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“Come on, Grantaire, please? You know my foster sister only visits once a month,” Feuilly said, leaning forward onto the coffee table. “They only want a mascot anyway, none of the other acts. What do I have to do to get you to cover for me?”
Feuilly ran a one-man children’s party entertainment act. He was the magician, the animal mascot, the juggler, and the ‘bubbles man’. Usually he would change costume in between acts, but sometimes got Grantaire would fill in as magician and mascot when he needed a break. Other times, families only booked one act instead of all four. There really was money to be made in the entertainment industry, Grantaire mused, as he looked around Feuilly’s relatively nice apartment with its sprawling curtained windows letting in the right amount of sunlight and its wonderfully fluffy carpet on which he was sitting cross-legged.
“I don’t know, man, debasing myself in front of children is kind of a high price to pay, if you ask me,” said Grantaire, taking a sip of his coffee. “Maybe if…”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe I’ll do it, if you watch that one musical with me,” Grantaire grinned. “You know the one, set in the 1800s France, tons of singing—“
“Les Despodentles?” Feuilly sputtered. “Why do you keep watching that one, you already know you’re going to cry by the end of it, what’s the point—“
“Les Des is a beauty, okay, Feuilly?” said Grantaire, defensive. “Anyway, the fun for me is getting you to cry by the end of it.”
“Fine,” Feuilly sighed. “But no photos of me crying.”
“Deal.”
“Thanks, R, really,” said Feuilly. “The party’s on Friday, at 6, at this address.” He slid a piece of paper with neat print across the table.
“All right,” said Grantaire, downing the rest of his coffee. “There’s no turning back now.”
***
Enjolras loved his friends very much, but sometimes they were the worst. For example, his birthday party had a mascot. He was twenty-seven, not seven.
Well, at least they really fixed up Combeferre’s yard. Instead of Combeferre’s usual stargazing apparatus strewn around, they had lawn chairs and circle tables spread out through the yard, and in front of the tables was a little red platform Bahorel probably had to make earlier today. Hung up through the yard were fairy lights, probably Jehan’s touch to the celebration. It was nice, Enjolras supposed, homey.
“Here’s the birthday boy!” Courfeyrac clapped his back with one arm, clutching a glass of champagne. “How you feeling, big guy?”
“Please don’t call me ‘big guy,’” Enjolras said, snatching Courfeyrac’s champagne and taking a sip. “You guys didn’t have to do this, you know. I would have been fine with dinner at our usual place.”
“Enjolras, I love you,” Courfeyrac gave him a look, “but you would have been fine with takeout curry by yourself at the office. And anyway, you didn’t get a proper kiddie party when we were kids, so here we are now! It’s mandatory. Chin up, the mascot’s coming soon!”
“Mascot? Courf, you know I hate mascots, they’re always so creepy,” Enjolras protested, champagne glass swishing. Courfeyrac shushed him, grabbed the glass, and in one smooth move ushered him into a lawn chair in the middle of the yard, flanked with a dozen helium balloons on each side. “Courfeyrac, we aren’t going to release the balloons, okay, that’s—“
“—Dangerous for the turtles and other organisms that eat jellyfish, I know, E,” Courfeyrac reassured him. “You keep forgetting I’m the one who majored in Environmental Science here—”
The doorbell rang.
“Shit, the mascot’s early! Where the fuck are the rest of them?” Courfeyrac muttered, hurrying off to greet the mascot. “Enj, stay here, wait in your special chair, and if you want to be helpful, call the others or something, that’ll get them here quick.”
“Fine,” Enjolras leaned back in his lawn chair and pulled out his phone.
[To: Combeferre, Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, Jehan, Bahorel, Marius, Cosette, Eponine]
Courfeyrac wants you all here rn. Mascot’s here, apparently.
[From: Combeferre]
Well that’s nice. I’ll be there in a bit.
[To: Combeferre]
See you soon.
[From: Bossuet]
uhh enjolras im really sorry joly and i will be kind of late? I mightve accidentally fallen into a manhole and joly’s trying to clean me but also freaking out at the same time so like maybe in thirty minutes?
[To: Bossuet]
Do you need anything? I could come over there, since the party hasn’t exactly started.
[From: Bossuet]
nah we’re good thansk
[From: Jehan]
Oh courf didn’t tell me she hired a mascot!! Are they nice?? Bahorel just picked me and marius up btw we’re on our way there
[To: Jehan]
I’m waiting in the yard so I haven’t really met them yet. You can tell for yourself if they’re nice once you get here tho
[From: Cosette]
Musichetta, Eponine and I are almost there just you wait
[To: Cosette]
See you guys soon.
