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It is a truth universally acknowledged that a graduate student in possession of too much fucking stress must be in want of some sort of relaxation.
Enjolras brushes past more strangers than he can keep track of as he single-mindedly speed-walks down the sidewalk. As he covers block after block, he doesn’t heed the crosswalk lights unless there’s a car coming straight at him. There’s so much going on in his mind at the moment, but he doesn’t know what to do with any of it. All he knows is that he needs to calm the fuck down.
Walking down a bustling street surely isn’t going to do that for him.
His savior comes in the form of an inconspicuous-looking bookshop. The cute signage informs Enjolras that the bookshop is called “Les Livres du Chat Somnolent” and makes him wonder what inspired the name. His tired and stressed out brain tells him that the shop must be owned by a sleepy cat, but his common sense tells him that, unless he magically traveled to a world where cats can own businesses, his presumptions might be wrong.
Eager to satiate his curiosity, Enjolras pushes open the half door—the top half was already open, leaving the bottom half closed—and enters. Despite the door that should allow noise from the street in, the interior of the bookshop is rather quiet and cozy. It’s… peaceful. Enjolras decides right then and there that he might become a regular customer.
After peering around the curved bookshelves towards the front, he gets his answer as to why the shop is named the way it is.
“Welcome!” a soft voice rings out. It belongs to the man seated at the table tucked in the corner. He looks about Enjolras’s age, and even from a distance, his blue eyes are vibrant. In front of him is an extraordinarily fluffy white cat.
Enjolras establishes that he will become a regular customer.
For the cat.
And to support a small business selling second-hand books.
… and maybe because the owner of the shop is really cute?
“What’s the cat’s name?” he asks quietly to avoid disturbing the peaceful atmosphere and the sleeping kitty.
“Her name is Marshmallow,” the owner replies, smiling down at the cat curled up in her fluffy bed. There’s a cat tree next to the table with a toy mouse dangling from it. “She’s our resident sleepy cat.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Enjolras’s mouth, and he feels lighter than he has in weeks. The pile of papers that he still needs to grade easily takes a backseat in his mind, and this quaint bookshop replaces its spot at the forefront. He nods to acknowledge what the owner has said and turns to browse the shelves.
The selection of books isn’t as complete as other stores Enjolras has visited, but he can’t bring himself to mind at all. This shop has personality, not only in the cat dozing in her bed or the owner idly petting her, but in the carefully curated bookshelves. They’re colorful and pleasing to look at. Enjolras can spend hours here if he wanted to.
He does. That goes without saying.
There are tables too, with a variety of different books laid out flat on them, and smaller shelves labeled “Staff Picks”. Enjolras wonders if these are the books that the cute owner enjoys and recommends, and if so, he has excellent taste.
He turns around to look at Marshmallow and her human, whose name still remains unknown. Enjolras watches him cut out what appear to be postcards while humming under his breath and glances at the cards in the baskets out front. There are art supplies on another table near the one the owner is sitting at, and Enjolras wonders-
“Do you paint those?”
The owner nods, dark curls springing about his face endearingly. “The profits I make from them go to food and toys for Marshmallow, though, like any other cat, she prefers cardboard boxes. It’s still nice to try and see what else she might be entertained by.”
Marshmallow slowly blinks her eyes open and lifts her head to stare at Enjolras. Enjolras stares right back. A small giggle interrupts his impromptu staring contest with a cat. He stretches a hand out before freezing and asks, “May I pet her?”
“If she consents to it,” the owner replies. Enjolras really should ask him for his name at some point.
“That’s extremely reasonable.” He holds his hand out, allowing her to sniff at it. Much to his delight, Marshmallow gives his fingers a tiny lick and shoves her head into his palm. “Oh, that is precious.”
“Mhm. You must be a good person if she accepts you so easily.”
“I, er- I like to try,” Enjolras responds sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck with the hand that isn’t occupied by the cat. “My field does allow for a lot of nuance and many different definitions of what a ‘good person’ constitutes.”
“Political science,” the owner agrees grimly. “Good luck. I don’t envy you.”
