Chapter Text
Grantaire hurriedly put the bottle of whiskey back into his desk drawer as he heard a knock on the door.
“Come in!” he called out, shaking himself out and putting on a presentable expression.
The door opened a crack, and a familiar head of blonde and baby blue hair poked in. “Are you busy?”
“If it isn’t my favourite bride to be,” he said, smiling, “I’m not busy, come on in.”
She pushed the door open, “I won’t be long, Father. I just wanted to invite you for dinner. My father is curious, and wants to get to know you before the wedding. Are you free this weekend, maybe?”
He had very concrete plans of blacking out while watching Say Yes to the Dress, but he nodded amicably. “That really isn’t necessary, Cosette, but if you want me, I would love to join you. I will be busy on Saturday night, I have to go over my sermon.”
“Does Friday work?” she asked.
“Cosette!” a voice echoed through the empty chapel, “Where are you?”
Cosette looked sheepish, before calling back, “Left door from the altar!”
Grantaire looked in amusement as a tall blonde man came barrelling in, his hair slipping out of the topknot it was tied in. “Are you done? If I’m late to Courf’s party again he will use me as decorations for his next one.”
Cosette laughed, “Almost, just a minute,” she turned to Grantaire, “Friday?”
“Friday’s good!” he said, trying not to look at the man as he undid his hair and tied it back up again, carefully pulling his hair away from his face. “Um,” Grantaire said, awkwardly, “Is this your fiancé then?”
His question was met a gagging noise from the man, and a snort from Cosette. “This is my brother, Enjolras.”
“Hi,” Enjolras said, meeting his eyes with a piercing gaze, he stuck his hand out to shake, “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. My father’s always telling me how terrible my manners are.”
Grantaire shook his hand, a bit enraptured at how intense Enjolras looked in such a casual conversation, “No worries, nice to meet you, Enjolras!”
“We should head out, Enj,” Cosette said, a small smile on her face, “Wouldn’t wanna be late.”
Enjolras squeezed his hand once before letting go. “See you on Friday,” he called as he left.
“Yeah,” Grantaire said softly in the empty room, “See you then.”
He was dreading dinner.
Grantaire looked at the clock beside his bed and groaned. The routine of staying up all night, conducting daily mass and staggering to bed wasn’t sustainable, he knew that, but he just wasn’t able to bring himself to sleep at night.
He was grateful there weren’t many regular churchgoers in this town, and felt a stab of guilt at the thought.
Is your convenience more important than their condemnation?
It was a good thing, he told himself. It was a good thing that Valjean attended church every Sunday without fail, and that he often brought his daughter along. It was a good thing that there were still people who wanted to be close to God. If that meant having to be involved in their lives when the invited him, so be it.
He pushed himself out of bed with a sigh. He had four hours before he had to be at the Cosette’s father’s house. He quietly bargained with himself. If he showered and got dressed in time, he could make himself a stiff old fashioned before getting on the train.
Grantaire adjusted his shirt collar and swiftly wiped his clammy hands on his jeans. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about dinner, but he took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back the way he usually did before sermons. He rang the doorbell.
Two hours, he thought, maybe three. It won’t take long. One formal dinner.
He could hears shuffling behind the door before it swung open. Enjolras was wearing an apron over a maroon shirt. He gave Grantaire an easy grin. “Hello, Father, come on in!”
“I brought wine,” Grantaire mumbled.
“Marius will be thrilled, he nearly burnt his eyebrows off cooking out of stress,” Enjolras said taking the bottle of wine from him and leading him inside. “Cosette!” he called, “He’s here.”
It was barely a minute before Cosette came bounding inside. “Hi!” she said, in the easy-going, cheery manner he had gotten used to, “Let me get you a drink!”
Grantaire took his eyes off of where Enjolras was slinking away down the hallway.
“So,” he said, taking the glass of wine from Cosette, “Am I going to meet your fiancé?”
She nodded excitedly, taking off to find him and half dragging him in be the hand. He seemed nervous to meet Grantaire, and Grantaire took a breath of relief. Between Cosette and Enjolras, the air of calm confidence had had him feeling out of place, but her fiancé seemed mercifully mortal like him.
“Father Grantaire, I would like you to finally meet the love of my life,” she said, earning an adorable blush from him, “Marius Pontmercy.”
“It’s lovely to meet you Marius,” Grantaire said, “Your fiancée has not stopped talking about how much she wants to marry you.”
Marius’ face then broke into a smile, the nervousness leaving his face. He turned to look up at her, “I’m very lucky,” he said, his voice awed.
Grantaire inexplicably felt a pang in his chest, watching him watching her. She gave him a quick peck on the mouth.
“Why don’t we sit down, my dad and Enj will have dinner out in just a minute.”
Grantaire’s back hurt from the effort of sitting upright at the dining table. He used to be good at this, he thought, he used to be good at talking to people.
“So, Enjolras,” he began, “Do you live out of town? I’ve never seen you at church.”
Enjolras began to laugh, but choked on his potatoes, earning several slaps on the back from Cosette. He coughed violently.
