Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Cafe Musain was bustling with many contrasting energies which was not uncommon. In the far corner, the Triumvirate stood huddled around papers and plans, speaking lowly but fervently to each other. At the bar, a likely sight, was Grantaire along with Bahorel, Feuilly, and Eponine each of whom was currently engaged in a contest to see who could finish their cup before the other. No one was surprised by the victor. 

Around the room were scattered games of cards and groups bursting into laughter. The mood was light and jovial aside from the ever-focused corner. Occasionally, a member of Les Amis would be called over to the table to be consulted on various plans for an upcoming protest, but then they would filter out and back to whatever activity in which they had previously been engaged. 

The drinking game was now complete with Feuilly finally being able to down the last of the liquid as the others laughed. Grantaire called out, “Who else wants another?” 

He was met with a few replies before a challenge formed in his eyes and a smirk on his lips, “Apollo!” He called across the room, “Want a drink? You’re gonna have to do a shot if you wanna catch up!”

“No, I most certainly do not.”

“Loosen up! Have some fun for once in your life!”

The other members of Les Amis were now focused on the interaction. Grantaire thought he heard someone mumble “not again.”

“Grantaire, we are discussing the future. Liberty. The tangible steps that we will need to take to ensure that we make a difference. This is necessary.”

“Are you saying that enjoying the company of your friends isn’t necessary?”

“Grantaire, anything related to you is automatically unnecessary.”

This stings Grantaire and the Musain falls silent as they wait for R’s response. The members of Les Amis exchange concerned glances. As quickly as his bravado had crumbled, R put the mask right back up as he turned to the others with a wine glass raised high in the air, “To being unnecessary!” He toasts. The others shout and laugh in response; partaking in his toast if only to grant him the escape he was clearly looking for. Although they drink with him, the concerned glances don’t fully subside. Enjolras rolls his eyes. 

As the night goes on, R drinks more. He goes between groups, laughing loudly, engaging in drinking games, singing– if it could be called singing– out songs with Bahorel. It becomes apparent to Les Amis that he has chosen to try to piss Enjolras off further as his defense rather than his other usual response of sulking away in a corner to spiral. Tonight, he has decided to go the other route; defiantly becoming an even bigger nuisance with the hopes of gaining Enjolras’ attention once more. It seems to be about to work as Enjolras becomes more and more tense. It is as though he is about to snap when Combeferre sets a steady hand upon his shoulder effectively calming him. Enjolras focuses back on the papers on the table in front of him. Grantaire deflates. It seems as though Enjolras has deemed R too unnecessary to even look at. 

R plops himself down next to Eponine, resting his head upon her shoulder, “What could he possibly be doing that’s so important?” he mumbles, “It’s bullshit. Everything is bullshit.” He slips into unconsciousness. 

The rest of Les Amis finish this very informal “meeting” and begin to head home. It is not uncommon for Grantaire to pass out before the end of a meeting, so Bahorel and Eponine assure the others that they will make sure that he will get home safe. Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac are the last to leave as they start making their way back to their apartment. They walk in silence for the first block. Courfeyrac and Combeferre both know that one of them is going to have to bring it up with Enjolras, but they have a silent argument behind Enjolras’ back to decide who it’s going to be before Courfeyrac finally relents. “You know,” he starts, “you could stand to be a little nicer to R.”

“Are you joking?” Enjolras snaps, “He did nothing but distract from the meeting all night!”

“I’m just saying. He’s been trying lately, and tonight wasn’t an important meeting.”

“Every meeting is important, and if that was him trying then that’s really pathetic.” 

Combeferre jumps in, “I know it might seem like all he does is mess around, but he has more going on than you think, Enj.”

Enjolras huffs dismissively in a way that they know means that he is done discussing this topic so they chose to let it go for the time being. 

At their apartment, the three prepare to bed and say their goodnights before retreating into their own rooms. Enjolras lays down in his bed, clicks off the light, and stares at the ceiling. He can’t help it when his mind drifts back to his interaction with Grantaire. Grantaire was drunk and distracting and loud. He had tried to ignore him, but it wasn’t his fault that Grantaire decided to interrupt his planning. He thought back to what Combeferre had said. Grantaire had a lot going on? Was that to excuse his behavior? The cause was more important than any of them, what did it matter the reason for disruption? It was just a disruption. 

Enjolras allowed himself to recount his day to himself and think about all that he had planned the next day. He made lists in his head as he fell asleep. 

_______

Enjolras awoke in a disheveled room. Decidedly not his own. There are easels all around and paint tipped over or otherwise discarded around the room. The wood floor creaks as he shifts to sit up in a mattress that lays in the corner of the room upon a pile of wooden planks rather than a proper bedframe. As he stands, he accidentally kicks an empty wine bottle that rolls across the floor. The sound echoes off of poster covered walls. Enjolras felt dizzy and stomach sick and like his whole body was aching. He felt his limbs shiver as he crossed his arms over himself. It felt very similar to the flu but not exactly. He stumbles into what he assumes leads to a bathroom. Upon entering the room, he looks in the mirror only to see Grantaire’s face staring back at him. “What the fuck?”