“You seem to speak from experience.”
“I got my degree in philosophy. Thankfully, I run this bookshop instead.”
Enjolras hums in agreement before checking his phone. He grimaces at the time. “We’ll have to talk more when I’m not about to be late to a class I teach.”
“Well, what are you still doing here? Get going!” the owner exclaims, making tiny shooing motions.
“Right… thanks for everything!”
In his hurry, Enjolras doesn’t see the bewildered expression on the owner’s face because of what he said or Marshmallow staring after him.
“Hello, Marshmallow,” Enjolras greets in a loud whisper the second time he steps foot into Les Livres du Chat Somnolent. The little bell dings cheerfully.
This time, he isn’t in a hurry, so he can take the time to properly find something to purchase. He felt bad last time for leaving without buying anything, be it a book or a postcard to support the shop.
Marshmallow predictably remains asleep, proving the name of the bookshop accurate, but her ears twitch in acknowledgement. Enjolras will take it. He looks around. Now… where might her human be? There’s nobody else in the shop at the moment, so Enjolras takes the opportunity to browse through the shelves. He strays away from the philosophy and biography section in favor of searching through the literature shelves.
He came here to relax, not to study after all.
“Oh, you’re back.”
Enjolras turns around, feeling a smile bloom on his face. “I am.”
“Did you want to pet Marshmallow?” the owner asks, and his eyes sparkle. Holy shit.
Enjolras hurries over in two long strides. Now properly in front of the owner, he can see that he is wearing a shirt with a cat pun on it. That’s fucking adorable. Marshmallow is still soundly asleep in her fluffy bed. What a precious kitty.
“How much does she sleep every day?” Enjolras asks, running a hand over her back.
“A lot. Enough for the shop to have its name, and it’s good because the noise from outside as well as the louder customers don't disturb her.”
“That makes sense.”
At the lull in conversation, Enjolras glances around while the owner starts cutting out postcards again. The shop is definitely eccentric, to say the least. Slightly vintage, though he has no idea if that’s an accurate description. A typewriter sits on another table and mini jukeboxes line the top shelves, interspersed between the books on display. The shelf closest to them has Polaroids, and squinting a little, Enjolras notices that they all feature Marshmallow with strangers who must be customers.
“Your shop is cute,” he remarks. “It’s like a little time machine here.”
“I could secretly be from the future, and you’d never know. Marshmallow could be an alien.”
“Then she would be the cutest alien.”
The owner huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “That she would, that she would.” He gestures toward the Polaroid shelf. “I can take a picture of you with Marshmallow, if you want.”
“Maybe later. Right now, you should tell me all about your favorite books,” Enjolras suggests. “Erm, if you have time, obviously.”
“... do you want a chair?”
Enjolras beams.
Even after an hour of chatting, he still doesn’t know his companion’s name. It’s okay, though, because he knows that he’s smart, sarcastic in an extremely charming manner, and blushes easily. Enjolras learns that last fact after staring very intently into his blue eyes with his chin propped in his hands while listening to him ramble about Sartre.
His blush is cute too.
Enjolras is more than a little captivated. This bookshop isn’t just a quiet place to relax in; it’s straight up an escape from the outside world. Paris is a busy and loud city, but he finds a sense of calm with Marshmallow and her human whose name Enjolras still doesn’t know. Under his hand, Marshmallow begins to purr. She stretches up to lean into his touch.
“I can take a picture.”
“Okay.” Enjolras impulsively bends down to place a tiny kiss on Marshmallow’s head, right as he hears the telltale click of a Polaroid camera.
“Aww,” the owner coos. “Would you like to, um, sign it after it develops?”
Oh! Enjolras now has an excuse to give him his name! He could just tell him, but that would be a little awkward, given that they’ve already spent so much time talking about everything else. Suddenly telling him, “Hey, my name’s Enjolras, by the way. Sorry for not introducing myself as soon as we started conversing,” would be really embarrassing.
Instead, he takes the proffered pen and prints his name with the date and hands the film back. It gets placed on the shelf next to the others. Marshmallow looks extremely smug in the photo.
