that while flight was technically considered achievable by anybody with force magic, as anybody with force magic could become airborne, there was the greater challenge of remaining airborne (which, realistically, has always been the greater challenge).
Feuilly, having no force magic, did not know this, and R, being banned from learning about his magic, certainly didn’t.
There were three factors in their favor, though: 1. The apartment was in a quieter part of town, and this late in the evening, on a weeknight, there weren’t many people on the road, 2. R had spent the evening exhausting his magic by exploding candles, and 3. Joly, a caretaker mage, had decided that Feuilly had spent plenty of time working and decided to come over and make sure that they actually relaxed on their day off, goddamnit.

When R regained consciousness, he had a splitting headache, somebody’s hand was on his face, and he was sure he wasn’t in his apartment, because this place smelled like dollar store candles, and his smelled more like wet dog. He was almost afraid to open his eyes, to see where he had passed out, and--fuck, he had been so close to a full month sober. His sponsor was going to be so disappointed in him.
He opened his eyes, and found himself face to face with a vaguely familiar, alarmingly young-looking man. He was in someone’s bed, he noted, though as the alarmingly young man was standing next to him, he was pretty sure it wasn’t his. He also noted that he couldn’t really feel a lot of his body, but he was fairly certain that he was fully clothed.
“Hi,” R said.
The man grinned. “Hello. What’s your name?”
R heard Feuilly say, “It’s Grantaire, Joly, I thought you knew--”
Joly turned and glared at them. “Of course I know his name. I was checking if he did--”
“It’s also R,” Grantaire interrupted. “Capital R.”
“How much do you remember?”
“I was--I was flying.”
“I think,” someone said in a pinched voice, “that it’s generally referred to as falling.”
R tried to prop himself up some to see who all had managed to fit in this room, but Joly pushed him back into the bed.
“Feuilly, could you put Enjolras somewhere else, please?” Joly asked.
“No way,” Feuilly answered. “Pretty sure if I tried I’d be in the same shape as R.”
“Am I in bad shape?” R asked, realizing that maybe that was why his head hurt so much, and why he couldn’t feel very much.
Joly let out a strained laugh. “R, I’m pouring magic into you.”
“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t know you were a healer.”
“I’m not,” he answered. “I’m a caretaker. But Feuilly helped, and I think you’ll be okay. You should really go to the hospital but Feuilly said--”
“I can’t. Not for using magic.”
Joly looked confused.
“I’m a battle mage,” R said, because, why the hell not? The others already knew. Nothing like letting a bunch of strangers in on your secrets.
Joly jerked back from R, and the moment his hand left R’s head he could feel burning pain lashing against his legs, and he started seeing stars. “Oh,” he said faintly.
“Joly, what the fuck,” Enjolras said, crowding into his field of view.
R grinned dizzily at her. “Did it hurt?” he asked.
“Of course, you idiot, you fell,” she said, dragging Joly back over.
“What?” R asked, and frowned. That was wrong. “No, I mean when you fell.”
“I didn’t fall,” Enjolras said, and then Joly was back and he felt his head clearing.
“From heaven,” R said, and grinned.
Enjolras rolled her eyes. “I’m done,” she said and left the room.
R passed out again.

Half an hour and several phone calls later, Joly left the bedroom, heading to the kitchen to find food. Enjolras was there, half asleep on Courfeyrac’s shoulder. Courfeyrac was playing candy crush on his phone.
When she saw Joly, Enjolras straightened up and her eyes snapped into focus. “You,” she snapped.
Joly sighed and rubbed the palms of his hands in his eyes. “Me?” he asked.
“I can’t believe you! After all of our work, you treat someone like that? And you’re a magic user, too! How do you expect people to treat you well when you’re going around deciding that, apparently, some people don’t deserve medical treatment just because of who they are?”
Joly shifted anxiously, looking like he was about to cry.
Courfeyrac glanced up at him, then at Enjolras. “Enj, stop,” he said. “You know that people are always learning. Joly’s learned from this, it won’t happen again, yadda yadda. He’s exhausted.”
Enjolras glared at Courfeyrac for a long moment, but Courfeyrac didn’t waver. She sighed and looked away, then back at Joly.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“S’okay,” Joly answered. “I know you’re worried about him.”
“What?” Enjolras asked, sitting up straighter again.
Courfeyrac snorted, and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, Joly’s too tired to remember you acting all human like this.”
“What?” she asked, frowning in confusion.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” Courfeyrac answered, and kissed the top of her head.
“Stop,” Enjolras said, struggling half-heartedly against him.
“You need to go to bed,” Joly said, opening up their fridge and eyeing the contents distrustfully.
“But R’s hurt,” she said.
“Not so bad anymore,” Joy answered, pulling a tupperware container full of pasta. “Did Feuilly make this?”
“Course,” Enjolras said, glancing over.
“Good. It’ll be edible, then.”
“Hey,” Enjolras answered, flapping her hand at him. “I’m a good cook.”
Joly grinned, and opened drawers until he found a fork, and sat down at the table with the other two.
“Grantaire’s all right, then?” Courfeyrac asked, setting his phone face-down on the table.
Joly nodded, and shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth.
“So go to bed, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said.
“I need to talk to Feuilly--”
“You can yell at Feuilly tomorrow,” Courfeyrac answered. “And you’ll probably be better at it once you’re not half asleep.”
“I’m not going to yell at them--”
“Yeah, right,” Courfeyrac answered.
Enjolras humphed, and leaned against his shoulder again.
“Are you staying here tonight?” Courfeyrac asked Joly, who shook his head.
“Nah, Cosette’s here; he’ll be fine. There’s too many people here, anyway,” he answered. “Besides, Musichetta’s got tomorrow off.”
Courfeyrac winked at him. “Then go home, idiot. What’re you doing here?”
“Don’t say that,” Enjolras mumbled into his shoulder.
“Hm?” he asked. “Oh. Fuck, sorry. Go home, you little shit.”
“That’s more like it,” Joly answered, standing up and putting the now-empty dish in the sink and washing his hands off. Courfeyrac waved goodbye to him, and checked his phone again.
“Yeah, it’s three, now,” Courfeyrac told Enjolras. “I have to go home; you’re going to bed now.”
“R’s in my bed, though,” she said.
“Sleep in Feuilly’s,” he answered. Enjolras made a small noise of surprise, and he said, “What, like you don’t already?”
“Not usually,” she said.
“Bed.”
“Noo,” she answered. He sighed and picked her up, grunting at the weight. She laughed and stuck her face against his shoulder. He carried her into Feuilly’s room and dumped her on the bed.
“Go to sleep, Enjolras. I’m going home.”
“Bye,” she answered, sitting up and taking her shirt off.
“Oh, come on, I’m still right here,” Courfeyrac muttered.
She snorted, “Like you haven’t done worse.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said primly, and left, closing the door behind him.

Enjolras woke up half an hour later, when Feuilly crawled into bed next to her.
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hi,” they said. “Please don’t yell at me.”
“Mm, later.”
They laughed softly, and reached out to squeeze her hand. “Sounds good.”
They were both asleep a few minutes later.