He knows that it is he who speaks, but it is not his voice that comes out of his mouth. He lurches forward to steady himself on the sink all the while maintaining eye contact with Grantaire’s reflection in his mirror. The image was moving in time with him. This was a mirror. What the fuck? 

Enjolras stumbles back into the main room. The room makes sense now. This must be Grantaire’s apartment. The paint, the bottle, the posters, it all adds up. This must be a dream. A very very realistic, messed up dream. A spark of an idea occurs to Enjolras as he sees a phone discarded on the floor next to the bed. He rushes over to it to find a lock screen of a picture of some statue silhouetted by the sun. It seems like something that Grantaire would have as a lock screen, but the texts that are displayed unanswered confirm it. 

Ep: Hope u sleep well, R. Text me when ur up.

Couf: U gud? 

Bahr: Guessing boxings canceled lol 

Thankfully, Grantaire had his phone set to accept a thumbprint in lieu of a password, and Enjolras, apparently, currently had Grantaire’s thumbprint. The phone opened up. 

Following the logic, if he is here instead of Grantaire, then maybe… 

He opened up the texting app at the bottom of the screen and typed in “Enj…” no results. “E” by itself– results but none of them are him. Enjolras sighed angrily to himself as he realized and typed in “Apollo.” Of course that worked. He opened their chat, sparse as it is, and types: “We need to meet. Call me.” 

_____

R wakes up in a room that he doesn’t recognize. He wishes that he could say that this was an uncommon occurrence. He made a lot of mistakes last night, so what’s one more? He stretches and reluctantly sits up. Whoever shared the bed with him last night is obviously no longer there which means that they are probably in the kitchen or bathroom also trying to remember this regret. That works for R. It gives him a second to get himself together before having to act like he remembers how he got here. He gets to the door and opens it to find a hallway leading into a main living room and connected kitchen. Wait. He does know this place. This is– oh fuck. 

Confirming his realization is Courfeyrac who calls out, “Hey, someone slept in for once! Coffee?”

R laughs, “Are you kidding? I haven’t woken up this early in years.” His voice sounds different, but he chalks that up to one more effect from the rough night before. He grabs the cup of coffee from Courfeyrac and lifts it up to his lips right as he catches his reflection in the mirror across the room. He spits out the coffee and drops the mug which shatters on the floor. 

“What the fuck, Enj! Are you okay?”

R braces himself against the counter as he keeps his gaze firmly on the Enjolras in the mirror. 

“Enj, what’s wrong?” Courfeyrac urges.

“I… I just have ta-” R runs down the hall to the bathroom and slams the door shut. He splashes water on his face and looks at himself in the mirror. Beautiful blue eyes and golden locks, Adonis incarnate, oh god. It feels wrong to be able to stare upon that face so openly, and R has to look away in order to gather strength to look again. What is happening? 

From his place in the bathroom, he can hear pounding on the front door followed by the sound of it opening and hurried footsteps to where he now stands followed by more banging this time on the bathroom door. He opens it to find himself staring back. Grantaire’s doppelganger puts his hands on his shoulders and pushes him further into the bathroom before turning around and slamming the door shut behind them. 

“Are you Grantaire?” Asks the imposter with no hesitation. 

“No way,” R says in disbelief.

“Are you Grantaire?” He repeats with an unrelenting fierceness that could only belong to his Apollo. Grantaire understands the situation at once. 

“Yes,” he replies, “Are you Apollo?”

“Yes- I mean,” he corrects, “don’t call me that.”

R laughs, “Heh, I guess you’re right. It hardly seems fitting with you looking like that.”

“Grantaire, take this seriously.”

“I don’t see how I can. I mean, we just Freaky Fridayed.”

Enjolras drops his head, “Oh my god. This is ridiculous.” 

Grantaire takes a moment to look Enjolras- really Grantaire’s body- over. He is still wearing the clothes that he was wearing last night which must mean that he slept in them. That adds up. He was hardly sober enough to undress last night and clearly Enjolras, in this state, hadn’t bothered to change. Grantaire looks at himself in the mirror again. He, in Enjolras’ body, was wearing a loose fitting red tshirt and plaid red and black pajama pants. Dear god, Apollo is adorable. Wait. Is that weird cuz that’s him now? R decided not to think too much about that. 

Enjolras snaps back into focus, “We can’t tell anyone. No one would believe us anyway, and it’s best not to worry the others unless we can’t fix this ourselves.”

“What’s the plan, Apollo? Walk in each other’s shoes until we develop a deep understanding of each other like in the movies?”

It was said as a joke, but Enjolras considers it, “Yes, that does seem like the best move for now.”

“What? I was kidding.”

“Think about it, we argued last night and then this happened. Obviously, there is no rational reason or explanation for this so it isn’t too outlandish to think that the solution might be something spiritual too like from the movies.”

“So you wanna play Freaky Friday with me?”

“No, I don’t want to play Freaky Friday, but this is the only theory we have. We might as well try it.”

“So we don’t tell the others and live as each other for the day?”

“Yes.”

“Just in case we are following TV show logic and have to walk a mile in each other’s shoes?”

“It’s all we have to go off of.”

“Alright, Apollo. Let’s play Freaky Friday.”

Chapter Text

“Alright, Grantaire. What does Enjolras have planned for the day?” asks Grantaire.