“I’ll be back next week,” Enjolras promises, waving goodbye to both of his new friends. They can be considered his friends at this point, right? Mere acquaintances don’t debate about philosophy. “And we can discuss more about Kant.”
“I’m holding you to it.”
Enjolras pushes the half-door open confidently, towing Combeferre behind him. As much as he would like to be alone with the two residents of Les Livres du Chat Somnolent in his escape from reality, his best friend is a book fiend first and a person second and deserves to know about this adorable establishment.
“This is Combeferre,” Enjolras introduces to Marshmallow. “He’s one of my closest friends. ‘Ferre, this is Marshmallow, also known as the best cat to ever exist and not exist at the same time. She’s also an alien.”
Combeferre looks extremely confused, but he greets Marshmallow cordially. “Hello.”
“Meow.”
Meanwhile, Enjolras glances around. His eyes widen when he finds the cute owner of the shop balancing precariously on a ladder with an armful of books. Without thinking twice about it, he rushes over and braces him with hands placed carefully on his hips to prevent him from toppling. It feels like everything and everyone in the room stiffens and freezes in that moment right before Enjolras registers exactly what he just did. His cheeks slowly heat. He knows that Combeferre is judging him next to Marshmallow, who is probably also judging him.
“Ah, sorry!” Enjolras exclaims, pulling his hands away from his friend’s sweater. He still offers him a hand down, which is taken, to his surprise. “I didn’t mean to touch you without your consent! It seemed like you were going to fall, so I-”
“Enjolras, do you go about, groping every stranger you come across?” Combeferre asks. He’s wearing an amused expression as he pets Marshmallow. That’s an unfair accusation. Enjolras’s hands were nowhere near the guy's butt! Undeterred, Combeferre continues talking, digging a deeper hole for Enjolras, who is meant to be his best friend. “I know you have a savior complex, but I think a solid, ‘Watch out!’ would have sufficed.”
“He’s not a stranger,” Enjolras protests before gesturing to Combeferre. “This is Combeferre, a very good friend of mine.” He pauses and mentally smacks himself. Sheepishly, he says, “I realize I never asked for your name.”
Blue eyes go round. “Oh! My name’s Grantaire. I also go by R because-” he indicates to the front of his green sweater, which features yet another cat pun, “-I’m punny. Um, nice to meet you, Combeferre. I’m also the owner of Les Livres du Chat Somnolent, and I see you’ve already met my cat.”
“You mean the alien,” Combeferre corrects, smiling and extending a hand.
Shaking the proffered hand, Grantaire grins. “Exactly.”
Combeferre gives Marshmallow’s spine another stroke and looks between Enjolras and Grantaire, who are both just standing there awkwardly. He clears his throat and looks at Enjolras pointedly. “Actually, it was nice meeting you both, but I just remembered that I have a date… with my boyfriend… yeah. Have fun!”
Wait, what? Enjolras stares at him, betrayed. Is his friend seriously going to leave him alone with Grantaire, whose name he finally knows, and the poor cat who had to witness his embarrassing fumbles?
“Um, again, I’m sorry for just grabbing you like that,” Enjolras tries.
“It’s alright,” Grantaire replies quietly. His cheeks are red, and he’s looking anywhere but at Enjolras. “I probably should be thanking you, actually. If not for you, I would've splat into a puddle on the floor.”
Enjolras laughs incredulously. Because he can’t control his body or his mouth today, apparently, he blurts out, “You would make a very pretty puddle.”
The speed that they both turn away from each other to stare at the books is alarming. Enjolras chances a peek at Grantaire, who squeaks upon getting caught looking at him.
“Thanks…?”
Shrugging, Enjolras hides his face in Marshmallow’s fur. She mrrps and stretches a paw out to touch his hair, like she’s giving him a head-pat. Oh God, should he even show his face around here anymore?
“For the record, your friend seems to know you well,” Grantaire says. “Have you two known each other for a while?”
“Since grade school,” Enjolras replies, voice muffled by the cat. “He has the biggest fraction of the singular brain cell the two of us and Courfeyrac share. Ah, Courfeyrac is my other best friend and Combeferre’s boyfriend.”