Chapter Text

R woke up the next morning next to an exhausted looking, but beautiful, girl who was embroidering intently, seated cross-legged on the bed.
“Cosette?” he asked sleepily, pushing himself up to sit. “What’re you doing here?”
Cosette glanced up at him, and smiled softly. “I’m making sure that you don’t hurt yourself again.”
He touched his head gently, but there was no pain. He raised his eyebrows, and said, “Did you do this?”
“No,” Cosette answered, sticking her needle into the fabric and setting the hoop down. “Joly did.”
“How did you--”
“Know you were hurt?”
“Yeah.”
“Joly and I go to the same university,” she answered. “He called me about one of his friends being hurt, so I came over to help. How do you know Joly? I thought you were running around ignoring people.”
“Not exactly,” he answered.
“Oh, so just ignoring me?” she asked, smiling, but he could see her mouth quiver slightly.
“Cosette--”
“It’s fine,” she answered, and patted his shoulder.
“I wasn’t ignoring you. I was avoiding your father.”
Her head snapped back around to stare at him. “R, you’re not--no--”
“I’m not drinking,” he snapped. “I’m not stupid enough to avoid my sponsor when I need a drink.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
“He just doesn’t like that I don’t really have friends,” R said into his lap, then straightened and smiled. “So what does the doctor say? Can I get up?”
Cosette laughed, though her eyes showed that she was still worried. “Like I could stop you.”
He winked and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for helping me.” He got up and stretched tentatively, grinning when nothing protested.
She blushed and looked at her lap. “Thank me by actually calling every once in a while.”
He sighed, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “You know I don’t work like that,” he chided gently.
“Could you try?” she asked, getting up and following him into the kitchen. “I get that you can’t always hang out or visit or whatever, but really, you won’t even text?”
The kitchen was empty, and the sun wasn’t up yet. Grantaire frowned and reached for his phone to check the time.
“Oh, um,” she said, seeing the movement, “Your phone kind of broke.”
He raised his eyebrows, and said, with a slight smirk, “I guess I can’t text you, then.”
She crossed her arms and glared at him.
“Ugh,” he said, pressing his hands against his temples. “I’ll try, okay?”
“Do you have a headache?” she asked, with a frown. “Joly said that you--”
“No, but you’re giving me one.”
“You jerk,” she said, but laughed. The door to the other bedroom opened, and Enjolras came out, blinking sleepily.
“Sorry, did we wake you?” R asked.
“Ngh,” Enjolras answered, then looked at Cosette. “Who’re you?”
Cosette crossed her arms again, and said, “What, you mad now that R’s better?”
“What?” Enjolras asked, running her hand through her hair, which really only served to mess it up even more.
“I mean, you seemed pretty happy to let me in last night.”
“Cosette--” R said, glancing at her anxiously.
“Was I?” Enjolras asked, frowning, trying to remember what happened last night.
“I guess you shouldn’t let people into your apartment if you don’t want them there,” Cosette snapped, though R noted that she looked close to tears.
“I didn’t say that,” Enjolras said. “I’m almost certain--”
“No, of course you didn’t,” Cosette answered. “You don’t have the balls to do something like that. You were just going to hint until I left.”
Enjolras was still frowning, but her mouth twitched into a smile at that.
“What?” Cosette demanded.
“I mean, ignoring that the phrase originates in the idea that bravery resides solely within cis males, I can guarantee I have more balls than you,” Enjolras answered, actually grinning now.
R snorted, and both girls looked at him.
“Enj, I wouldn’t say that,” R told her.
Enjolras raised her eyebrows.
“I mean, knowing Cosette, she’s liable to, like, strip--”
“What?” Enjolras asked, glancing back at Cosette.
“I’m trans,” Cosette said, rolling her eyes. “So I’m pretty sure you’re wrong. And I would not, R. Maybe when I was younger but I am far above--”
“You’re trans?” Enjolras asked, brightening considerably and suddenly appearing fully awake.
Cosette narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?”
“No, no--I’m trans too.”
“Really?” Cosette grinned, losing her defensive posture. “Oh my god, we have so much to talk about. I’ve never met a trans girl my age.”
Enjolras nodded, but her smile faded after a moment. “I really wasn’t trying to get you to leave. I just didn’t remember who you were…”
Cosette waved her hand. “It’s fine,” she answered. “I’m just really tired and generally too defensive.”
After a moment, Enjolras asked, “Coffee?” and moved to start a pot brewing.
Cosette grinned. “You’re my new favorite person.”

R had to work, so he left the two girls, who were deep in a discussion of transmisogyny, with only slight misgivings about the monster he may or may not have helped to unleash on the world.
This job, janitorial work at the high school, required very little thought. It was actually generally better if he didn’t think because he would start to get mad about the entitled attitude of all too many of the students.
In one break between classes, when he mostly just stood out of the way and waited to be able to work again, he texted Feuilly:

You: soo we shhould try tht agan tmrw :))
cooking nerd: wat
cooking nerd: u almst died
cooking nerd: ur joking right

Grantaire grinned and turned off his phone, and was unusually cheerful for the rest of the day. He was heading home before he remembered to turn it back on; there were a ton of new texts for him. He just stared at it for a moment, before opening the first one.
###-####: DONT U DARE
###-####: I AM NOT FIXING U UP AGAIN
He set that number to Joly, and glanced at the others. Apparently, Feuilly had given all the others his number--and that’s all the numbers. He added the names of all the ones he could guess, and there were still some left. One was just an angry face with a long series of exclamation points. He wanted to guess either Courfeyrac or Bahorel, but he didn’t know either well enough to be sure.
He didn’t answer any of them; he didn’t really see much point, and besides, the sheer amount of them was pretty overwhelming (also the worried “please dont i need my sleep” that he was 98% sure came from Enjolras was more than he could stand).

That may have been a bad idea, as the next evening when he was working, as each person came in for the meeting they made a beeline for him.
Courfeyrac was first, cutting in front of a woman and her two kids to slap both hands down on the counter.
“You didn’t answer my texts!” he exclaimed.
“Yeah?” R asked, but could already feel his spine stiffening. This was going to be a long evening.
“I’m crushed,” Courfeyrac said.
“I’m sure,” R answered, and handed the woman her coffee, ignoring the indignant noises Courfeyrac was making at his side. Grantaire ignored him for a solid minute before Combeferre came in and dragged Courfeyrac away.
He checked his phone, eyeing all the texts with a new wariness. He was already exhausted from people. He sighed and wrote a new text, and grinned when she replied nearly instantly.

You: help ppl r tlking to me
princess: whAT U HAVE FRIENDS
You: haha funny
You: but rly help :(
princess: where r u?
You: musain
You: but u dont hve to come
You: its lik sj bs
princess: be there in 5

“So you won’t answer my texts, but you’ll text someone else?” a woman asked him. He hesitated for a moment, trying to remember her name.
Joly came up beside her and tugged on her arm. “Come on, sweetheart, he wouldn’t answer mine either.”
“Musichetta,” he said, nodding to her. “I’m afraid I don’t know which text was yours.”
She smiled and patted his arm. “The funny one,” she answered, as if that helped at all, and dragged Joly off.
Then Enjolras came in, and she didn’t even try to be subtle about immediately targeting R.
“Are you okay?” she asked anxiously.
“Yeah,” R said, and frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You weren’t answering anybody’s texts--”
“He does that,” Cosette interrupted, grabbing Enjolras’s arm and pulling her back from the counter. She looked at Cosette in surprise, and actually went silent.
R smiled gratefully at Cosette, who winked at him.
“You could’ve told one of us that you were okay; Feuilly was super worried--”
“Enjolras, don’t you have a revolution to run?” R asked. Enjolras gritted her teeth and glared at him.
“He’s fine,” Cosette said, gently pushing Enjolras away. “You can see that; go run your meeting.”
“Would it be so hard to keep us from worrying?” Enjolras asked. “Nobody knows where you live. We were afraid you tried something stupid and were hurt or dying or something.”
R smiled sarcastically and held his arms out. “Well I’m clearly fine, so no need to worry your pretty little head about it.”
Cosette grabbed Enjolras’s arm just as she opened her mouth and yanked her towards the others. “Okay, time to go,” Cosette said. Enjolras glared at the both of them, but did leave.
Cosette went behind the counter and sat down on R’s stool. He raised his eyebrows slightly. “I don’t really want to talk to you, either,” he said.
“Okay,” she answered, and smiled softly. “Give me your phone, then.”
“Why?” he asked.
“So I can take care of all those texts for you.”
He hesitated, then unlocked his phone and handed it to her. “I don’t know who’s who, really,” he warned.
“That’s okay,” she said, already typing out a message, the tip of her tongue showing slightly. She was mercifully quiet, only looking up once to glare at Feuilly until he abruptly decided not to get a drink today, and one quiet giggle, asking, “You saved my name as princess?”
She stayed until closing time, texting continuously. R was exhausted (though that most likely also had something to do with not being able to sit down). Feuilly hung around while the others left, only coming over when it was just the three of them.
“So--lessons today?” Feuilly asked.
Cosette glanced at R briefly, then shook her head. “Not today,” she answered. “Bye.”
“I’m sorry if I did something wrong,” they said softly, jamming their hands into their jacket pockets. “I’ll be careful to keep you from getting hurt again if that’s the problem--”
“Later, Feuilly,” R said.
Feuilly glanced between the two, bit his lip, then silently left the cafe.
The two were silent for a moment, before Cosette handed R his phone, said, “Feel better soon.” She kissed him on the cheek, and left. When he was finally alone, R smiled slightly, and finished closing up.