“I think it would be easier if I wrote a list. You should too,” Enjolras eyed him skeptically which stabbed Grantaire in the gut. Of course he understood why Enjolras wouldn’t trust him to remember a simple list, but the confirmation of this open doubt still hurt.

Enjolras and Grantaire both scribbled down their lists of tasks for the day, and handed each other the scraps of paper when they were done. 

Enjolras studied the list quizzically and with the intense focus he gave everything until he paused and his eyes shot up to Grantaire aghast, “Boxing? You want me to go boxing against Bahorel?” 

“Hey, I just wrote down what I have scheduled,” Grantaire shrugged, “But if you don’t think you can handle it just cancel. Wouldn’t be the first time I bailed on him.” 

The look that came across Enjolras’ face was confusing. It was a flash of what might be mistaken for questioning, then concerned, and then resolute before Enjolras responded, “No. It’s okay. I can do it.” He spoke more softly than before. 

He scanned the rest of the list before nodding. Grantaire, in contrast, was so focused on Enjolras’ reaction that he did not even look at his own list yet. He glanced over it just to confirm what he already knew. They both had the same last item on the list: Meeting at Musain. 

“We can do this, Grantaire. Just try not to draw attention to yourself,” he paused. Clearly he wanted to say more but was biting something back. The look of self-doubt was more natural upon his new features than the confidence had been and for the first time, Grantaire finally felt like he was truly looking in the mirror. Whatever doubt seemed to win out as he kept it to, “Good luck.” Before he turned and left the room. 

Grantaire could hear Courfeyrac shout out sarcastically to the man who was now leaving the apartment, “Good day to you too, R!” 

And Grantaire was left alone. In Enjolras’ apartment. In Enjolras’ body. He felt way less sure of this than he had been a minute ago with Enjolras beside him. Enjolras was always something of a spine for the cynic and without him he felt himself deflate. Okay. Showtime. He tried to convince himself as he walked into the kitchen again.

“What was that with R?” 

“Who knows,” He hoped that Enjolras’ general indifference when Grantaire was the topic was enough to evade this line of questioning as he hadn’t yet thought of a good enough excuse for Grantaire to barge into Enjolras’ apartment to speak to Enjolras alone. 

“Well, he doesn’t typically come here. Especially not to talk to you.”

He had to think of something, “He came here to apologize for last night.”

“What?”

“He wanted to apologize for antagonizing me,” Grantaire looked down at his hands. It was the only reason he could think of that would bring him here. 

“Well, what did you say?” 

“I told him not to do it again,” Grantaire mumbled, hoping that could be the end of it. 

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac paused, looking dumbfounded, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Did you at least say you’re sorry too?”

“Huh?”

“No wonder he stormed out! I can’t believe you! You don’t think you should have apologized to him. Like, did you even consider it?” 

Grantaire felt a conflicting warmness in his chest. Courfeyrac was defending him against Enjolras . But he couldn’t help feeling like he didn’t deserve to have a friend like him to defend him. He was a drunken fool last night, and he had messed with Enjolras on purpose. 

Combeferre finally made his way into the kitchen. He was fully dressed and prepared to leave for the day, “What are you two yelling about?”

“Well, Grantaire came over to apologize to Enjolras and our brilliant leader told him ‘don’t do that again.’”

Combeferre stopped in his tracks before turning his full attention to Grantaire, “You didn’t apologize back?”

“Nope!” Courfeyrac answered for him. 

“Undo that, Enjolras,” he said sternly before grabbing his book bag from where he had it hung over the chair. It seems like he thought that was all that needed to be said on the matter, “See you guys in class.” 

Oh right. Enjolras had class. Grantaire looked at the list that Enjolras had given him. He had two classes today. The first one was in an hour at eleven and ran until 1 and the second one started a half an hour later and ran until 3 when the internship portion of the class was to begin until finally he was free at 4:30. Enjolras had written that he was to go to his law office for the internship part of the class. Grantaire knew from his unhealthy obsession with that man that he had lucked out on body switching with him on a day with the internship was one hour long instead of three. 

“You’ll talk to R?” Courfeyrac asked, breaking him from his concentration on the list. 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Courfeyrac relaxed a little. 

“So,” he said. “You excited to go to the townhall today?”

Sure enough, Enjolras had written ‘Attend townhall’ after he was done with his internship. Jesus. Does he ever just relax?

“Yeah, you know it,” he said dismissively. 

Courfeyrac’s eyebrows creased together like he could tell something was off about the man in front of him; but, thankfully, he didn’t say anything more. 

“I should get going,” R stated while looking at the clock.

The same look flew his way, “Well, you should probably get dressed then.” 

R looked down at himself, only now remembering that he was still in Enjolras’ pajamas. He excused himself to Enjolras’ room and found himself standing in front of the dresser. He felt embarrassed and wrong to be standing in Enjolras’ room and even worse to be looking through his clothes. He knew that he was being allowed a privilege that would never have befallen him if it weren’t for the intervention of literal magic. He felt creeper thinking of it in those terms so he shook the thoughts from his head only to have them replaced by a new one. This was a golden opportunity. He could make Enjolras wear whatever he wanted. His mind jumped to the thought of seeing Enjolras at the Musain later being completely flustered about some ridiculous outfit that Grantaire had chosen for him only to not be able to voice his annoyance. He did love annoying Enjolras. However, he decided to be merciful to his dear leader. He picked black jeans, the ones that Grantaire once drunkenly confessed to Eponine were his favorites, a blue shirt that he didn’t even know Enjolras had but instantly identified as the same blue as Enjolras’ eyes, and a black leather jacket that drove Grantaire insane whenever Enjolras wore it. He, respectfully, did not look at Enjolras’ body as he changed. All in all, he put more thought into this outfit than he had in one of his own in years… maybe ever. 

