Chapter Text
Grantaire was getting dressed for the ball when Joly and Bossuet came in. “How’re you doing? You seemed down earlier.”
“I’m fine, just… missing people, it’ll pass,” Grantaire assured them.
“We can plan a visit to Paris if you’d like,” Bossuet suggested, but Grantaire declined, claiming it would only make it worse.
“Hi,” Musichetta said from the doorway, and Joly gasped. “You look horrified. “
“No, you look… absolutely stunning,” Joly said, shaking his head. “Where’d you get this?”
“Our guests left it,” Musichetta answered.
“Why don’t you three go down to the party, and I’ll meet you there?” Grantaire said, smirking at the goo-goo eyes they were all giving each other. He looked at himself in the suit and sighed. He’d thought he looked nice in green, but something was missing.
He headed downstairs, and as he was walking down the stairs, he saw a tall, blond-haired man with a familiar frame standing in the lobby, and his heart leaped. He then frowned in disappointment when the man apparently had a violently beaked nose. Not at all who he hoped it was.
Grantaire ran into Courfeyrac, who dropped a note in his hand. “I found this note in Combeferre’s room, and it’s addressed to you.”
Grantaire tore the note open and read, “Grantaire, I figured you’d want to read my speech, so I’m putting it in with Combeferre’s note.” Grantaire went outside, where the snow had fallen. It was cold, but he didn’t care.
‘Hello, citizens of Paris. As you are all aware, I am officially no longer part of the royal family. But I figured that I would give you all one last farewell remark. When I was on my way here, my comrades and myself were stranded in the middle of nowhere. We wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for the help of a very special person. We’re so thankful for them and their help. And I’d like to remind you what the holidays are really about -- being there for one another and never taking what you have for granted, because, in a moment, it may be gone. But it shouldn’t only be the holidays that we think about this, we should think about this in terms of our own country. If there is something wrong, we should come together and solve it, especially for the ones we love. And I want to promise you all I will be there for you, no matter what. I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas, from your family.'
“I wish I could be there for the speech,” Grantaire sighed, reading the note. There were patches near the bottom of the paper where it seemed there had been wetness.
“But I have a whole different speech to give you at some point!” a familiar voice said from behind him, and Grantaire whipped around to see Enjolras dressed in perfectly regular attire.
“Oh my gosh!” Grantaire exclaimed, “How… how did you get here from…?”
“Us royals have magic and a driver with incentive,” Enjolras explained as Combeferre came running up, puffing steam from his nose in the cold.
“So, where’s Courfeyrac? He’s due for his evening kiss right now,” Combeferre said, pulling out his watch.
“Inside, probably with the kids, if I had to guess, he’s not really a formal party person,” Grantaire said, still in shock, and Combeferre headed inside.
Enjolras pulled out a note. “Bahorel was going through some things at home, and he found this note that he wrote that he never got to send to the painting studio. And his therapist was called R. It was you, wasn’t it?”
“I mean, yeah, I go by R sometimes, but…” Grantaire looked confused.
Enjolras pulled out a picture in a frame. “This is the Bahorel you would know, at his lowest point.” Bahorel looked scraggly, tired, and not very well cared for. “Feuilly tried to get him dressed better in the morning but gave up when it was a miracle to get him out of bed.”
“Oh my gosh! He’s the one I’d sit with, and he’d talk to me all about this boy he practically adopted, that he was going to therapy so he could be there for him when he needed him… He was talking about you! He cares about you so much, and…” Grantaire rolled his eyes lightly, trying to ignore the fact that he was blushing, “He said if I ever met his kid, he would treat me like a prince.”
Enjolras smiled fondly at him, then gave him a tight hug. “Trust me; I’m a revolutionary who doesn’t believe in a monarchy. I don’t think you want me to treat you like how I’d treat a prince. But I will be very nice to you. Oh, wow, you’re cold. Here--” He gave him his jacket “--at least until we go inside.”
Courfeyrac and Combeferre were already hugging and giving each other kisses like they hadn’t just seen each other that morning. Feuilly and Bahorel were sitting together on the edge of the room like an old couple would. Enjolras had taken back his coat, and he went directly to the maestro of the orchestra, Jean Valjean, and whispered something to him. He nodded and gestured to his neighbors, Javert and Fantine.
Enjolras approached Grantaire and bowed as a familiar tune cued up. “Third time’s a charm?”
Grantaire nodded, and the two of them waltzed the Christmas Waltz perfectly.
That evening, after the party, Grantaire started distributing presents to everyone and forced Enjolras to put the hideous furry socks on by crawling onto the floor, grabbing his foot, and shoving one sock on him.
“Okay, okay, fine, since furry sock-wearing seems to be a crowd favorite,” Enjolras sighed, putting the other sock on reluctantly. “Now, what’s this thing in the box?” He opened the box to find the ornament he’d been eyeing at the store the other day of the inn.
“So you could remember to come back and visit sometime,” Grantaire said, sitting next to him.
“With someone like you to visit, I’ll be sure to swing by again,” Enjolras said, giving him another hug.