At home, he checked his texts again to see what, exactly, Cosette had been sending. Mostly she had asked people who they were and made some reply that actually looked quite a bit like something he would write. One person, though, Marius, he couldn’t place. He was fairly certain he hadn’t seen him with the others, but he had texted him.
The conversation with Marius was long, though, and ended with hearts and a winky face. R was too tired to read through the entire thing, but he really, really hoped that Cosette hadn't made it sound like he was flirting with someone he didn’t even know.

Chapter Text

It was the weekend.
Grantaire had spent far too much time working during the week, just so that he could have these two precious days off, and he planned to stay in his apartment and not talk to anybody for the entire time.

On Saturday he slept in, then made an omelette for breakfast. He did nothing all morning, didn’t try to light candles or talk to people or clean up after entitled brats. His phone was off and his door was locked (plus, only three or four people even knew where he lived).
He even dug a sketchbook out from within the mess of papers under his bed, which he hadn’t touched in months.
What he originally intended to be random squiggles started taking shape, one curve turning into Courfeyrac’s crooked smile, another some of Feuilly’s half 'hawk falling into their eyes.
He had to try harder to get the arch of Enjolras’s eyebrow right, as it was in a perpetual state of half condescension and half anger. He wondered if she specifically chose that look.
Something was off, though, in the shape of her jaw, so he flipped to a new page. And when he messed that one up, to another.
By the time he started paying attention to his surroundings again, the sun was low enough that he had to turn the lamp on, and he had too many pages of half of Enjolras’s face.
He tossed the sketchbook aside with a sigh, and got up to make some dinner.

On Sunday he finally finished The Count of Monte Cristo, which he had started months ago.
It was still morning, though, when he glanced at the sketchbook laying on the ground. He flipped through the pages, laughing softly at some of the worst failures, and sighing when he got past the ones of Enjolras, to the others.
God help it, he missed them. He missed somebody on the weekend, where he specifically set aside time to avoid people. And not just one person, either, but a whole group. He wondered if maybe the faeries had replaced him with a changeling.

He turned his phone back on. There was only one new text:

righteous fury: text me or someone when you’re feeling better??

Did he really want to text Enjolras? Did he really want to talk to people on his day off from people?

You: hey :)
righteous fury: Hi!!
You: srry abt earlier
You: i wasnt mad at u
You; just tired
righteous fury: It’s okay; I lost my temper too
You: did u just use a semicolon
righteous fury: ...yes?
You: u fuckng nerd
righteous fury: so I’m forgiven?
You: ofc
righteous fury: :)
righteous fury: Feuilly wants to know if you still want to do lessons with them
You: if they thnk itd help
righteous fury: They say that you should talk directly to them instead of through me
righteous fury: and that of course they think it’d help
righteous fury: Bunch of people are at my place right now
righteous fury: if you want to come over
You: defin bunch of ppl
righteous fury: me, Feuilly, Csquared, Jehan, and bahorel
You: C squared?
You: ur a nerd
righteous fury: :)
You: ill come of course
righteous fury: :)))
righteous fury: you know that you’re welcome here whenever, right?
righteous fury: I showed you where the key is didn’t I
You: ?? no? wait is it under the mat r u tht kind of person
You: omw btw
righteous fury: don’t be ridiculous of course it’s not under the mat
righteous fury: it’s on top of the doorframe
You: SO much safer
righteous fury: ikr
You: omg u learned an acronym

glitterbomb: E is smling at her phon did u do tht
You: who is this???
glitterbomb: didnt C set my nam???
You: sort of
glitterbomb: it’s courfeyrac
You; ohhhh tht explns it
glitterbomb: do i wnt to kno
You: not rlly

princess: hey R just making sure you’re ok
You: I’m fine :) hangng out w/ th gng and wtching lilo n stitch
princess: :)))))))))))
You: shut up
princess :))))))))))))
You: did u kno e can hula
princess: what?????
You: ikr
You: its like
You: wow
You: amazng
princess: dont die of sexul frstrtion
You: ur like 6 how do u kno tht wrd
princess: wat, sexual?
You: no
You: frustration
princess: wait does ths mean u do like e?????
princess: like, like like her?
You: sht up
You: shes aroace
You: so im tryng not to
princess: damn
princess: tough break
princess: did i tell u abt marius?
You: tht guy u were txtng on my phone?
You: wait one sec e’s dncng again

***

It wasn’t that Enjolras was unaware that people found her attractive--she got hit on enough by creeps to keep her from forgetting. It was more that it didn’t cross her mind, anymore, that one of her friends would like her romantically.
So she hadn’t thought twice when she danced along to the movie’s music (she blamed a wasted childhood) like she always did, and, yeah, her friends would usually watch her, she was used to that. But when she noticed the way Grantaire was watching her hips, halfway through the movie’s intro song, He Mele No Lilo, she nearly tripped, because oh.
She almost stopped dancing, she was so embarrassed, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed, but everyone was still watching her, so she grabbed the nearest person--who happened to be Combeferre--and tried to get him to dance with her.
To his eternal credit, he did try, but he ended up looking so ridiculous that everyone started laughing, and so nobody thought anything of it when Enjolras gratefully fell onto the couch next to Jehan, where she couldn’t see Grantaire.
She couldn’t really enjoy the movie, she was so unsettled, though she did braid Jehan’s hair when he laid across her lap, openly sobbing.

When the second song she usually danced to, Hawaiian Roller Coaster, started up, though, Courfeyrac glanced over expectantly.
And she got up and danced--because, really, if people could learn hula in secret for decades, she could dance in front of one person who made her slightly uncomfortable. And it’s not like she had gotten stranger looks when she first joined the girl’s class at her hālau.
Before, she had been doing it for fun, glancing and grinning at her friends often, but this time she stayed as focus as if she were performing, her eyes never straying from her hands.
Everybody clapped when she, slightly out of breath, was done. She laughed, avoiding Grantaire’s gaze, and sat down again, doing her best to focus on the movie. It worked, because by the end, even she was crying some, as she played with Jehan’s hair.
“Well, I have to get some work done,” Combeferre said, once the credits started, “So I’m gonna head out.”
“Noo,” Courfeyrac whined, grabbing his hand and tugging on it. “Stay. We can, like, talk about moths or something.”
Combeferre laughed and shook his head. “I have to go over my notes for the presentation tomorrow--”
“No!” Courfeyrac shouted, laughing and shoving Combeferre away. “No talking about work! I changed my mind, go away.”
“I should go, too,” Jehan said, disentangling himself from Enjolras. “Got an early morning tomorrow.”
The others murmured agreement and started heading for the door. Enjolras caught Grantaire’s sleeve as he walked by her.
Grantaire looked down at her in surprise.
“Can we talk for a moment?” Enjolras asked. She hated that Grantaire almost instantly looked terrified, but he nodded and leaned against the back of the couch. Feuilly disappeared into their room, and a moment later they were alone.
“So--what’s up?” R asked.
Enjolras sighed and looked at her hands. “Do you have--feelings for me?” she asked.
R’s breathing caught, and he looked away. After a long moment, when Enjolras didn’t add anything, he said, “I’m trying not to.”
“Good,” Enjolras answered. “You know that I’m aro ace, right?”
“Yes.”
After another awkwardly long silence, Enjolras said, “I hope we can still be friends. I--I’m okay with you having feelings for me, as long as I’m sure I’m not accidentally leading you on.”
“Honestly?” Grantaire asked, looking back at her, “Even if you were into guys, I don’t know if I’d want to date you or anything. So. It’s just a stupid crush. It’ll go away.”
“Don’t say that,” Enjolras said instantly. “Besides ‘stupid’ being ableist, calling crushes stupid is the same as pretending it doesn’t exist, which isn’t healthy.”
“What else am I supposed to do?” R asked, pushing himself off of the couch.
“Whatever you want,” Enjolras answered, standing up and stretching. “As long as it doesn’t ruin our friendship.”