“There’s the birthday boy!” Courfeyrac swept through the door to the yard. “Here’s our mascot for tonight.”
Behind her entered a man in his late twenties to early thirties, with the lower half of him dressed as some kind of fuzzy animal and the upper half a normal human being. He grinned at Enjolras.
“I was kind of expecting a smaller birthday boy, but this is okay too,” he said. “I’m Grantaire, human by day, furry by night. Hope you don’t mind that I haven’t fully put on the costume, by the way, it’s hot as hell in there.”
“No, it’s fine, Grantaire, I get it,” Enjolras replied, gesturing to Grantaire to sit down. This mascot didn’t seem so bad. “Feel free to take off the lower part of the costume, it’s probably boiling in that.”
“…I would do that,” Grantaire hesitated, “if I were wearing pants underneath.”
Enjolras snorted unexpectedly.
“Oh my god,” Courfeyrac giggled. “I like you. You wanna stay after your performance? We got booze.”
“Well, who am I to turn down free booze?” he smiled at her. He did have a nice smile. His teeth weren’t straight, sure, but Enjolras thought it was nicer that way. His dark eyes crinkled up, too, which looked quite lovely.
***
The guests slowly trickled in, beginning with three women, and ending in a very familiar pair of men arriving twenty minutes after.
“Grantaire?!” Joly and Bossuet chorused upon spotting Grantaire, Joly leaning on his cane and Bossuet holding Joly’s other hand.
“What are you guys doing here?” Grantaire laughed. “I’m covering for Feuilly.”
“Oh, what, you’re working?” Joly asked.
“Man, here I thought we’d get to hang out tonight,” Bossuet said.
“Courfeyrac said it’d be cool if I stayed after my performance. She also asked me to make my performance extra kiddy, because apparently the birthday boy didn’t get a birthday mascot as a child.”
“Why does everyone think that’s a prerequisite for a good childhood, I’m fine, thank you very much,” Enjolras interrupted, mock-pouting.
“Aww, I was beginning to think you were too old for the pouting, thanks for proving me wrong,” teased Grantaire.
“Wait, you two know each other!” Joly accused, finger swiveling dramatically between Grantaire and Enjolras. “Why didn’t you tell me this, R, we could’ve had so much fun during meetings!”
“Actually, we just met thirty minutes ago…?” Grantaire said, sending a questioning look at Enjolras. Enjolras shrugged.
Meanwhile, Courfeyrac had taken the platform. She cleared her throat. “Now is the moment you have all been waiting for! Reach under your lawn chairs and enjoy!”
“Courf, they’re just party hats,” a guy with glasses—Combeferre, Enjolras informed him—told her. In his hand was, indeed, a party hat with the colors of the French flag wrapping around it.
“I told you to enjoy, Combeferre, so sit your cute ass down and enjoy your party hat,” Courfeyrac scolded. Once everyone had put on their party hat, she continued. “We are now going to proceed to tonight’s main act—Gigi the Giraffe! Cue the music!”
Grantaire’s goofy background music blared from the speakers. He began to do his silly dance, bending and unbending his knees, wiggling his butt, hands in circular motions to the music. He watched Enjolras’s face turn red with secondhand embarrassment. Enjolras was mouthing something to himself, “shameless,” Grantaire read. He grinned. It’s actually far less embarrassing to be doing this when he’s in a costume and getting paid to do it.
Grantaire picked Courfeyrac up from her chair, Courfeyrac already fast picking up the simple steps. Some people joined them as well—Combeferre, a mass of bright lavender hair named Jehan, a guy Grantaire knew vaguely from gym (Bahorel?), and the three women who arrived first. The only ones left in their seats were a collection of freckles he knew as Marius, Joly who was dancing in his seat and waving his cane around, Bossuet who got accidentally hit by Joly’s cane, and the birthday boy himself.
Grantaire smirked. He took Enjolras quickly by the hand and led him up to the platform.
“Aw, no, Grantaire,” Enjolras protested, still holding his hand.
“Come on, birthday boy, you can do it,” Grantaire’s voice was muffled by the giraffe costume. He gripped Enjolras’s wrists to make them do the circular motion. Enjolras threw his head back and laughed.
Grantaire felt his chest constrict.
Enjolras was gorgeous, yes, Grantaire knew that for sure. He had eyes, how could he not? But it takes a special almost unearthly quality for gorgeous to become beautiful. Enjolras was beautiful—and funny, and nice to strangers he had only just met, and snorted when he found something amusing.