Okay. Time for class. As he emerged from Enjolras’ room, he looked at the clock on the stove. Shit. I’m going to be late. Of course. OF COURSE you fuck up on the first task. Can’t even wait until the second class of the day to let him down? 

Grantaire ran out of the apartment. 

Chapter Text

R burst through the door of the lecture hall; one hundred heads snapping towards him at once. He probably could have been more subtle in retrospect. With every eye now on him and the professor clearly having been thrown from his lecture if his indignant glare was anything to go by, R felt the need to speak to ease the tension of his own creation, “Sorry, I’m late.”

He found an empty seat as the professor started up again. He felt the occasional glance of a classmate fall upon him, but he was doing his best to ignore the feeling. He got out a notebook to pretend to be dutifully taking notes. He suspected that the looks he was receiving were a result of his un-Enjolras like entrance, but he figured that the students would go back to their own business after a minute. However, it seemed like he was wrong. The professor would make a statement and eyes would fall upon Grantaire expectantly; like they were waiting for him to say something. After the third time it happened, Grantaire figured it out: Enjolras probably interrupts the class a lot. 

He briefly considered interrupting the professor to keep up appearances, but he decided that Enjolras might literally kill him if he finds out that he did that when he was supposed to be laying low. He decided to spend the rest of the class drawing figures that in no way resemble Enjolras inside Enjolras’ detailed notebook. The class takes forever, but it eventually, mercifully ends. 

He only had a half an hour before the start of the next class, and he tries to consider if it would be worth enduring Enjolras’ wrath rather than sit through another boring lecture. However, he already let Enjolras down by being late to his first class, so he dutifully heads toward the next one. He finds Combeferre and Courfeyrac already sitting on a bench outside the next classroom’s door. The next class: Politics of Something or Historical Whatever, is a class that Grantaire knows that the triumvirate had decided to take together, so at least he won’t be alone in this one. 

Courfeyrac looks him up and down, “You’re dressed fancy today.”

“A jacket and jeans?”

“Actual thought behind it,” Courfeyrac clarifies before adding with a smile, “What’s the occasion?”

“The townhall?” asks Combeferre, graciously providing an excuse before Grantaire had to think of one.

“Yeah.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with a conversation we told you to have?” Courfeyrac needles. 

“What?” R was confused by the implication. 

Combeferre, ever the hero, spares him again, “I think we should head into class.” 

The three find their seats and wait for the rest of the class to filter in while the professor, an older man, shuffles papers on his desk. The class begins with the old man beginning his lecture in a monotone voice. He was using a powerpoint that has far too many words on it. The classroom was the perfect amount of warm. The clock on the wall was far too mesmerizing. Grantaire started to doze off. 

He felt a sharp elbow into his ribs that made him shoot up straight in his chair. He turned to glare at Combeferre before he forced himself to sit up a little straighter. After the first rush of anger, Grantaire felt grateful to Combeferre for helping him to not let Enjolras down two classes in a row. He decided to draw a bit to try to stay awake. He resumed his previous artwork from the last class, adding more details into the curls of one of the Not Enjolras’ hair. He felt eyes peering over at his drawing and realized his error too late. Combeferre’s full attention was on the drawing in the notebook. He looked puzzled, confused; like he didn’t know what to make of what he was seeing. Combeferre was Enjolras’ oldest friend. Enjolras was talented at many things but art was not one of them, and he would never waste a class doodling in his notebook. Combeferre and Grantaire locked eyes. Something unspoken was said with that look. Grantaire felt revealed. 

He turned his attention back fully to the boring professor and slapped the notebook shut. He could still feel Combeferre’s eyes on him for a moment longer before he, too, went back to listening to the professor. Grantaire, in his new panic, reassured himself that Enjolras being a secret artist would not be enough for Combeferre to make the jump in logic that he and Enj had switched bodies. That would be insane. 

Luckily, the class ended without further incident and it was time for R to go to the internship at the law office. Grantaire made a promise to himself: there was no way that he was going to fuck up for the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

Enjolras had to go boxing. That was the first thing on the list. Honestly, Enjolras didn’t have to go boxing. Bahorel had texted earlier assuming that he would cancel and Grantaire, himself, had given Enjolras permission to skip the activity. But the way Grantaire had said it; like he was disappointed in himself for canceling plans to the point that no one would find it suspicious. Enjolras, in that moment, had been flooded with multiple memories of himself chastising Grantaire for his lack of commitment. Now, here he was in Grantaire’s place fully prepared to cancel plans as well. It was so hypocritical. He became resolved in that moment to accomplish all that Grantaire had planned for the day which meant that he was going boxing. 

