Chapter Text
“You’re staying here for the holidays, too?”
“I am.”
“What are Courfeyrac and Combeferre doing?” Grantaire asked, shifting his weight between his feet anxiously. He was lingering after a meeting, the rest of Les Amis having cleared out, talking excitedly about their holiday plans.
“Courf said something about a Christmas Sexcapade in South France.” Enjolras rolled his eyes, although the soft turn of his lips suggested a fondness for his two best friends. He was cleaning up his papers, having been strewn about in a bit of a mess across his end of the long table in the Musain.
“Oh. Ew.”
“Aren’t you spending it with Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta?” Enjolras finally looked up from the table, his eyes landing on Grantaire’s where he stood, idling near the door.
“No, they’re going to spend it with Chetta’s family.”
“Eponine?”
“She finally saved up enough to take Azelma and Gav away for the week. Family Christmas.” R paused for a moment, a bit thrown by the unusual ease of the conversation. “What is Feuilly doing?”
“He’s going with Bahorel on that hiking trip in the Luberon Mountains. Provence.”
“Oh shit, yeah, I forgot about that.”
There was a long quiet moment, not an awkward silence, but heavy with something hard to place.
“Jehan?” Grantaire asked, eyebrows raised.
“They told us to not expect them to come out of their ‘love cocoon’ in Toulouse with Montparnasse til New Years.” That tease of a smile was there again, Enjolras’ eyes falling to where his hands rested on a large binder on the table.
“Oh. Ew.” Grantaire repeated. “And I know Marius and Cosette are going out to the country to visit her father.” Enjolras smiled at that, a huff of a laugh pulling from his chest.
“Poor Marius.”
“Poor Marius.” Grantaire agreed, a tentative smile tugging at his lips. This was nice. It wasn’t often they could talk amiably. It was possible, and happened in instances, but tended to come few and far between. Even now, something hung between them; an expectation of sorts. They were both waiting for the wrong word to be spoken, and the tension to spiral.
“So what are you doing for Christmas?” Grantaire asked, unwilling to let this conversation fail, as so many have before.
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?” Grantaire snorted, and Enjolras steadied him with a long look before standing from the table.
“I mean nothing.”
“You’re not doing anything?” There was another long silence, Enjolras’ lips pursing in disapproval. “Wait- oh my god.” R huffed a laugh, his eyes crinkling happily. “ Tell me you’re not a Scrooge.”
“I don’t know what a Scrooge is.”
“Oh my god . A Christmas Carol? The most common Christmas story there is?”
“I’ve never read Christmas stories.” Enjolras’ jaw was tight, his eyes avoiding Grantaire’s pointedly. “I’m not really a Christmas person.”
“You hate Christmas. Holy shit.” Grantaire, who was ruled by the upcoming holidays, owning every Ugly Sweater that Jehan had ever made, couldn’t begin to process the idea of someone hating the holidays.
“It’s not that unfathomable. Christmas is disgusting.” The sneer was clear in his voice, and Grantaire could tell by the curl of Enjolras’ lips that he had hit a sore spot. So much for keeping the peace. “It’s purely a capitalist holiday. Shrouded in false religious phenomena that is upheld by so many hypocritical Christians, furthering their ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude towards anyone who is not one of them. Not that that includes all Christians, but there is a vast majority of them who are unfortunately exactly like that.” Enjolras was on a tirade, and all Grantaire could do was watch and admire. No one loves the light like the blind man. “Not to mention the false sense of community that spurs during the holidays. Sure, it’s great that people are charitable, but the sheer fact that it’s solely restricted to Christmas is so despicable. It’s like people use the less fortunate as a way to feel better about themselves. They donate and give money to charities, sure. But only once a year. Who gives a shit about the homeless and unfortunate the other eleven months of the year, right? As long as they donate a toy on Christmas, their slate is wiped clear.” Enjolras spat, body rigid.
Grantaire let out a low whistle, pulling himself from his reverie.
“That is quite a chip on your shoulder.” He was still reeling from the aftereffects of Enjolras’ intensity, but he wasn’t about to let it derail him from this subject. Nobody hates Christmas. Not on his watch. Enjolras didn’t respond, it seemed his rant had tired him, as unlikely as that was.
Grantaire thought for a long moment, watching Enjolras gather the rest of his things and swing his messenger bag over his shoulder. He straightened up, looking at Grantaire expectantly.
“What are you planning?” Enjolras asked, voice exhausted, already preparing for whatever it was Grantaire was about to plot.
“I have a proposition for you.”
It was an impasse; the two sides of Enjolras’ personality at war within himself. His eyes narrowed as he considered. On one hand, he was competitive and curious. On the other, Enjolras was extremely wary of Grantaire’s schemes. It was a stalemate.
“What is your proposition?”
“I bet I can make you love Christmas in ten days.” Grantaire paused for dramatic effect, his mouth spreading into a wide grin. “Give me ten days to convince you that Christmas magic exists. If you win, I’ll shut up at meetings and be first to volunteer for every second shift at a rally for the next month.”
Enjolras considered this. He was strong in his convictions, always had been. But if anyone were able to sway him, it would be Grantaire. Even he could admit that.
“Deal.”
“I never said what I’d get if I won.” Grantaire offered, quirking his head to the side as he leaned against the doorframe of the Musain.
“You don’t have to- I’ll win.”
“Deal.”