And Grantaire was fucked.
***
After the party settled down, the cake served and the champagne consumed, Grantaire was wearing his giraffe butt and a t-shirt, and was doodling as people chattered around him. Someone had given him the gift wrap from Enjolras’s presents and a pen.
“What are you drawing?” Enjolras himself plopped down next to him and peered at his doodles. Grantaire lifted it up, mimicking a child showing his mother something to hang on the fridge.
“It’s a what-if-you-guys-were-dogs kind of thing, see,” Grantaire had drawn Bahorel as a German Shepherd, which was frankly kind of obvious, Joly as a Yorkshire terrier and a tiny cane, Bossuet as a Smooth Collie with a bandage on its head, and Musichetta was a beagle with its paw raised playfully between Joly and Bossuet. Combeferre was a Doberman peering at the viewer with round glasses on, and Courfeyrac as a Shetland Sheepdog wagging its tail. Marius was a Retriever puppy, with its big round eyes staring dolefully at Cosette the Golden Retriever and Eponine the Czechoslovakian wolf-dog. He hadn’t designated one for Jehan yet, he was debating between a Pomeranian and a Labrador.
“Which one are you?” Enjolras asked.
“Oh, I haven’t drawn one of me,” Grantaire replied, “but since you insist…” He began sketching a Shiba Inu looking at the viewer with raised eyebrows.
“God damn it, Grantaire, why do you get to be a meme,” Enjolras joked.
“I haven’t drawn one for you either, I could make you a meme too,” Grantaire replied, eyebrows raised like the Shiba Inu. Enjolras laughed. “You know, for some reason, it’s really hard to draw you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, for everyone else, there’s always this defining feature that lets you recognize it’s them, like Combeferre and his glasses, or Marius and his freckles. When you’re drawing a caricature, you should exaggerate those features,” Grantaire explained, hands gesticulating. “But for you, hmm, it’s really hard.”
“Because I have no defining features?” Enjolras asked.
“No, because you have so many that it’s hard to choose which one to incorporate,” Grantaire said. “Like, it could be the eyes, or the hair, or your nose, or your mouth, or anything, really.”
“Even my ears?”
“Even your ears.”
“Why, are my ears weird?”
“It’s not that they’re weird, it’s that everything about you is very defining, you know?” Grantaire couldn’t really put it in words, but he was trying. “If I try putting all that on paper, it wouldn’t be you anymore, you get it?”
“So you can’t draw me because…?”
“Because putting your face on a piece of paper wouldn’t capture all of your face. Like, all your expressions and movement and stuff, you feel me? The only thing that would do you justice is you,” Grantaire felt like he was drunkenly rambling despite only having two glasses of champagne. It was frustrating, to say the least, when he couldn’t articulate properly what he meant.
“Oh,” Enjolras seemed to understand. He covered his mouth with his hand, and felt himself slowly turn red.
“Are you all right?” Grantaire asked concernedly. Was it really so weird to say that? Was he out of line or something?
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Enjolras said with an unreadable expression on his face. “Listen, I really hope I’m reading this right but, uh, would you like to get coffee sometime?”
“Yes,” Grantaire blurted out, a second too quickly. “I’d love to.”
“Great,” Enjolras said. He leaned over and kissed Grantaire on the cheek. He handed Grantaire his phone and told him to input his number. “Great, I’ll text you the details tomorrow.”
“Happy birthday, by the way,” Grantaire said, a probably lovesick grin making its existence known on his face. Enjolras beamed at him, and Grantaire felt his chest constrict yet again.
Enjolras made his way over to where Courfeyrac was delightedly watching the exchange from across the yard, eyes practically sparkling.
“So… got something you wanted to say to me?” Courfeyrac asked smugly.
“Thank you, Courfeyrac, the almighty and ever knowledgeable, the mascot you hired was really nice,” Enjolras said reluctantly, still smiling. “I got a date with him too.”
“Oh my god, best birthday present ever,” Courfeyrac squealed. “I was actually expecting you to say something along the lines of ‘Gosh, Courf, you planned a great party,’ but you getting a date with the hot mascot guy is also great. Happy birthday, Enj!”
***
Epilogue
Enjolras sank into Grantaire’s couch as Grantaire put the DVD into the player. “What are we watching again?”
“It’s this musical called Les Despodentles, France 1800s, featuring a revolution bit which I think you’d appreciate,” Grantaire said. “There’s this one guy with a red coat who reminds me of you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I bet you were him in a past life or something.”
***Fin***