After texting Bahorel to confirm that he was still willing to meet up, he made his way back to Grantaire’s apartment to get ready for the activity. Luckily for him, it seemed as though Bahorel and Grantaire were used to sleeping off the nights before and hadn’t scheduled to meet up for a while, so he was in no rush to head straight to the gym. 

He arrived back at Grantaire’s apartment. He was able to take in the surroundings properly now that he wasn’t struck with the panic of having woken up as another person. The place was thrashed, but what drew Enjolras’ attention immediately was the painting sitting in the sunbeam of the nearby window. The light seemed to be intruding on the otherwise darkened apartment, but it seemed as though Grantaire had done this intentionally as it commanded the attention of the room to fall on the nearly complete painting. The colors were brilliant shades of reds and golds mixing together in chaotic swirls. The painting wasn’t of anything, at least not yet, but Enjolras found it captivating all the same. Grantaire, for his many faults, was a talented artist. 

Enjolras made his way to the dresser and pulled open the first drawer. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Grantaire had any sense of organizational skills as he had all of his clothes mixed together. Enjolras dug around until he found some gym shorts, and he had his pick of old paint splattered t-shirts that he could wear. He got dressed, and decided that he still had time to kill so it would probably be a good idea to eat some breakfast before meeting up to box. He went to Grantaire's cabinet to see if he could find anything there since he had not thought to gather some of his own money before leaving his apartment, and he felt weird about spending Grantaire’s money without talking to him first. He pulled out his phone to call him to ask, but he realized that Grantaire should already be in his first class and didn’t want to risk calling or texting in case Grantaire didn’t have the foresight to turn off the volume. 

He opened the cabinet to find one bottle of vodka on the top shelf, the middle shelf entirely empty, and the bottom shelf had a box of cereal laying on its side. Enjolras sighed and grabbed the box. After “breakfast” and a couple of Youtube videos titled “how to box,” Enjolras felt like it was finally time to head to the gym. Luckily, he knew which gym to head to. He followed Grantaire and Bahorel online and the two would often post pictures from there. 

It was a short walk and he found Bahorel inside already stretching. 

“I didn’t think you would show up,” Bahorel said with a laugh. 

“Well, I’m here,” Enjolras replied, “I’m a little hungover, so I apologize if I am not very good today.” 

It seemed like a reasonable excuse, but Bahorel just laughed, “Have you ever done this not hungover?” 

Enjolras began stretching along with him, “I’m just not feeling very well today, but I still felt it was important to honor my commitments.” 

“Uh, sure, dude. Whatever.”

He received an odd look, and Enjolras realized now very much not like Grantaire that sentence sounded. What would Grantaire say? Is it too late to correct it?  

“Ready?” Bahorel asked as he jumped into the ring.

“Y-Yeah,” Enjolras climbed into the ring, ungracefully. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to talk while they were boxing. He started to feel increasingly nervous about this whole thing as he watched Bahorel shadow box and jump around the ring. Enjolras was a coordinated, athletic man, but he was in a body that was not his own and he wasn’t lying about being hungover. Plus, he had never boxed before. 

He tried to mimic the movements that Bahorel was doing around the ring, jumping from foot to foot. Bahorel began to approach; walking Enjolras down. Enjolras thought that his best strategy would be to try to avoid to the best of his ability, but Bahorel was quick. Bahorel threw two quick jabs in succession, successfully blocking Enjolras’ eyesight as he had to bring a glove up to block them. With Enjolras’ attention drawn towards the jabs, Bahorel went low to the body and landed a solid blow to the kidney. Enjolras nearly doubled over and dropped his hands out of the defensive position around his face which quickly earned a light jab from Bahorel. 

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” laughed Bahorel, “You do suck today.”

Enjolras, never knowing when to quit, gathered himself and began to walk forward towards Bahorel to reengage in the fight. Bahorel bounced around him with a quick fake to the body which Enjolras completely fell for as he was desperate to avoid another body shot. Bahorel used Enjolras’ overcommitment to guard the body in order to land an uppercut which caused Enjolras to stumble back onto the ropes. 

“Alright, alright,” said Bahorel, “This is getting sad. You just want to grab a soda next door?”

Enjolras, finally learning when to quit, replied, “Yeah. That sounds great.”   

Enjolras was very, very grateful when the nice waitress next door took pity on him and brought him ice for his face without him having asked. Bahorel got them sodas, apparently expecting that Grantaire wouldn’t offer to pay, and plopped down in the seat across from him. 

“So what’s wrong?” asked Bahorel.

“I told you. I’m just not feeling well.”

“I’ve seen you ‘not feel well’ before and this is more than that,” Bahorel leaned across the table and lowered his voice, “Is this about last night?”

“Last night?”

“You know… with Enj?”

“Oh,” it was weird to hear himself be mentioned, “No, Enjolras and I are fine.”

“Okay, now I know something is wrong. You just called him by his actual name.”

Damn. I forgot about that. Enjolras made a mental note to refer to himself ‘Apollo’ from here on. He needs to act more like Grantaire or he is going to draw more attention to himself. What would Grantaire say? “Nah, everything is good with Apollo. I’m seriously alright. I think I just need a drink.” Was that enough? 

Bahorel laughed and Enjolras felt relieved, “So you sucked at boxing and have been all quiet cuz you need some wine?”