“I dunno, you seem pretty smart too. At least from what I’ve seen… heard?”
Enjolras barks a laugh. “If only you knew exactly how dumb I could be sometimes. There’s nothing quite as embarrassing as that savior complex that ‘Ferre mentioned earlier.”
“I’m not a puddle on the floor,” Grantaire reminds him. “Besides, who wouldn’t want to be rescued by someone like you?”
Now what in the hell is that supposed to mean?
“Huh?”
Grantaire’s blush deepens. “Um, you’re tall… and… yeah.”
“I’m tall.”
“Yeah? I’m jealous of that, by the way. You probably don’t need ladders to reach the top shelves-”
“You would be right.”
“-and, as I said before, you’re, like, a good person?”
“‘Good’ is a very subjective descriptor, Grantaire. I don’t know if anyone who studies poli-sci can be considered ‘good,’ per se, but I try,” Enjolras snarks.
“Scratch that. You’re a sarcastic bastard,” Grantaire grumbles, rolling his eyes, but a small smile blooms on his face.
Enjolras lifts an eyebrow. “Takes one to know one.”
Marshmallow meows in agreement.
“Ohh, R, is that him?”
Enjolras looks up from his phone, right as he enters Les Livres du Chat Somnolent a week later. He’s a little surprised to see that Grantaire isn’t alone—okay, he’s never really alone because Marshmallow is always here with him. Instead Grantaire’s work table at the back of the store is surrounded by three people Enjolras has never seen before.
Grantaire has his face in his hands, but it’s easy to see that his ears are red. The woman coos at him.
“He really is pretty,” she remarks. “I understand everything now.”
“‘Chetta.”
It takes Enjolras’s single brain cell a moment to figure out that they’re talking about him. Does that- does that mean Grantaire thinks he’s pretty?
“Enjolras, how are you?” Grantaire asks, sounding a little desperate to leave the conversation he was having with his friends.
Assisting him is the least Enjolras can do, especially if he’s the indirect cause of his distress. “I’m alright. Finished grading my students' papers. You?”
“Good, good. These are the people I live with and a few of my favorites.” Grantaire points to each person in turn. Enjolras makes sure to remember that Joly is the smiley one with a cane, Bossuet is bald, and Musichetta is the woman who was talking about him earlier.
“Pleasure.”
“So…” Joly begins, “what brings you here? The charming shelves, the cat, or the owner?”
All of the above?
“Erm, Marshmallow is a very cute and precious cat,” Enjolras replies. Surely that is one right answer, is it not?
“She is, that’s for sure,” Grantaire butts in. He takes Enjolras’s hand, much to absolutely everyone’s surprise, and drags him to the side. One of the suspense shelves has been remodeled to become very much a rainbow.
“You have an LGBTQ+ section now,” Enjolras states, a little emotional. “Supporting indie authors too.”
Grantaire rolls his eyes. “It’s honestly about time. I’m bi, the people who come in here are often queer—it must be the combination of books and cat that attracts people like me—and I'm always trying to make the place feel warmer and more welcoming. I was actually thinking that I might purchase a bundle of flags to decorate the walls too. As the owner of this shop, I’m allowed to make this place as queer as fucking possible any time of the year.”
Enjolras really, really likes him, if that wasn’t obvious already.
“Oh, and I should knit a rainbow sweater for Marshmallow. She gets cold in the autumn.”
Enjolras should just propose to him at this point. He might as well skip all the unnecessary steps. Grantaire knits too? What can he not do?
“Enjolras, if you’re not gonna say anything, please stop me from rambling and making a fool out of myself,” Grantaire complains, tugging on his hand. Right. Enjolras’s fingers tingle where they’re practically interlaced with Grantaire’s.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta peering around the shelf. Marshmallow pokes her head around it too, and Enjolras stifles a laugh and coughs to cover it up. Grantaire’s friends (and cat) are so unsubtle it’s hilarious.
