Chapter Text
“It really is a gorgeous flat,” the realtor gushes. “The feng shui of the place is off the charts, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh, my God, if she uses that phrase one more time, I’m gonna lose it,” Grantaire mutters in Cosette’s ear. Cosette lightly bumps his hip with hers.
“Keep it together for ten more minutes,” she replies under her breath. “I think this is the place. Yes, we quite agree,” she says aloud to the realtor, who beams. “Especially the basement. Would you say it’s large enough for, say, a cage?” The realtor blinks. Cosette smiles sweetly. “We have a very healthy and adventurous sexual relationship,” she explains as Grantaire struggles to keep his face straight.
“Got to keep things lively,” he adds, quite pleasantly. The realtor, blushing furiously, opens and closes her mouth a few times.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find that the basement is completely suitable for any and all – er, needs, that you would, um – ” She fumbles for words until Cosette takes pity on her at last and asks to go ahead and sign the papers. “Of course,” the poor woman blurts in abject relief, and Cosette sneaks a wink back at Grantaire as the realtor follows her into the kitchen.
Grantaire wanders a bit while they talk, poking his head back in the living room area, studying a cracked tile at the bottom of the stairs. It is a nice flat, he thinks, pleased, and perfectly suited to their needs. He steps experimentally on the cracked tile, squinting up at the second floor.
“I’ll be upstairs if you need me, babe,” he calls. He can hear the realtor and Cosette figuring everything out, which is for the best, really; Grantaire’s not much for organization.
“Okay, tiger,” Cosette replies, and he grins. “Almost done!”
They’ve already gotten the grand tour, but Grantaire likes to figure things out for himself. He’s already privately laid claim to the smaller bedroom, which has a window and the perfect corner for an easel, as well as plenty of floor space for meditation and the like. Cosette will probably go with the yellow bedroom; it’s light and airy, just like her, with a shelf filled with books left over from the previous owner, who had died unexpectedly with no one to sort out his affairs. There’s one other bedroom as well, but they could convert it into something else – a nursery, the realtor had suggested, and it had taken all of Grantaire’s self-control not to look at Cosette, because he knew he would have burst out laughing if he did – maybe a library or a music room or something silly and indulgent that would help to keep them sane. Cosette is right: this is the perfect flat for them, and he’s sure that between the two of them, they’ll be able to turn it into a proper home.
A creaking noise from said extra bedroom stops him in his tracks.
He almost passes it off as nothing – almost. But then, he hasn’t managed this long without a little well-earned paranoia. He steps toward the door. A low growl.
Grantaire hesitates.
“Hello?” he asks quietly, fully aware that this is exactly what he should not be doing in this situation; he’s seen that movie, thank you very much. But his hand closes around the doorknob anyway, and with a little push, the door swings open.
Inside, a golden-haired man around Grantaire’s age is lying down on the window seat. He glances over when Grantaire enters, heaves a sigh, and makes a growling noise identical to the one Grantaire had heard before. He looks, Grantaire thinks, bored out of his mind.
“Oh, you will be gone within the week,” he mutters as he gives Grantaire a dismissive once over.
“And just who, exactly, are you?” Grantaire demands, ready to grab the nearest lamp and yell for backup. But then the man nearly falls off the window seat in shock, shockingly blue eyes gone wider than saucers.
“You can see me?” he whispers, staring at Grantaire with something horribly like hope scribbled all over his really quite symmetrical face.
“Yes?” Grantaire replies uncertainly. The other man stands shakily, eyes burning with a sudden, astonishingly fierce light.
“You can see me,” he breaths. Grantaire is about to call for help, symmetrical bone structure be damned, when someone touches him on the shoulder. He starts and swallows a shriek, but it’s only the realtor, Cosette behind her.
“Yes, this would make a lovely nursery,” the realtor says smugly. “Congratulations, kids – you own a flat!” She looks expectantly between the two, smiling, apparently unaware of the intruder standing in the middle of the room as clear as day. But Cosette is staring right at him, completely frozen in shock, and suddenly Grantaire understands.
“Yeah, thanks so much,” he gushes, herding everyone away from the room and shutting the door firmly behind him. “This is – this is really great, so exciting – shall we all have a cup of tea to celebrate?” He ushers the realtor in front of them so he can grab Cosette’s wrist.
“What – ?” she starts to hiss, but he gives her a warning squeeze.
“I think we just met the original owner,” he explains in a low voice.
“What?” Cosette squeaks.
“We have a ghost,” he elaborates.
“What?” asks the realtor. Both Grantaire and Cosette jump guiltily.
“Um – I’d like to propose a toast,” Grantaire stutters. “To, uh, to the best realtor a couple could ever ask to have!” He punches his fist in the air, because they are on the stairs, with no drinks, and he did not think this through. “Huzzah!”
“Huzzah!” Cosette manages, enthusiasm perhaps veering more towards panic. The realtor watches them, her own smile painted an inch thick and utterly unconvincing.
She does not stay for tea.
Cosette and Grantaire look at each other for a long, long moment. Then they walk into the living room, where neither is surprised to see their resident ghost sitting primly on the couch, waiting for them. He gestures for them to sit. Grantaire fights the mad urge to laugh.
“Hello. My name is Enjolras,” he says when they get settled, Cosette in the armchair, Grantaire leaning against the back of it. “I’m dead.”
“Lovely to meet you, Enjolras,” Cosette replies, completely unfazed. “I’m Cosette. I’m a werewolf.”
“And I’m Grantaire, but you can call me R,” Grantaire finishes. “I’m a vampire.”
To his credit, their resident ghost does not bat an eyelash.
“Well,” Enjolras remarks, “this could be interesting.”