So it was the quietness that tipped Bahroel off that something was different. Okay, so I need to talk more. “Well, it certainly couldn’t make me any worse at boxing today.” Grantaire was always making jokes at his own expense. That seemed normal. 

Again, Bahorel laughed, “That’s for sure. So what do you got planned for the day.”

Enjolras had studied the list, “Nothing for three more hours and then I have a commission to paint a portrait of some lady, but it doesn’t have to be finished today. Then, I have to meet up with Eponine and help her with her siblings. Then, go to the Les Amis meeting. But I was considering going to that townhall tonight before the meeting if I have time.” 

“The townhall? You can’t wait until the Musain to stare at Enj?” 

Enjolras was thrown by that, “What?”

“Come on, why else would you go to the townhall?” 

“Why would I stare at En-Apollo?” Enjolras asked, earnestly confused.  

Bahorel just laughed, “Good one.”

Enjolras was about to inquire further when Bahroel’s phone rang and he excused himself from the table. What did he mean by that? Enjolras was pulled from his thoughts by his/ Grantaire’s phone getting a notification. The text was from Eponine.

Ep: U alive?

Enjolras texted back: Yes

Ep: Good cuz id kill u if u werent 

Enjolras made a bold choice and decided to ask Eponine about what Bahorel had just said.

He texted: Why would Bahorel think I would go to a townhall to stare at Apollo?

Enjolras watched as the three dots appeared and disappeared; hoping for an explanation for the confusing comment. Enjolras waited patiently until Eponine finally replied. 

Ep: lol

Chapter Text

After Bahorel and Enjolras had parted ways, Enjolras found himself with a couple more hours before his next obligation as Grantaire. Grantaire was scheduled to paint a portrait of a client. Apparently, some woman was paying Grantaire to paint her as she modeled for him. In Grantaire’s note he had written next to this item on the list, “Don’t worry. It doesn’t have to be finished today. Just do an outline and tell her she’s beautiful.” 

This took some of the pressure off of Enjolras since he didn’t have to produce anything high quality and could pass off any mistakes as just the foundation for something else on a later date. Still, boxing had been extremely embarrassing, so he decided that it would probably be a good idea to watch some videos about art before the client was to arrive at Grantaire’s apartment. He didn’t know where to start, however, and ended up searching “how to paint,” followed by “how to paint for a beginner,” followed by “how much of a painting needs to be done for a first appointment,” followed by “how to act like an artist.” 

He was studying one of those results intently when the doorbell of Grantaire’s apartment chimed out which made him jump in his seat. The client must be here. He went to the door and opened it for a well-dressed, clearly wealthy woman who looked as though she was judging Grantaire’s apartment as something unsuitable for herself to be in. She appraised Enjolras with a skeptical eye. 

“Are you Grantaire?” She questioned as though there had been some sort of mistake. 

“Yes, are you here for the painting appointment?” Painting appointment? What was it called? 

“Yes,” she walked into the room and looked visibly unimpressed by Grantaire’s apartment. Enjolras decided that he hated her, “I’ve seen some of your work and you come highly recommended. I guess I was picturing something more… refined.” 

Enjolras briefly considered telling her to fuck off and to get out of Grantaire’s apartment, but he was unsure about how important this account was to Grantiare and was unwilling to risk his livelihood especially when recommendations seemed important in this line of work. 

“I guess ‘the starving artist’ stereotype has to come from somewhere,” she sighed as she took a seat across from the canvas. 

God, I hate her. Enjolras thought as he took his place behind the canvas. He sighed to himself as he prepared to put the first dot of paint on the pure white empty canvas. I can do this. 

Enjolras had always admired art. Art had the capability to express the feelings of the people, inspire hope or discontentment, speak truth against power. Art served a larger purpose and gave voice to the underrepresented. He had always admired Grantaire’s ability to create art too. He would often walk by Grantaire’s usual spot in the Musian just so that he could look over his shoulder at whatever it was that he was working on. However, despite his appreciation for art, Enjolras was far from an artist. He tries to recall the last time that he painted or drew something, but he can only recall a sloppy painting of a tree and the sun his mom had hung on the fridge when he was a kid. That didn’t feel like it should count. 

Enjolras painted some brown smears at the bottom of the canvas. ‘ Okay, so that's the ground,’ he thought to himself. ‘Oh fuck, I’m bad at this. Why does everything Grantaire do require such skill?’ He thought in frustration. 

The thought, born out of annoyance, began to stick with him. He recalled all the times he had referred to Grantaire as useless or chastised him for being “good for nothing.” Yet, here he was painting a smear as a ‘floor.’ He suddenly felt ashamed of himself for how quickly had dismissed Grantaire in the past. However, that thought was chased away by one more pressing: Enjolras had had a moment of understanding about Grantaire. Selfishly, he hoped that this would be enough for the universe to undue this curse placed on the two of them. ‘ Okay, Universe. I get it. He’s skilled. I learned my lesson. Can I have my body back now?’ Nothing happened and Enjolras was forced to continue painting this woman who was currently tapping her toe against the ground. Who comes to a sitting if they are going to be impatient? Enjolras wondered. He thought about telling her to fuck off again, but he pushed that thought away once more. 

