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[Video opens with different snapshots of a room at VidCon. The camera zooms in on the stage where three blonde women are speaking. Some default iMovie tune plays in the background. One with short, blonde hair is gesticulating wildly at the audience. A silent scream erupts from behind the camera. It then points down at a lanyard with his name and channel on it. A caption underneath says Best of Youtube. There's indecipherable, ecstatic mumbling before the scene cuts off to Grantaire's face, knit cap over his curls, looking breathlessly happy.
"What's up, internet! Hello from my first ever VidCon at Anaheim, LA! This is Day 1, I can't believe I'm here, wow. Just look at this, look at all this."
The camera then swivels around the atrium, hundreds of people talking and milling around at booths. It lingers for a moment on a booth in the far end, where there is a tall, blond man surrounded by a small group of teenagers. It pans back to Grantaire. The video shakes slightly as he walks through the crowd. People chatter loudly in the background.
"There is so many people here. And all those YouTubers that you always see but can never touch and you don't actually know whether they are real or just figments of your imagination? Well, I've seen them walk past me and they're real alright."
As if to prove his point, Troye Sivan strolls into view right next to him followed by a stream of shy fanpeople, and Grantaire's jaw drops a little bit. His wide eyes follow the retreating back of the youtuber, before he looks back at the camera. He mouths a silent "wow".
Someone beside him jostles his elbow and he startles back into a walk. He walks towards the side of the atrium with a smattering of booths in the corner.
"Courfeyrac tells me that he's part of some other sketch video channel that has a booth here so I'm going to go take a look before it's time for my meet and greet. If you don't know who he is, please check out his channel, it's pretty funny stuff-"
A box with a link to the aforementioned person's channel 'therealestCourfeyrac' appears in the corner of the video.
The video cuts off and suddenly Grantaire is standing in front of a booth titled StudioAmis. Grinning at the camera is a man with the whitest teeth and hair as black as Grantaire's, but with curls less wild and more artfully tussled. A link to 'therealestCourfeyrac' appears on his face this time.
"Greetings, Grantaire’s gentle viewers. Tis I, therealestCourfeyrac, at your viewing pleasure.” Here, Courfeyrac waves his hands in a dramatic flourish and curves in a low bow. There’s a high pitched squeal from somewhere off the camera. He turns to the direction of the squeal to meet a young fan, who he then proceeds to charm off her feet.
“And there he goes. To charm yet another beautiful stranger as he neglects my poor, lonely heart.” The video turns back to Grantaire, who looks back at the camera with a droll face.
“Courfeyrac! I need your help!” There’s a yell over the noise of bustling people. Grantaire turns to recognise the sound. The same tall, blond man his camera had glossed over in the video before walks into view, skintight black jeans and plaid shirt seemingly casual yet formal. It hangs beautifully around his tall frame. He looks like he is barely eighteen, but gives off the mature aura of someone with a weight on his shoulders . He has a disdainful and serious expression as Courfeyrac twirls one of his fans, gold hair fanning across his forehead and curling at his collar.
Grantaire utters a small gasp that is caught by the camera when the man shifts away from Courfeyrac and stares at him right in the eye.]
The blond man’s eyes widen and he appears to forget all about Courfeyrac. He immediately strides towards Grantaire. He freezes once he is close enough and he opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it. He opens it again, looks tortured but ends up speaking anyway.
“Um, wow, I just-” The man makes a face at himself. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
Grantaire stares up at him in shock. He hopes he’s not drooling. “What?”
“I mean, you’re… you.” The man gestures at him, as if that is somehow supposed to clarify everything. It doesn’t.
“I am very much my own person, yes. But I don’t understand.”
Staring at him as if he is an idiot, the man gasps out a breathy, “You’re Grantaire” as if it is supposed to mean something. Like Grantaire’s question (or not-question) was about the meaning of life and his name was the answer. It’s not. Grantaire is just about to sigh in disappointment when the blond man looks mortfied.
“I’m sorry, let me do this again,” says the man. He rubs his hand nervously on his shirt before sticking it out. “Hi, I’m Enjolras and I love you. And your work.”
Grantaire frowns in confusion. Either he is currently dreaming or this beautiful man, who by his lanyard is also a YouTuber, is actually complimenting his shitastic channel. “Oh, uh, thanks I guess.”
“You inspired me to start StudioAmis and I can’t believe I finally get to meet you in person. I’ve been watching your videos ever since you first started YouTube and I’ve always wanted to see you and talk to you about the amazing stuff you put out there-”
It appears that once Enjolras starts, he can’t be stopped, and he waxes philosophical for at least ten minutes about how absolutely wonderful Grantaire’s videos are. How it inspires people to think differently and how despite it seeming overused and cheap, most of his sketches and music were actually surprisingly introspective takes on society. How cynicism creeps through his videos despite how happy and ridiculous they all sound, how he is changing society one person at a time.
The longer Enjolras speaks, the more stunned Grantaire gets. He knows that his channel is somewhat popular and that he has a decent following (God knows why people like little videos of him spewing opinionated crap through repetitive songs but it’s giving him his paycheck so he can’t complain) but to think that he can have inspired someone is unbelievable.