Chapter Text

Grantaire thought things would change, but they didn’t, really. He tried harder not to stare at Enjolras during her speeches, and found his hand straying towards the nearest alcohol more than once, but she didn’t treat him differently, which helped. And when he started arguing with her nearly every meeting, she started listening, and sometimes even built off of his arguments that he swore he just pulled out of his ass.
And the group had adopted him, it seemed, as he got a steady trickle of texts almost every day, and was honestly glad that he was finally making use of his unlimited plan.
Bahorel convinced him to take up boxing with him again, and the others would often seem them hunched over comic books in the corner, arguing passionately over the comparative virtues of Green Latern versus Batman.
He didn’t try to learn from Feuilly anymore, as both were afraid to bring it up, but whenever Enjolras said something that just fundamentally was wrong about magic, they would glance at each other and heave a collective sigh, before R stood up and ripped Enjolras’s argument to shreds.
After Jehan decided, one day, that R was okay with him, R went home with lines of ee cummings scrawled down his arms, and Jehan had flowers growing over his shoulder. Most meetings, afterwards, R would have some flower to tuck into Jehan’s hair, though he never would tell where he got them from.
They even convinced him to go to a protest, through a combination of Courfeyrac’s steady stream of ‘pleasepleaseplease’ for a good five minutes, Cosette’s promise that she would drag Marius there so he could finally meet him, and Enjolras’s hopeful glance.

It wasn’t until he was at the protest itself that he remembered exactly why he avoided events like this.
“R, you okay?” Courfeyrac asked, suddenly appearing at his elbow. He was at the back of the group, leaning against the wall and trying to stay out of the crowd.
R shrugged, and said, “Just having trouble controlling my magic. It likes to remind me that I could kill everyone here at times like this.”
Courfeyrac was silent, so he glanced up, to see Courfeyrac’s expression mutate from surprise to something like horror.
“You’re struggling not to kill everyone?” he demanded, and roughly grabbed R’s arm. “Are you fucking kidding me? Enjolras didn’t say that you were a liability!”
R tried to pull away, but Courfeyrac didn’t notice, he was already shouting, “Enjolras, get over here, you’ve got to explain this!” He punctuated his last word with a shake of R’s arm.
Combeferre was actually there first, grabbing Courfeyrac and pulling him off of R. “Courf, why are you ripping R apart?” Combeferre asked, in the same tone one might ask a child why they were trying to eat their sister.
“He’s--he’s got fucking battle magic,” Courf nearly shouted, yanking out of Ferre’s grip.
“Yeah,” Ferre answered. “Calm down, we know.”
“He doesn’t have control over it,” Courf hissed. “Don’t you remember when he nearly killed himself? I don’t know what I was thinking--”
“Courf, it’s not a problem.”
“He said that he was struggling not to kill everyone here!”
“That’s not quite what I--” R started, but stopped when someone wrapped an arm around his.
“You’re being ridiculous, Courfeyrac,” Jehan said firmly. “Are you really going to say something like that when we are literally protesting it?”
“This is different!” Courfeyrac answered, and instinctively looked to Combeferre.
“I mean, it’s not really different--” Combeferre started.
“Seriously? You too?” Courfeyrac demanded.
“It’s also true that I don’t want to jeopardize the rally by risking an accident, though,” Combeferre finished, looking at R with a pleading glance.
“Are you serious?” Jehan demanded. “You have no idea what this protest is about, do you? What do you think Enjolras will say when she finds out?”
“It’s okay, I’ll just go,” R said, tugging away from Jehan. He could feel the magic building up, and he needed to get away.
“No,” Jehan answered, holding on more firmly, even though he couldn’t have weighed half of what R did.
And then Cosette was on this other side, her hand on his shoulder, saying, “What’s this about?”
Marius came along, too, mostly looking confused, but still holding onto Cosette’s hand and standing defensively.
“I’ll just go, god, I don’t care,” R said, shrugging Cosette off of his shoulder.
“Why are you making him go?” Cosette asked, whirling to glare at Combeferre.
“It wasn’t me--” Ferre began.
Courfeyrac made an indignant sound and said, “Oh, no, let’s just blame this on me!”
“What’s going on?” Enjolras asked, her voice cutting through the group. Everyone instinctively shrank back some, and Combeferre looked away.
“Let go of me,” R hissed at Jehan.
Enjolras’s gaze snapped to him. “R?”
“Nothing’s going on,” he said, “Or, it won’t be if Jehan will just let me go.”
“Jehan, let go of him,” Enjolras said.
“Enj, Courf’s trying to kick him out of the protest,” Jehan said, though his grip on R did loosen.
“What?” Enjolras asked, turning to glare at Courfeyrac. “You do realize that this protest is to stop people from making negative assumptions about magic users, right?”
“Yeah, and it’s also about us not killing everyone here,” Courfeyrac snapped. “That’s really going to help our cause.”
“R isn’t going to kill everyone here,” Enjolras answered, her eyes practically burning a hole through Courfeyrac’s forehead.
“He might, actually,” Feuilly muttered, from their place behind Enjolras’s elbow. “I mean, he is powerful enough.”
“Not helping,” Enjolras snapped.
“See?!” Courfeyrac asked.
“It is a fair point, Enjolras,” Combeferre offered quietly. Enjolras looked at him in shock.
“Are you fucking with me?” Enjolras asked. “I have to go up and make a speech about literally this, that you helped me write, and you want me to kick R out?”
“I’m leaving,” R hissed, and yanked his arm away from Jehan, putting the smallest amount of force magic he could into it, because he was about to lose all control.
Jehan went flying into Enjolras then hit the ground, where he lay gasping for breath.
“R!” Enjolras shouted.
“Oh, fuck you,” R answered, turned, and ran out of the protest as fast as he could.
“R, wait,” Cosette shouted, and he heard her running after him. He didn’t turn around, just closed his eyes, kept running, and wished that he could disappear, that he could just stop being. He felt someone’s hand grab onto his sleeve, and he turned slightly in his stride and slammed the person with magic. He had enough time to see Marius’s shocked face, and Cosette panting behind him, before he heard the sirens. He froze for a moment, then ran.