After about a half an hour, Enjolras had just finished adding some blue to the top of the canvas, ‘ Okay, so that’s the sky.’ When the woman spoke again, “How’s it coming along?” She questioned. 

“Good,” he replied. 

“Can I see?”

“No!” He said too quickly, “I mean, I’d rather you not see until the end of next session if that’s alright with you.” Hopefully, by then you’ll actually be in it. 

He could tell that she was about to open her mouth to disagree when he remembered Grantaire’s note and added, “You look very beautiful. I just don’t want you to see the painting until it can actually reflect that.” He felt gross having said that, but she seemed to accept this excuse as she blushed to herself. 

“Thank you. Well, the artist knows best,” she smiled to herself. Enjolras fucking hated her. 

Thankfully, the session ended and the woman left Enjolras alone in the apartment with his painting of a floor and the sky. Enjolras felt endlessly relieved. Okay, next on the list, help Eponine with the kids. 

Across town, Grantaire was just entering the law office to do the internship. He had already shown up to class late, nearly fallen asleep in another, and made Enjolras into a secret artist in front of Combeferre. He was determined to not make any mistakes here. 

“Hey, Enjolras,” said a woman around his age as he walked up to the front desk.

“Hey, how are you?” he replied.

“I’m doing good. Hey, I was wondering if you have time, maybe you can help me sort some of the files later?” She seemed shy and asked him to help sort files as if she had been asking him to on a date. Her slight blush betrayed her and Grantaire understood. ‘Great,’ he thought, ‘ competition.’ 

“Sure, maybe,” he said instead. He walked past the front desk and towards the middle of the room. He was unsure of where to go, but he figured that someone would call over to him eventually if he just walked around. 

“Enjolras,” Sure enough, someone called out from a corner office. He walked over, “I need you to search for existing case law that establishes an individual’s right to refuse the police entry without probable cause.” 

“You got it,” he said while giving a mock salute. He cringed at the action as he walked away, but he wasn’t going to count that as failing Enjolras during the internship. He was still going to make him proud by doing this task for his boss. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a cubicle that was mostly bare of personal effects other than one framed image of Liberty Leading the People. That had to be Apollo’s desk. He went over, took a seat, and began to actually try at researching case laws. 45 minutes into the one hour internship and he was able to provide a pretty decent list for Enjolras’ boss. He printed out some examples, compiled the list, and placed it on the desk of the boss who mumbled a ‘thank you’ as Grantaire left the office. It wasn’t a flood of praise, but he felt good about having not fucked up at this part of the day. He even had time to go back over and help the poor woman with the files. He, of all people, was sympathetic to someone wanting Apollo’s attention and decided to take pity on her. 

“Hey,” he said. “Want some help with those files?” 

“Oh, um, sure,” she was clearly caught off guard by the offer, but she seemed pleasantly surprised that ‘Enjolras’ had returned at all. 

Grantaire saw himself reflected in her nervousness around Apollo and felt guilty for giving her false hope. He decided that he would spare both the real Enjolras and this woman from the inevitable awkwardness of a rejection by coming up with a plan to let her down subtly, and if he can indulge himself a little at the same time then it was really a win-win. “I really don’t mind filing things. I help my boyfriend, Grantaire, file things at home all the time.” 

He watched as the woman froze and then looked at him in confusion, “Grantaire your artist friend?” 

Grantaire was hit by many things at once. Enjolras had mentioned him. Enjolras spoke about him to work acquaintances. Enjolras referred to him as his ‘artist friend.’ He told people they were friends? Enjolras mentioned him ? He felt giddy. 

He smiled to himself, “Yeah, my ‘artist friend.’”

Chapter Text

Next on the list was “Go to Ep’s house and help with the kids.” Enjolras cringed a bit. He was not good with kids. It was a fact that he knew about himself but never cared to change. He had endured lectures from Combeferre and Coufeyrac about his “callous disregard of Gavroche’s safety” at protests before and had always found it annoying that his friends would want to discourage a youth from joining in the movement for change. Although, he was equally annoyed by the idea of having to spend his time watching some kid. 

When he arrived at Eponine’s apartment, he realized that he had no idea what “help with the kids” meant. As he knocked on the door, he was met with a brief anxious image of forcing a crying child to eat their vegetables and he wondered if this might be one of the responsibilities of Grantaire’s that he could bail on. His thoughts were cut off by Eponine swinging open the door.

“Since when do you knock?” She questioned as she turned while leaving the door open behind her expecting that the invitation was implied. Enjolras took a hesitant step into the apartment. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, not knowing what to say.

Eponine turned and gave him a skeptical look, “Since when do you apologize?”

“Sor-” he stopped himself. Looking around the room, he saw Azelma and Gavroche sitting at a table with papers and books spread out in front of them. It was clearly homework. “Did you want me to help with their homework?”