“You should do all of the above. Especially the rainbow sweater… hey, what if you matched with your cat?” Enjolras asks. The mental image of Grantaire and Marshmallow wearing matching rainbow sweaters is just too goddamn sweet.
Grantaire’s eyes grow huge. “Enjolras, you genius. That’s definitely going to be my next project.” He gasps. “I’ll make you a sweater too, if you want.”
“I would love a sweater,” Enjolras responds sincerely. This adorable man will be the death of him. “Now, which books would you recommend for some light reading?”
“Ooh, you’re going to have to be more specific. A biography on Thomas Edison is definitely light reading, mind the pun, but I don’t think you’d really enjoy that.”
Enjolras can’t believe he has completely and utterly fallen for this ridiculous person and his cute cat. In the end, he exits the shop with a selection of books, a few prints of Grantaire’s paintings in postcard form, and a content smile on his face.
At least he has come to terms that while Marshmallow is a very good reason to keep coming back, it’s always Grantaire that he’s most excited to see.
Sorry, Marshmallow.
(“Meow.”)
It has been over a month since Enjolras first walked into Les Livres du Chat Somnolent. To celebrate, he buys Marshmallow a new feather toy to replace the one she obliterated and a can of the fancy tuna and heads over right after his last teaching section.
He also enters the shop with the intention of asking Grantaire out on a proper date. Fairly confident that Grantaire might agree, Enjolras speeds his pace up every so slightly. His last visit really cemented the possibility that his feelings could be requited. And if they aren't, well, he can’t really do anything about it, but he’s allowed to be hopeful.
Now, how the hell does someone confess?
Enjolras has never confessed to anyone ever, so he slows back down and puzzles over this matter on the way to the bookshop. There are so many different approaches he could take. He could look Grantaire in the eyes and gently hold his hand before whispering a soft and intimate confession, he could sneak it in between playful back-and-forths and then play it off as a joke, should Grantaire reject him, or he could accidentally blurt out just how much he likes Grantaire upon seeing him because he’s so likable that he causes Enjolras’s singular borrowed brain cell to malfunction. Truth be told, that last method is the most plausible one.
None of these methods are bad, actually, not even the one where Enjolras makes a fool of himself—though that could refer to any of them. There’s the off chance that Grantaire might find him charming in an awkward way. That’s usually Pontmercy’s job, but Enjolras is permitted to be cute too.
“Gah, why must this be so difficult?” he mumbles to himself, clutching Marshmallow’s gifts tighter. “What if I just… didn’t?”
No, that wouldn’t do.
Instead, he thinks about Grantaire and how adorable he is, whether he’s petting his cat, knitting, or waving his hands around while arguing, and how kind he is to complete strangers. Enjolras daydreams about how soft his hair looks and how thick his eyelashes are, how blue his eyes are and how red his cheeks turn when he blushes.
To say that Enjolras is in deep would still be an understatement.
The bell chimes cheerfully, signaling his arrival at the shop. He makes a beeline for Marshmallow and holds his arms open. The cat purrs as she jumps into them and rubs her cheek all over the front of Enjolras’s shirt, undoubtedly leaving a large amount of white fur behind.
“Not so sleepy today, huh?” he murmurs, kissing the top of her head.
“Mew.”
Enjolras, still holding Marshmallow, wanders about the shop and looks at the new titles on the shelves. With the cat in the crook of one arm, he tries to browse the literature section, but it’s a little difficult, especially when Marshmallow begins eating his hair. He lets her be, partially because it would be both cruel to the cat and painful for him to do otherwise.
Eventually, he tugs a Jane Austen novel free and flips it open in an incredible balancing feat.
A click of a Polaroid interrupts his train of thought.
“Sorry. Well, I'm actually not that sorry. Please let me use this to advertise the shop.”
Turning around with a smile already on his face and Marshmallow still attached to his hair, Enjolras greets Grantaire happily. “Wouldn’t it be a little difficult to use a Polaroid picture?”
“You sincerely underestimate my artistic abilities,” Grantaire sniffs, accepting Marshmallow when Enjolras holds her out to him. “It fits the aesthetic. Obviously, I wouldn’t do it without your consent.”