***

Everyone who had been to the protest agreed that Enjolras was terrifying, that she looked like a furious archangel descended to personally send every person who disagreed with her to hell.
So it wasn’t really surprising that at the end, Enjolras only had to glance at the others before they followed her sheepishly back to the nearest apartment, Jehan’s.
Enjolras came in last, and closed the door behind her with deliberate care. When she looked up at the others, they all shrank back some from the pure anger twisting her face.
“What was that?” she asked, her voice unbelievably soft and calm. Nobody said anything. She stared at each one in turn, and they all looked away, though Combeferre made it a whole three seconds.
“Jehan?” Enjolras asked.
Jehan looked up nervously. “--yes?”
“Never, ever, touch somebody if they tell you not to. I would have thought that you, of all people, would know that.”
Jehan looked at the ground and wrapped his arms around his waist. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Cosette, Marius?”
Marius made a sort of nervous squeaking noise, but Cosette set her chin and met Enjolras’s eyes defiantely. “I won’t apologize for defending him.”
“But you will apologize for chasing after him.”
Cosette glared. “No, I won’t.”
“We’re sorry,” Marius said quickly, and grabbed Cosette’s arm. “We should have realized we couldn’t help.”
Cosette glared at him for a moment, but softened quickly. “Yeah,” she said. “We’re sorry we made it worse.”
“Marius, did Joly take a look at you?” Enjolras asked, glancing suspiciously at Marius’s arm, which was tucked firmly against his ribs.
“I did,” Cosette answered. “Cracked a rib, but I set it. He’s fine.”
“I’m fine, too,” Jehan added, when Cosette glanced at him.
Enjolras sighed, and said, “Joly, Bahorel, Bossuet, Musichetta--all of you.”
“We didn’t do anything,” Bahorel protested.
“Exactly.” she answered. “Nobody tried to discharge the situation, except R, and you all managed to keep him from doing so.”
“I wasn’t even near them,” Bossuet said stubbornly. “I was late since my pipes burst--you can’t blame me.”
Enjolras raised her eyebrows. “Would you have done something if you were there?”
Bossuet shrugged uncomfortably. “I’d like to think so.”
“Combeferre, Courfeyrac.”
“Look--” Courfeyrac said, but Enjolras cut him off.
“I’m too mad at you two,” she said firmly. “Anything I say will dissolve into shouting, so leave.”
“Enjolras, you do--” Combeferre started.
“Now,” she said, her eyes narrowing at him. After a long pause, the two left silently. When the door fell shut everyone jumped slightly and looked away.
“Cosette, you’re going to try to get in contact with R, make sure he’s alright.”
“We, um, heard sirens,” Marius said. “I don’t know if they saw R attacking me or not--”
Enjolras nodded. “Courfey--” she cut herself off, pursing her lips together.
“Joly and I will go,” Bahorel offered.
She hesitated, then said, “I need a lawyer, though.”
“I can do--whatever it is,” Marius said. Enjolras looked at him, raising her eyebrows skeptically.
“You’re a lawyer?”
Marius nodded.
“No offense, but you look eighteen.”
Marius’s shoulders drooped, and he muttered, “Probably because I only just started T. I’m twenty six.”
“Sorry,” Enjolras said, then after a moment, added, “You and Cosette go, then.”
After a moment, Marius said, “Um--go where?”
“The police station,” Enjolras answered. “See if they’re holding R, and if they are, keep him from doing anything stupid. And, Cosette, Jehan can try to get in contact with R.”
The two nodded, and left.
“Nobody else is allowed to text him,” Enjolras added, as Jehan fumbled with their phone.
“Someone should go to his apartment,” Bahorel said, and Enjolras nodded. Then she frowned.
“Does anyone actually know where his apartment is?”
Everybody was silent for a moment.
“Shit,” Enjolras muttered.
“I can find that out,” Bahorel said. “R was in AA, right? One of my friends’ll know him.”
Enjolras looked at him in surprise, but nodded. “Do that, then.”
“I hate to be that person,” Feuilly said softly, their eyes locked to their feet, “but I have to go to work.”
“Then go,” she answered. When Feuilly wouldn’t look at her, she said, softly, “I’m mad, but I don’t blame you.”
Feuilly glanced up at her, and said, “That’s what scares me.”
“What--” Enjolras started, but Feuilly left, and the door closed on their back before Enjolras could say anything else.
“I’m really sorry--” Bossuet began.
“What?” Enjolras asked, closing her eyes.
“--but you know how my pipes burst? Well, a man was supposed to come fix them this afternoon, so I really need to be at home…”
“Go,” Enjolras said. “I’m not--I’m not trying to scare you guys into helping.”
“Joly and I are going to go home,” Musichetta said suddenly.
“Chetta, I’m fine,” Joly answered. “I’d rather help find R.”
“Joly?” Enjolras asked.
He sighed. “I just caught a cold from a patient or something,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You’re going to make it worse,” Musichetta answered.
“If I go home I’m just going to worry about R.”
“Go home, Joly,” Enjolras answered. “I’ll text you any news, okay?”
“You heard the woman,” Musichetta said, shooting Enjolras a grateful smile, and pulled Joly out.
“Maybe you should go home,” Jehan said, glancing up from his phone. “He might go there, you know.”
“Maybe…” Enjolras answered, running her hand through her hair.
“Enjolras, he’s probably fine,” Jehan said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “You know it might take a while for him to text us back. Okay? Go home.”
“Yeah,” Bahorel agreed. “Let’s give Jehan his apartment back, okay?”
“Text me if he says anything,” Enjolras said, and Jehan nodded.
She hesitated another moment, then followed Bahorel out.

***

By the time Feuilly got home, a little after nine, the only news had been Marius’s text saying that the police said they hadn’t taken R in.
Enjolras was lying in the middle of the rug, and hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, or even change out of the clothes she had worn to the rally--and normally she immediately switched to something more comfortable.
“Enj,” Feuilly said, flicking the lights on. “What are you doing?”
“The city police don’t deal with magic users,” Enjolras said, her eyes unfocused. “They could arrest R without the city police knowing, and we wouldn’t be able to find out.”
“Okay,” Feuilly said, pulling their boots off and dumping their coat onto the floor. “That’s enough of that.”
“Nobody’s heard from him,” Enjolras said, throwing an arm over her eyes. “I knew he wasn’t comfortable, but I didn’t make Jehan let go, and I didn’t stop Cosette from running after him. God, I’m an idiot.”
“Now I know this is serious,” Feuilly said, raising their eyebrows. “Did you really just call yourself an idiot?”
“I am, though,” she said, and banged her head against the rug.
“Stop it,” Feuilly said, and sat down next to Enjolras. “Come here.”
Enjolras moved her arm to look at Feuilly. She hesitated, but when Feuilly opened their arms, she sat up and half crawled into their lap.
“I don’t know what to do,” Enjolras whispered. “I’m so scared.”
“He’ll be fine,” Feuilly answered, and pulled Enjolras’s hair out of her eyes. “Do you remember when we met?”
Enjolras nodded.
“It was back when I was working that translation job, for that horrible newspaper.”
“It really was horrible,” Enjolras answered, with a slight laugh.
“You wrote a 5,000 word essay and sent it to the editor,” Feuilly said, and laughed, leaning their head against Enjolras’s. “Half of it was just pointing out grammar mistakes, I swear.”
“I was a freshman,” Enjolras answered. “Besides, his grammar was terrible.”
“And then, when he refused to print it, you sent it to the other papers. And they printed it. And then you came to the office. God, that was not your best move.”
“It worked out okay in the end,” Enjolras said. “That’s how I met you.”
“Yeah, after you got me fired.”
Enjolras laughed, and wiped her eyes with her sleeves. “You didn’t like the job, anyway.”
“The newspaper folded two weeks later,” Feuilly said. “If you can single-handedly shut down a horrible paper, you can find one of your friends.”
“Do you think he hates me?” she asked, turning her face into their chest again.
“R? Why would he?”
“I--I mean, before he left, I told him not to go, and he said fuck you--”
“Enjolras, no, he doesn’t hate you. He was mad and scared, that’s all.”
Enjolras nodded, and turned to wrap her arms around Feuilly. “I love him so much,” she whispered.
“I know,” they answered.
Enjolras let go and pushed herself up some. “I love you too, you know that.” she added, looking worried.
Feuilly smiled. “I’m not jealous,” they answered, and kissed the top of Enjolras’s head. “I’m glad.”
Enjolras smiled and curled up against Feuilly for a little while longer, before saying, “I need to shower.”
“Okay,” Feuilly answered, disentangling their legs from Enjolras and standing up. “I think I may just go to bed now.”
Enjolras smiled, then pressed her phone into Feuilly’s hands. “If somebody texts about R, tell me, okay?”
“Okay,” Feuilly said, and pushed Enjolras towards the bathroom. “Go.”