The three siblings laughed as though he had made some kind of joke, but Enjolras felt like he had asked a perfectly reasonable question. He felt oddly offended. Eponine turned to the fridge and fished out a cold beer, popping it open and handing it to Enjolras in one quick motion. She leaned in so that the other siblings wouldn’t hear her as she said, “Make sure they finish at least half of it, before they watch TV, okay?” She turned her attention to her brother and sister, “Be good for R. I’ll be back in an hour.” She waved at them and then left the apartment. She hadn’t said where she was going, but it seemed to be understood that Enjolras was to play the role of babysitter while she was out. Enjolras thought it was weird that they had all laughed at the idea that he help with their homework only for Eponine to privately confirm that that was why he was here, but as he sat at the table he began to understand. Gavroche, at meetings, was always trying to act older than he was, so the idea that Grantaire helped him with his homework probably made him feel a bit embarrassed or looked down upon. Enjolras could imagine R sitting at this table conversing with Gavroche as though they were equals all the while secretly making sure that he was doing his school work. Enjolras thought that was sort of sweet of Grantaire. 

Enjolras, himself, was not as subtle nor the natural conversationalist that Grantaire was and found himself sitting in an awkward silence as the two Thenardier’s focused on their work. He took a sip of the beer as he thought of something to say, “What are you working on?”

“Math,” said Azelma.

“History,” said Gavroche at the same time. 

Deciding that history was the far more interesting topic, Enjolras asked, “What part of history?”

“Louis XIV.”

Enjolras was interested. “What is it saying about him?”

“Just how powerful his military was and how influential Versailles was,” Gavroche said mockingly. Enjolras felt anger from within and was prepared to launch into a real, actual history lesson but he was stopped by Gavroche continuing to speak, “This book is so stupid. It barely even mentions the effects that his rule had on the people at all! I swear, they expect us to not even question this!” 

Enjolras felt himself smiling, proud of all that Gavroche represented about the youth. Azelma scoffed, “You sound like you’ve been spending too much time with Ep’s friends.” 

Enjolras decided that he liked her significantly less than her siblings. 

“That’s a good thing!” Gavroche shot back. This one was Enjolras’ favorite. “Hey, R,” Gavroche seemed a little nervous, “Do you think that maybe if I mention this textbook to Enjolras he would want to help me protest against the school for making us read it?” 

Enjolras was taken back. Most of all by the nervousness, “Of course he would.” He said with something between conviction and reassurance. 

“You think so?” He sounded hopeful. 

“Yeah, of course. I can guarantee that the book would piss him off too.”

“Yeah! That’s what I was thinking!”

Enjolras was surprised by Gavroche’s clear admiration of him. He suddenly understood the lectures from his friends about looking out for this kid at protests. He felt a huge weight of responsibility on his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. He thought back to a fight that he and Grantaire once had. Grantaire was angry at the speech that Enjolras had just given. Something about how he “shouldn’t be encouraging people to die for stupid causes.” All Enjolras had heard at the time was “stupid causes,” but now he could picture Gavroche’s face in the crowd during that speech- in retrospect, awestruck and inspired. He remembered hearing about Gavroche getting into some argument at school the following week which had led to one of those lectures from Combeferre and Couf. He didn’t understand the connection back then. He does now. He felt the urge to apologize to Grantaire for that fight. He found himself taking out his phone and opening the chat with “Apollo.” He stared at the messages for a second as he contemplated what to send. He settled on: “Might have been wrong about that fight we had about some of my rhetoric. Perhaps, I could consider the audience a bit more.”

He hit send and put his phone back in his pocket. 

Across town, Grantaire was leaving the internship as he received the text. He stopped in his tracks and gave his entire attention to staring at those words as he tried to make sense of them. He and Enjolras had a million fights and “about some of my rhetoric” did not help narrow things down at all. He was more than a little concerned about what might have happened to Enjolras that would make him send a text that sounded so… contrite. He decided to send back:

Apollo: What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you got bodysnatched AGAIN !!!! Who are you!?

Enjolras rolled his eyes at the text before typing: I was trying to be sincere.

His own number responded back.

Apollo: I wasn’t

R: What a surprise. 

Enjolras was about to type, but he decided to change the subject. 

R: Gavroche is learning about Louis XIV. He wants me to help him protest the school about the inaccurate depiction and glorification. 

Apollo: Wait, U you or u me 

R: He wants Enjolras

Apollo: Let him down gently. He admires u 

R: I told him I would do it. 

Apollo: … 

R: What?

Apollo: U’r not going to make trouble at his school, Apollo. 

R: He is justifiably angry. 

Apollo: U’r not going to make trouble at his school, Apollo. 

R: Why should a school be allowed to teach lies?

Apollo: U’r not going to make trouble at his school, Apollo. 

R: Should we not encourage the youth to protest when something is wrong.

Apollo is Calling… 

Enjolras answered the phone to hear his own exasperated voice, “You’re not going to make trouble at his school, Apollo.”

Enjolras huffed an angry sigh, “Fine.” He let the argument die as he stood up from the table and carried the phone into the next room, “How’s your day going so far?” He said with a softer tone. 

“You have some boring fucking classes, and, if Combeferre asks, you’ve been taking art lessons on the side. How about you?”

“I hate boxing, and the portrait of your new client is a little bit… abstract.” 

Grantaire laughed. There was silence between the two of them for a beat before Enjolras decided to ask, “Do you think this will be enough for us to switch back?”

He sounded uncertain and a little scared. It sounded completely natural in Grantaire’s voice, but the speaker behind it was clearly uncomfortable with the vulnerability. Grantaire put on his best impression of the man he was currently living as and said with as much conviction as he could fake, “Of course it will be, Apollo.”