Enjolras trails off when he sees how shocked and disbelieving Grantaire looks and he blushes and steels himself. “Sorry, I get carried away when I get excited.”
“NO!” Grantaire shouts as his mind shuts down cause what the fuck, this man has an ass to die for and the both of them jerk back at his loud voice. Enjolras stares at him like he has lost it, which Grantaire will give it to him because his thoughts are all over the place. Not only is Enjolras complimenting him, he admires him, he looks up to him, he finds him inspiring and he likes him. Hearing it from someone talk about him with such dedication is so different from reading detached comments.
A dark-skinned man standing behind the StudioAmis booth sporting a distinctly librarian look with a warm sweater vest turns away from two industrialists he is talking to. Courfeyrac and his final fanperson stop talking excitedly to stare at the two of them questioningly. At least five other VidCon attendees are watching with bated breath.
“Fuck, I mean, no, you look fine, wait, no, I mean you sound fine. You’re not carried away at all. I love it when people talk about me, wait what?” Grantaire facepalms himself and he hears a laugh. He pulls off his knit cap in frustration. “I should stop talking, I’m an abominable human.”
Grantaire feels cold sweat trickle at the back of his neck, and his stomach twinges in discomfort. Too many people are looking at him and his mind refuses to work.
And it’s not going to work unless people look away from him. It’s okay on YouTube when he knows he’s not really up in front of them. It’s harder to pick him apart when there’s a screen between each other. He gets his fair share of hate but the endless stream of “u gay fgt, suk my dick” doesn’t bother him. It’s different when he’s at a panel or at a meet and greet, where he’s had time to get himself ready for the attention, when he knows it will be his fans who will be looking at him. But this? This unnecessary attention, with passersby ogling at him because of his stupid outbursts? It’s terrible and he hates it.
His mind fills with white noise as he struggles to take a breath until he feels someone place a hand on his shoulder. He jolts a little at the contact but it’s not unwelcome.
“Breathe, love, it’s okay,” Courfeyrac whispers in his ear as he squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, Enjolras, didn’t see you there, so what did you need me for?”
He easily defuses the awkward tension on the floor with his casual demeanour. People abandon the scene as they realise it isn’t actually as dramatic as they thought. Grantaire breathes a sigh of relief at the decrease in attention and he feels his chest and his body loosen out.
Enjolras shifts from foot to foot in restlessness. His face is concerned but confused. He retreats slightly. “I’m sorry, did I do something-”
“No, it’s just, I say stupid things sometimes and I don’t always react well to when people stop at and stare at me for no reason,” Grantaire says as he waves it off. There’s a slight pool of disappointment in his belly though. Just when someone hot is enraptured with him, he has to scare him off with his anxious tendencies. Jesus.
“We can, uh, talk at a less crowded place? I know a coffee place a couple streets from here while I went exploring with Combeferre two days ago after arriving from New York.” He waves at the man behind the booth. “There aren't many people because it’s not a Starbucks.”
Grantaire’s eyes light up, and he gawks at him. “You still want to talk to me?”
“Of course!” His miserable face dissolves instantly and Enjolras’ enthusiasm is explosive again. “I’ll always want to talk to you!”
His reply makes Grantaire smile. “I have a meet and greet in three hours.” He says, teasing.
Enjolras visibly deflates at that but then Grantaire raises a hand to motion at the door of the expo hall. “But I think I’ll have some time for coffee, lead the way.”
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“Okay so basically, StudioAmis is a social justice and sketch comedy group. We mostly do political satire and comedy, and we update weekly. We occasionally participate in rallies as well. I don’t know whether you’ve watched it but it will be amazing if you can join us in collabs sometimes. I mean you don’t have to because you know, freedom of choice and consent but I wi- I mean, we will love to have you.” Enjolras says, his hands animatedly gesturing. The more he speaks, the more excited he gets, and the closer his face moves. If Enjolras can physically induct Grantaire into the channel, he probably will.
Grantaire sips at his vanilla latte. It’s a tangible sweetness and is actually perfect on the tongue. It’s probably not as sweet as Enjolras’s caramel macchiato. (With soy milk and extra caramel syrup, because of course a person like him loves sweet drinks.) He’ll miss this coffee shop once he has to fly back to New York. “What makes you think I will?”
“Because you mu- sorry, I mean you have the choice to of course, but since your channel interests align with ours, you might like to help us too.”
“They don’t exactly align,” Grantaire says, grinning.
“But you point out the problems in society, however sarcastic you are in your videos, and it’s obvious you hate it.” Enjolras states, looking perplexed.
Sighing a little, Grantaire lowers his coffee and inclines himself towards him as a mirror to Enjolras. “Yeah, because a lot of it is fucked up and people deserve to know that it’s fucked up. And it will be nice if people saw my videos and decided to change because of it, but I can’t say a large portion of my demographic were shaken up because of how secretly deep my videos are. They probably stay for the random mentions of sex and drugs, despite its ironic usage. I’m not some truth-speaking messiah for my viewers.”