Enjolras crawled into Feuilly’s bed nearly an hour later, and whispered, “No news?”
Feuilly shook their head, leaning back into Enjolras when she wrapped her arms around them. “He’ll answer soon,” they said sleepily.

He didn’t.

Chapter Text

He hadn’t been there for very long, but his absence was obvious in so many little things, like Feuilly turning to roll their eyes before realizing there was nobody there, or the way Cosette’s smile never seemed to reach her eyes, or the way Jehan stopped wearing floral pants, and when asked why, he just said he didn’t really like flowers anymore.
And while outsiders might not have noticed, Enjolras stopped smiling so much, and even Feuilly felt distant from her. Only sometimes, maybe once a week, they would wake up at 3am when Enjolras crawled in next to them, and they would pretend they didn’t hear her crying, because she vehemently denied it the first time they dared bring it up. And, many mornings, they would get up to see Enjolras in the same place she had been late last night, her eyes hooded and shadowed.
She ate most days, but only because Joly started cornering her at every opportunity, and it was just easier to eat than try to explain why she hadn’t already.

On the fourth day, Bahorel nearly broke down Enjolras and Feuilly’s door because finally one of his friends had told him where R lived.
The three of them went, but when there was no answer, they hunted down the landlady. She looked confused at first, asking them if they wanted to rent that room?
“No, we’re looking for the man who lives there,” Enjolras said impatiently.
“Nobody lives there,” the woman answered.
“Grantaire does!”
“No” she said. “Grantaire did. He moved out a few days ago--did he not tell you where he was going?”
“He moved out?” Enjolras demanded.
“Always was a bit unreliable, that one,” the woman agreed, but when Enjolras looked furious, the woman added, “I have work to do, bye-bye,” and closed the door in their faces.

Enjolras caved after one week and texted R, even though she had forbade the others from doing it.
You: R, please answer, we’re really worried...just let us know you’re okay?

Ten days after he disappeared, by unspoken agreement, people stopped talking about him, about his disappearance, about anything that was even slightly related to him. It helped and it didn’t. Nobody cried or had to leave during the meetings, or when they gathered in each other’s apartments, but nobody really smiled, either.

Thirteen days afterwards, Enjolras missed a meeting. This was the second time in her life--the first was when she broke under stress and anxiety and was nearly hospitalized because she had taken too many courses at once.
Courfeyrac let himself into her apartment and barged into her room, where she was lying under her blanket.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, pulling the blanket off of her.
“Go away,” she answered, squinting against the light.
“No,” he answered. “You’re not doing this to yourself. Get up.”
After a long moment, she did, and he dragged her to a fast food place and told the worst puns he could think of until she laughed. She never said it out loud, but Courfeyrac knew he was forgiven.

Fourteen days after, Cosette nervously knocked on Jehan’s door. When he answered it with a confused frown, she handed him a rose.
He took it, his eyes wide, then let her in.
“You didn’t have to get me this…” he said.
“I know,” she answered. “But--I saw it at the store, and I thought, you know who would like this? Jehan. You know, since R used to…”
Jehan smiled, and said, “I know. Thank you.” He pulled a vase down from one of his cupboards, and put the rose in it, filling it with water. He set it down on the table, and said, “I miss him, too.”
After that, Cosette started bringing him flowers every day or two. When the others realized, they started, too, Bahorel offering a daisy one day, Courfeyrac braiding bluets into his hair the next.

Twenty days after, Enjolras found she could dance again without thinking about him, and started going to a dance studio to practice nearly every day.

Twenty five days after, Cosette brought a new person, her sister, Eponine. Eponine didn’t look very happy to be there, and didn’t seem to be as eager to call Cosette her sister as Cosette did.
Enjolras slipped up that meeting, saying, “Even if someone is secondarily force, people assume--”
“Um,” Eponine said, raising her hand as if it were a school. “Sorry to interrupt, but what the hell?”
“People are prejudiced against force magic--” Enjolras started again.
“No, I got that part just fine,” Eponine answered, rolling her eyes. “I was actually referring to your ‘secondary force magic’ statement. Force magic is dominant, it literally cannot be secondary. Occasionally people will refer to themselves as ‘fire’ battle mages, but in reality they have dual primary between force and fire, and prefer fire. Do you actually know anything about magic? That’s, like, magic 101, Force dominant, then heat, secure, healing. Universally true, and easy enough to remember if you did any research.”
Nobody said anything for a long moment.
Bahorel glanced at Enjolras’s shocked face and said, laughing, “R would like you.”
“Who?” Eponine asked.
There was a brief, tense silence, where everyone glanced at each other uncomfortably. “A friend who moved away,” Enjolras answered finally, straightening her papers. “Thank you for correcting me.”
Eponine looked at her skeptically, but saluted lazily. “Anytime, chief.”

Exactly a month after, Enjolras found that she couldn’t sleep, and got up to take some melatonin or something to take the edge off, when she heard a key turning in the lock. She frowned. She was almost certain that Feuilly was asleep, and her friends never came over at--she checked her watch--three am.
R walked through the door, carrying a bulky duffel bag. His hair was greasy, there were dark shadows under his eyes, and she was pretty sure that his nose was slightly more crooked than it had been before.
She just stared at first, wondered if she was dreaming again.
His eyes found her, and his pursed his lips together. “Didn’t think you’d be awake,” he said, his voice rough. She noticed, now, that his shoulders drooped, that his jacket had a gash taken out at one corner, and she was pretty sure had--was that blood?
She walked over slowly, almost afraid to blink.
“Hi?” he asked, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.
“Hi,” she breathed, and gently touched his shoulder. “Oh my god, it’s really you.”
“Yeah,” he answered, and let the door close. He set his bag down and struggled to unzip his coat--the zipper was broken, but he managed it. She just stared at him, but winced when she realized that his shirt was, somehow, in even worse shape than his jacket, as the shirt had a gash down one side that was badly sewn and still a vague brownish-pink color.
He pulled his boots off, then straightened and smiled.
“I hate you so much,” Enjolras said. “So, so much.” But she could tell a smile was breaking out over her face.
“Sorry,” he answered, and held out his arms. She hugged him like her life depended on it. Then, a moment later, she let go and banged on Feuilly’s door.
“Don’t wake them up--” R protested, but Enjolras had already stopped and was now texting furiously.
“What’s wrong?” Feuilly asked sleepily, and gasped when they saw R. “No way.”
“I told her not to wake you,” R said. “I’m sorry.”
“You fucking asshole,” Feuilly said, but started laughing until they had to sit down in the doorframe and R couldn’t tell if they were still laughing or actually crying.
“They’re all coming over,” Enjolras announced, putting her phone back into her pocket.
“Everyone?” R asked. “Enj, you woke up everyone just because--”
“Just because you disappeared and we thought you were in prison or dead or who knows what?” Enjolras asked.
R bit his lip. “It wasn’t--I didn’t mean it to be like that.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you were okay, then?” Enjolras asked, and realized that she was crying, now. “Did you really care so little about us?”
“What?” R asked. “No--god, no.”
“Then why?”
“I was scared, at first,” R answered, “and then I couldn’t get reception where I went, and, I don’t know, I thought you would all be better off without me and--”
“Fucking asshole,” Feuilly answered, finally catching their breath. “We all missed you so much, R, you have no idea.”
“I’m sorry, I thought it’d be easier if I just left--”
“I thought you were in prison,” Enjolras snapped. “And you thought it’d be easier if you just left?”
They heard someone try the door, which was locked. “Let me in!” Cosette shouted.
“Don’t wake the neighbours,” Enjolras protested, but R unlocked and opened it.
“Oh my god, you’re really back,” Cosette said, and launched herself at him, nearly knocking him over. “What ha--you’re so thin.”
Cosette pulled back, her eyes scrutinizing him.
“How did you lose so much weight?” she asked. “R, that’s not healthy--”
“I know,” he answered. “I’ll gain it again, now that I’m back.”
“And where were you?” she demanded, shaking a finger under his nose. “Not answering our calls, or Papa’s, leaving us thinking that you had drunk yourself into a ditch somewhere--”
“I’m sorry,” he answered.
“And is that blood?” she asked, and set her hands on either side of his torso, closing her eyes and glowing a faint purple.
“I’m fine,” R protested, but Cosette had already let go and let her hands drop to her sides.
She stared at him with a horrified expression. “What did you do to yourself?” she asked softly. “Oh, god, R, how did you do that? Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t mean to,” he answered, crossing his arms uncomfortably.
“What’s wrong?” Enjolras demanded.
“He--I don’t even know. He broke his nose, I think fractured a rib, something’s wrong with his feet, though I don’t know what. His entire left side is a bruise, and, like, all of his right leg’s tendons are strained. That’s ignoring the mass of shallow cuts covering the majority of his body.”
“Not my face,” R protested. “I protected my face.”
“Except you nose,” Cosette answered, glaring.
Courfeyrac and Combefere burst through the door, Jehan following on their heels moments later. The three stood in the doorway for a shocked moment, panting slightly, before launching themselves at R.
Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta slipped in, nearly unnoticed in the noise, though when Bahorel came in and swung R around in a bear hug, it was hard not to the newcomers.
There was a knock at the door a moment later, and, after R glanced around the room and counted the people there, said, “Neighbours?”
Joly opened the door, where Eponine stood, looking tired and confused, frowning at her phone.
“Eponine?” Joly asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Enjolras texted me,” she said, “told everyone to come here immediately? Oh, you must be R--do you normally come visit your friends, after moving away, at ridiculously early times?”
R frowned and glanced questioningly at the others.
“I’m sorry.” Enjolras said. “I didn’t mean to text you, I just sent it to all my friends, and you were on that list, so...”
Eponine’s mouth twisted to the side. “No worries. I’ll just go, then.”
“No,” R said, coming up behind Joly and holding the door open. “What Enjolras meant to say, is that she’s very sorry for waking you up for something not very interesting, but you’re more than welcome to stay if you want.”
Eponine raised her eyebrows. “You’re extrapolating a lot from very few words.”
R grinned. “I speak fluent Enjolras. Come in so we can close the door.”
“You owe us an explanation, R,” Cosette said, once the door was shut. “And for god’s sake, let Joly and me heal you.”
R brushed aside Joly’s immediate lunge forward to grab him, and said, “I’m fine.”
“Can I have an explanation, too?” Eponine asked. “Didn’t you say he moved away? Why the party?”
“I didn’t move away,” R said, glancing around the room with a surprised, almost accusatory glance.
“No,” Enjolras answered. “You just decided to disappear and move out of your apartment without telling anyone what was going on.”
R shifted uncomfortably and said, “Maybe we should sit down.”