An idea suddenly comes to mind, and Enjolras grins. It’s like the opportunity practically fell into his waiting hands.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but judging by that evil grin on your face, it must be good.”
Enjolras clears his throat and calms his face down. He doesn’t need Grantaire to freak out before he gets the chance to even execute his plan. “Of course you can use that photo. In exchange, however, I request that you go out with me.”
It's cute, the way Grantaire's mouth drops open and his eyes grow round as he all but gapes at Enjolras. “Oh, please tell me you’re not joking and that I’m not dreaming.”
“I would never joke about something like that. You’re allowed to say no too, and I’ll still give you permission to use that photo. I just- I really like you. And your cat.”
Grantaire continues staring at him incredulously, like he just sprouted a second head. “Okay, why the hell would I say no when I’ve literally been sitting here waiting for you to come back since the day you walked in?”
Enjolras feels relief in its purest form. And joy. So much joy. A massive grin overtakes his facial features as he steps closer to Grantaire, who looks too adorable hugging Marshmallow like an emotional support stress ball. Marshmallow bats at a curl that falls over Grantaire’s forehead.
“So… is that a yes then?”
“You’re en route to getting a doctorate in poli-sci. Aren’t you supposed to be smart?”
Shrugging, Enjolras replies, “Being with you makes me a dumbass. Just answer the question please.”
“I’ll go out with your dumb ass,” Grantaire says softly. He buries his face in his cat’s fur, but the blush that spreads across his cheeks is all too visible regardless.
“Oh, okay. Nice.” Enjolras suddenly remembers the paper bag in his hands. “These are for Marshmallow.”
“You didn’t. Don’t you know how obnoxious she’s going to be now that she knows you’re spoiling her?” Grantaire asks. “Whenever you’re not here, she’s going to meow at me sadly, and I won’t be able to do anything about it. She already misses you on the days that you don’t come.”
“Well, that just means that I need to stop by more often. Oh, and let’s exchange numbers, so you can call or text me when Marshmallow is feeling down. Or when you’re feeling down. Or just any time you want to.”
“Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.” Grantaire looks a little hesitant, but he manages to catch Enjolras off guard by stretching up onto his toes to give his cheek a little peck. “I’ll see you next week?”
Enjolras, too damn smitten and lifting a hand to his cheek like a lovestruck fool, can only nod.
“Don’t you have, like, a whole job?” Grantaire asks, when Enjolras walks into his bookshop.
“That I do, but I also have a husband.” Enjolras approaches the table where Marshmallow and her spawn are sleeping and delivers a kiss to each of their heads before doing the same to his husband. And then he kisses Grantaire properly, smiling against his lips.
It’s been many years, Enjolras is a professor with many bright and eager students who come and go, but the two constants in his life are and have always been Grantaire and Les Livres du Chat Somnolent. The name of the shop now refers to both Marshmallow and her kittens, who have long since grown up.
For a while, they were Mini Marshmallows.
Enjolras couldn’t possibly be happier. He loves Grantaire and their cats with his entire heart, and the bookshop will always be his escape from the clutches of the cruel world outside.
“You’re so stupid,” Grantaire complains, but he stands up and lets himself be hugged, dropping a pile of postcards onto the floor in the process. Enjolras sighs, elated to have his love enveloped in his arms after a long day. He nuzzles the top of Grantaire’s head.
“I’m not going to deny that. You love me for it.”
“Yeah, I really do.”
Enjolras really has no choice but to duck his head and steal another kiss. A chorus of meows follow, so he slowly turns to look at the gang of fluffy white kitties staring at him. He frowns at them. “Come on, let me kiss your other father.”
Hiding his face in Enjolras’s shoulder, Grantaire giggles. Voice muffled in the fabric of Enjolras’s shirt, he mumbles, “Ignore them. Just kiss me.”
“As you wish, sweetheart,” Enjolras chirps. His arms tighten around Grantaire’s waist as he kisses him in front of their audience of sleepy cats.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a professor in possession of a loving husband, who owns a quaint secondhand bookshop with many cats, must be in want of pretty much nothing else.