“My son is not Christian,” Valjean said, watching his children with an amused expression, as Enjolras swatted Cosette away, “He realised that fairly young, and I don’t think religion is something that can be forced upon anyone.”
Enjolras took a large gulp of water. “That’s not what history says,” he said, amused.
“I don’t think religion should be forced upon anyone,” Valjean amended.
“Not a fan of the church, I presume,” Grantaire said, wryly.
“Does that offend you, Father?” Enjolras leaned forward from where he sat across from him, meeting his eyes with that intense gaze once again.
Grantaire felt his ears go hot. He cleared his throat. “No-uh-“ he was floundering, he knew he was floundering, he gave speeches for a living, how was he floundering, “I think it’s lovely that your family is so understanding. You wouldn’t believe how many people bring me their ‘straying teenagers to council. I didn’t join a profession where I couldn’t marry to do the job of a parent,” he said, laughing.
Enjolras looked surprised at his reply. “Isn’t blind obedience an important part of faith?”
“To me, yes. In my opinion, God is my guide, and my faith in the plan he has for me keeps me from losing hope in dark times.” Grantaire felt something bitter in his throat as he said it.
“Does it work?” Enjolras asked, his food now abandoned, head tilted in concentration.
“It helps me keep focus,” Grantaire said, looking away from Enjolras’ brown-green eyes.
Enjolras said nothing, and the silence that stretched between them felt thick.
“Enjolras,” Valjean said, after what felt like eternity, “Stop harassing the priest, you’re going to make him drop out of officiating the wedding just to avoid you.”
Enjolras laughed, and Grantaire inhaled. He had a tiny cut on his lip and Grantaire couldn’t help but stare.
“I don’t think he minds. Do you, Father?” Enjolras asked, throwing him a playful wink. Cosette smacked his arm.
“I don’t,” Grantaire said, after he retrieved his tongue from wherever it had disappeared, “I find it refreshing, I rarely get to talk to people who aren’t parishioners or nuns.”
Grantaire retreated into silence, allowing Enjolras to squabble with his father. He felt a wave of loneliness at the familiarity they had with each other. The only person who he spoke to with so little care for his words was Eponine, who cleaned the church in the weekends before and after mass.
For the first time in a while, he thought of his family. Do they still speak of me? Do they still think of me?
He shook the thought away.
“You want something stronger than wine?” Enjolras asked.
Grantaire smiled. He really should go home, but Enjolras had immersed him in a conversation about theology that he couldn’t quite get himself away from. The lamp shone a circle of light over Enjolras, and Grantaire thought of the stain-glass windows at the church.
It wasn’t right, he thought. It wasn’t right to be sitting here with this captivating young man when his family had retired to bed just because he couldn’t help but listen to him speak.
After a moment of hesitation, “I’d love some scotch, if you have some,” he said.
“Sure,” Enjolras said, heading off to the little bar by the kitchen to pour out two glasses.
“You’ve given me all the practiced and rehearsed answers,” Enjolras said, placing the glass in his hands, “But I want to know what you really think of it.”
“Of the church?”
“Of God.”
Grantaire looked at Enjolras for a long minute. “God is…necessary.”
Enjolras’ brows furrowed in confusion, nodding at him to continue.
“Some people have it in them, you know. That steadfastness. That idea of right and wrong. The knowledge of what they should do, how they should live, who they should be. Not everyone-” Grantaire said, gazing at the golden cross sitting at Enjolras’ throat that was glinting at him mockingly, “-not everyone has that much resistance.”
Grantaire felt acutely aware of the little space between them. He felt hot, the burn of whiskey in his throat.
“What’s it like, giving up regular life, family, for God?”
Grantaire had answered the question a thousand times in his twelve years as a priest. It flowed as easily as water, “Fulfilling. Like I’m giving up something small for something far greater.”
Enjolras’ eyes bore into him, and he touched his knee softly. “Is that true?”
Wordlessly, Grantaire shook his head. His throat felt full of bile and guilt.
“How does it feel?”
Grantaire felt his breath shake. “Lonely.”
Enjolras squeezed his knee. Grantaire couldn’t look away from Enjolras’ eyes, but he covered Enjolras’ hand with his own shaking one.
“Enjolras,” he said, his voice a whisper.
“Yes?” Enjolras leaned closer.
Grantaire let his gaze slip from his eyes to his parted lips. “I-“ he felt magnetized, feeling himself drifting forward without thinking.
“You?” Enjolras, voice was soft and playful, his lips tugging into a small smile.
Grantaire could feel his heart thudding in his chest.
“I should-“
Enjolras closed his eyes, leaning forward.
Grantaire inhaled sharply, standing up and backing away all at once. He gulped.
Enjolras looked confused and a bit alarmed, “Are you okay? I’m so sorry-“
“No, no,” Grantaire said, quickly, “I just- I have to go.”
Grantaire rushed out without a word. The spring air felt freezing on his over-heated skin.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, “Forgive me, forgive me.”