Everyone squashed into the too-small living room, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Feuilly almost on top of each other on the loveseat, with Enjolras perched on the armrest. Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet were actually on top of each other on the chair, with Jehan, Eponine, and Cosette on the floor, and Bahorel leaning against the wall.
“So…” R said, shifting uncomfortably. “Where should I start?”
“At the protest?” Jehan offered.
“Or at whatever point that would result with me being minimally confused,” Eponine said.
“Okay,” R said, running a hand through his hair. “So, about two months ago, I almost killed Enjolras with my battle magic, and she decided to help me instead of turning me in.”
“Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, you didn’t almost kill me--” Enjolras said.
“Shut up, Enjy. Anyway, for some reason they let me stick around--”
“--mostly because he’s the literal sweetest person in the world,” Jehan interrupted.
R laughed. “Are you fucking kidding me? Is that what not being here does to people? I’m a terrible friend, Jehan, and you know it. I’m mean and don’t think about others and--”
“Disappear, yes, we got that,” Eponine said. “Please, can we stop fighting about self esteem?”
“I agree with her, for once,” Enjolras offered. “Just tell us where you were.”
R straightened up some at that, and looked at Eponine more enthusiastically. “You piss Enjy off?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Only when she deserves it.”
“My new favorite,” he declared.
“Only if you tell the story,” she answered.
“Sorry. Right. So, they took me to a protest, and there was a bit of a fight, and I lost control and beat up Jehan, Marius, and Cosette--”
“You knocked the wind out of Jehan, and didn’t touch Cosette,” Cosette corrected. “And Marius was basically fine.”
“If you guys want to hear the story, stop correcting me,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “After I beat them up, I panicked, and also simultaneously realized that if I wanted to have and keep friendships, I needed to have control over my magic.”
“I was trying to help with that,” Feuilly said. “Why didn’t you stay--”
“Because you would’ve stopped me,” R answered. “You said you would.”
“Stop you from what?” Feuilly asked. “Oh, God, R, you didn’t try--”
Joly blanched. “You tried to fly again,” he said. “You tried to fly again, by yourself, alone, without any way to get help if you seriously hurt yourself--”
“You can fly?” Eponine asked, confused.
“Well, he flew once,” Feuilly said.
“Very briefly,” Courfeyrac agreed.
“And then was stuck in bed for a day, even with two healers,” Enjolras said.
“I can fly,” R answered. “Well, more like hover, but…”
“Well, show us,” Eponine said, while the others shot her looks ranging from shocked (Combeferre) to murderous (Joly).
“I am,” R said. “I have been.”
Everybody stared at his feet. After a long moment, Feuilly said, “R, I’m pretty sure you’re on the ground…”
R rolled his eyes, and floated upwards a few inches, the space under his feet a pale shade of red. “I float very close to the ground,” he said. “If I didn’t, people would notice.”
“Oh my god,” Feuilly said. “You fucking asshole. You actually were listening when I was teaching you.”
R smiled slightly. “Don’t let the mountain of burned candles fool you.”
“But--you didn’t learn this without getting hurt,” Cosette said. “Oh my god, all those injuries--?”
“I fell a few times,” R said, looking at the ground. “Broke my nose, might have twisted an ankle, it’s hard to tell.”
“Please,” Joly said. “Please, let me help?”
R hesitated.
“R, you learned to fly on your own,” Enjolras said. “You don’t have to heal on your own, too.”
R’s eyes flickered to her for a moment, then he turned and held his hands out to Joly.
“I have work tomorrow,” Feuilly said, as Joly grabbed his hands and frowned in concentration and frustration. “I’m going back to bed. Anyone who wants to is welcome to join me. And, you--” Feuilly pointed angrily at R “--don’t you disappear again.”
“I’m here for a good long while,” R answered, a smile appearing on his face.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac left soon after, and Jehan crashed in Feuilly’s bed. Bahorel left only after extracting promises from R that they would catch up soon, because he had missed so much, he would never guess what had happened in the last Batman.
When Joly finally declared R not a total disaster anymore, Musichetta and Bossuet dragged him home.
Eponine left after them, quietly saying, “Nicetomeetyoubye,” clearly not expecting anyone to notice.
“I’ll talk to you properly soon,” R called after her. She glanced behind her in surprise, and smiled.
“Okay,” she answered.
Cosette sighed and stood up. “If you need a place to sleep, you’re welcome with me, or with Papa. You need to call him tomorrow, by the way.”
“Thank you,” R said, and glanced at Enjolras.
“I think R’s set for now,” Enjolras said cautiously. R smiled slightly, and nodded.
“Bye, then,” Cosette said, and hugged R tightly, before leaving, glancing between the two with a slightly worried expression.
“You don’t mind me staying here?” R asked.
Enjolras smiled, and shook her head. “Please do,” she answered. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
R frowned, and said, “I’m sorry.”
“I mean, I’m still mad,” she added, frowning slightly.
“I deserve it,” Grantaire answered.
Enjolras nodded, and sighed. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “You can take a shower, if you want, and Feuilly probably has clothes that’d fit you.”
“Thanks,” R said, and disappeared into the bathroom. Enjolras went into her room and burrowed under the blankets again, and found herself hoping that R would sleep there, though she knew he wouldn’t. She knew he would sleep on the couch, because he was ridiculous.
She was about to drift off when R came in, and nearly pulled all the covers off her as he slid under them.
“Grantaire?” she asked sleepily, rolling over.
R looked confused, then said, “Sorry, I thought that this was what--I can sleep on the couch--”
“No,” Enjolras said, and wrapped her arms around him. “You can stay.”