This does not seem to deter Enjolras. If anything, it intensifies him even more. He reaches to grip Grantaire’s wrist and Grantaire’s eyes drop down to the hand wrapped around him. He looks back up to see Enjolras gazing intently at him, blue eyes all expectant and beseeching. Grantaire avoids Enjolras’ eyes. Or his face. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably and adjusts his pants. He inspects his camera intently, noting the way the sunlight from the window reflects off the lens. Grantaire looks up, and Enjolras is still staring at him. He is half inclined to agree just so that Enjolras will stop looking at him like that. It’s not unwelcome attention per se, but if Enjolras continues any longer, Grantaire might actually combust right there.
“You can’t deny that some of your videos are eye openers for people, and they do learn from this. It’s impactful and they’ll remember your message, they’ll remember you because you told them that rape is ‘50 shades of fucked up’ for example. The messages you spread are beneficial to society, so don’t you want to spread that even more? We can do it together, you can help us better our content.”
Grantaire pulls his hand back to his chest and Enjolras’ hand drops to the table. He does not move it away though. “You’ll regret asking me out sooner or later.”
“So does this mean, you’ll join?” Enjolras exclaims, brightening up significantly. He leans even closer and Grantaire can smell a hint of caramel on Enjolras’ breath.
Because Grantaire has the worst luck in the world (except compared to Bossuet perhaps), his phone rings at that very moment and they leap apart. The caller ID shows an Eponine Thenardier. Grantaire mumbles a hurried apology and he picks up his phone. Half of him wants to kill Eponine for ruining the moment, the other half of him wants to thank her for ruining the moment. He’s indecisive like that.
“Hey, Ep, what’s up?” He asks, as he gulps down another mouthful of his spectacular coffee. “How’s your day job?”
There’s the sound of cutlery and plates in the background, the whoosh of the coffeemaker. Someone yells ‘Chai Tea Soy Latte with two caramel shots for a Bob!’ but suddenly there’s a click and the sound becomes muffled. Eponine must have entered a backroom.
“Terrible,” she says. “I’d rather be at VidCon right now talking to famous YouTubers than deal with another crazy customer who can’t handle his coffee without two extra shots of whipped cream. But I've taken enough off days as it is and my promotion is on the line. And the two new trainees all sucks balls and keep messing up orders, it's like an apocalypse over here. Okay but that’s not the point. I hope you’ve been having a great time at VidCon because I have some bad news for you.”
Dread runs through Grantaire as he awaits Eponine to break whatever news she has got for him. It must be obvious because Enjolras stills and eyes him in apprehension.
“You know our shitty landlady? She’s finally did it. She kicked us out.” Eponine bites out. “Apparently we have a fucking termite infestation and she blamed it on us and now we’re fucking out. I don’t even know whether that’s legal and I swear there was no termite infestation a week ago. Like you’d think I would notice a termite infestation. But yeah, we’re out.”
Grantaire scowls. “She can’t kick us out of the apartment because of that. There isn't even any evidence."
Enjolras looks furious upon hearing it. A calculative expression flashes across his face, and he sinks down into his chair, a look of deep contemplation on his face. Grantaire doesn’t want to know what he’s thinking.
“Well, she’s been trying to get rid of us for weeks. Says we've been ruining her hot water heater or some shit like that. She gives us two days to move out before she calls someone on our case and she’s enough trouble as it is.” Eponine sighs.
“So, you’re telling me I have two days to find a place before she calls the cops and unleashes hell on us?”
“Pretty much.” Eponine says drily. “I called Cosette, she’s okay with us sleeping over for the time being-”
Enjolras sits up suddenly from his seat and blurts out, “I have a place!”
He is loud enough that it travels even across the phone, and of course, Eponine with her keen sense of hearing for everything useful hears it.
“Who’s that?” She asks, and Grantaire can almost hear the grin in her voice.
Grantaire looks back to Enjolras, who has retreated back into his seat in embarrassment. It’s frankly speaking, a little cute.
He answers evasively. “I’ll call you back.”
“You’d better.” Eponine cackles and the call ends, the dial tone reverberating in his ear.
He puts down the phone. Enjolras looks hesitant, but his eyes betray his hopefulness. There was a time when Grantaire wasn’t as desperate as this, when he wouldn’t just grasp at every promising opportunity. But, there’s something interesting about Enjolras that makes him crazier than he already is and if he is going to join that channel of Enjolras’ (who’s he kidding he was hooked the moment Enjolras plaintively looked at him), it’s something he’ll have to get used to. It’s probably the blond hair that did it.
(It’s not.)
Grantaire waits for Enjolras to say something, to retract the statement, but the silence hangs between them heavily. Grantaire feels like a kitten, and Enjolras just hung his favourite feathery toy from a stick and is dangling it above him, fully knowing that he’ll probably grab at it, if not fucking pounce. He finally gives up and rests his chin against his fist in a thoughtful incline.
“So, Enjolras, tell me about this place of yours.”