Chapter Text

As a freelance writer, Enjolras could technically work from wherever she wanted to. Usually, she went to the library or a cafe or the park, if the weather was good, to make sure that she didn’t end up forgetting to leave the apartment. She was loathe to go somewhere else today, though, since R was working on something on his laptop, and she was a little afraid that if she let him out of her sight he would disappear again.
So she sat down on the loveseat, cross-legged, and went back to working on an article tearing apart gossip magazines, not paying attention to what R was doing.
“Hey, Enjy,” Grantaire said, poking her leg. She finished typing her sentence and looked up, still frowning slightly from concentration. “What do you think?”
For some reason, he was looking at real estate--in particular, a large farmhouse near the city limits. She looked at it blankly, then back at Grantaire.
“Seems a bit large for one person?” she offered.
Grantaire huffed in annoyance, and said, “No, shit. That’s the point.”
She looked back at the house, then at Grantaire again. “Sorry, I’m not getting it. Is there a secret message or something?”
“No, I was just thinking about--about starting this project. And this house isn’t horribly expensive, and there’s a barn, and a large yard, especially seeing as it’s not too far from the city…”
Enjolras closed her laptop and turned to fully face Grantaire. “Tell me about the project.”
Grantaire looked at her in surprise, then smiled softly. “It’s still in the early stages,” he warned, “and I’m not sure I can get all the people together that I’d need. But, you remember a while ago how we were talking about the failure of magic schools to give magic users a proper education?”
“Yeah?”
“Right, well, obviously I wouldn’t be a very good teacher, but if Feuilly, or anybody else, really, was willing to help, we might be able to have a space for magic users, especially battle magic users, to safely learn to control their magic, since obviously the schools aren’t doing a good job of it right now.”
Enjolras nodded slowly, her face unreadable.
“I mean,” Grantaire said quickly, looking away, “it probably won’t end up being anything, it was just a random thought, and I get random thoughts all the time. It wasn’t that great of an idea anyway--”
“You’d have to be registered with the state,” Enjolras interrupted thoughtfully, “but as long as you were registered as an educational institution, you should be able to get around the laws against battle magic.”
“You think?” he asked, straightening up and grinning.
“Talk to Courfeyrac or Marius,” she said, “they’d be able to tell you for certain. Have you talked to Feuilly yet?”
R shook his head. “You’re the first. I wasn’t sure if Feuilly would want to, you know, since they’re more into cooking magic than anything else--”
“I think you underestimate them,” Enjolras said. “What about Cosette?”
“She’s still in school,” R said, shaking his head. “Won’t graduate for another year and a half.”
“Are you just teaching magic?”
R frowned, and said, “If I could make it however I wanted...no. I wish that I’d gone to college, or at least that I’d had a chance. I’d like to make it a boarding school, too. Since magic doesn’t run in families, you know? Some families, like mine, shouldn’t really have magic users in them.”
Enjolras was nodding. “That’s a brilliant idea, R, I’m impressed.”
“What, didn’t think I was smart enough to think of it?” R asked, mouth twisting to one side.
“What? No. Didn’t realize you cared enough about this--or anything, really--to even think about putting so much effort into something.”
R sighed. “I don’t know if I believe in all your causes,” he said slowly, “since I know how people are about outsiders. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to give people the opportunity to live a normal life. That doesn’t mean I want people to have to live like I was.”
Enjolras’s eyes softened as she said, “And here I was, thinking you didn’t believe in anything.”
“I believe in some things,” R answered, rolling his eyes. “I believe in Feuilly’s cooking, and Cosette’s smile, and Bahorel’s jokes--sometimes I even believe in you.”
“Don’t believe in texting, though,” Enjolras said, her smile fading. She looked down at her lap, and frowned. “Don’t believe that we care about you.”
“I’m sick,” Grantaire answered softly, “I’m an alcoholic and depressed and I have troubles maintaining relationships. And I know that’s not an excuse, but--I just--it wasn’t because I don’t care about you, about all of you.”
Enjolras didn’t answer, just nodded slightly, and they sat in silence for a long, tense moment.
Eventually she broke it, saying, “If you start a school, you have to stop disappearing.”
“I’m trying,” he said. “I’m trying so fucking hard.”
“I can’t ask for more,” Enjolras answered, “Even if I want to.”

***

TEN YEARS LATER:

The new students huddled in a corner. They made a strange group, with the youngest at ten and the oldest at seventeen, but they were easily identifiable by their general aura of fear. At least someone had finally been smart enough to forbid Enjolras from going near them for the first couple of days (none of the adults ever expressly said why politics and english classes didn’t start until the second week of classes, but there were rumors, more than one dealing with werewolves which didn’t even make sense since clearly the full moon was weeks ago, god, Grantaire, those students really needed to take a science course).
The older students were cockier, chatting in pairs or trios, though since the school had just moved buildings, they got lost just as often as the newcomers. Unlike the new students, though, they could easily greet the teachers by name, or, in Cosette’s case, follow her in droves. She was famously the kindest, and prettiest, of the magic teachers, and people were always ecstatic to be put with her. Honestly, though, they were happy with Feuilly or Grantaire, too--it was Eponine that everyone tried to avoid. Her students would entertain the others with stories of classes where she just sat and glared at them if they didn’t get it right, though the instant any of the other students tried to mock her, a fist fight would usually break out.

The new building was a renovated hotel, three floors, with the top having the student’s rooms, the second all the classrooms, and the first rooms for the staff who lived there, as well as the large room they were in now, which served as both living and dining room.
Enjolras and Grantaire came out of their suite, heads bowed together, arguing heatedly, but holding hands. Despite living together, there were absolutely no rumors about their relationship: the first time Enjolras had heard a student saying anything even implying a romance between them, she had launched into a tirade that had made four students cry. Now, the students quelched the rumors themselves.
Everyone quieted when they saw the two, the new students a beat after the others.
“I don’t see why I can’t,” Enjolras said, her voice suddenly clear in the new silence.
R rolled his eyes. “Like the government doesn’t hate us enough already?” he asked. “It’s on three different lists of banned books--”
Grantaire looked up, suddenly noticing all the students staring at them, in addition to Cosette and Marius, who looked amused and resigned, respectively. Marius had, so far, made little to no progress getting Enjolras to follow the law--though, as she would point out, nobody had won a lawsuit against them yet.
“Hi,” Enjolras said. “Glad to see you all managed to survive the summer.”
“Enjolras, don’t try to be funny,” Grantaire murmured, while the students nervously laughed. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“Then you say something,” she answered, but gave him an encouraging grin and squeezed his hand, before going over to stand next to Cosette, who instantly engaged her in a whispered conversation.
“All right,” Grantaire said, and all the students looked over at him. “I hope you all didn’t get too lost during orientation. Classes, as you all should know, start today. As you should also know, using any magic in any form on anything living is strictly forbidden and, yes, that includes yourself, as well as the area directly around a living being, Gavroche.”
A few people laughed, glancing at Gavroche, who just grinned at R, completely nonplussed.
“You’re all here to learn, and I hope that you all remember that even one incident could prove, to some people, that all magic users are dangerous. It sucks that you have to represent magic users all the time, but that’s the world we live in.”
Everyone was silent for a moment, and while some of the students (mostly the new ones) looked bored, most were somewhere between angry and determined.
When R didn’t add anything else, Cosette said, “So everyone get to class.”
All the students got up and headed towards the stairs, some waving to R as they went past. Enjolras waited for him before walking upstairs together.
“If you give the kids those books, I’ll murder you,” R warned.
Enjolras grinned and said, “No, you won’t. You love me.”
Grantaire shoved her with his shoulder, but was smiling when he went into his classroom.