Chapter Text
Enjolras clicked down the hall beside Jehan. She sniffed with annoyance for the fourth time at having to hurry in four inch heels.
“I told you not to be late.” Jean said.
“I’m not late.”
“Lighten up.” Jean gave Enjolras a bright smile in exchange for her scowl. They came to a stop beside an unassuming but tall door and Jean handed her her leather binder and name badge. The ceilings were eleven feet in the dark concrete passages of Turing Hall. They stood beside a sleek water fountain.
“Do I need this?” She scrunched her nose at the ugly plastic badge.
“Yes. You’ll still look cute.” Jean said, anticipating a torrent of bitching. Enjolras heard muffled applause from beyond the door.
“Fine. Help me.” She flicked her hair, silky from a conditioning mask the night before, off her left shoulder so Jean could attach the pin. “I can't believe I have to do this with her.”
"You're not doing anything with her." Jehan struggled with the thick canvas of the tiny cream blazer. Jehan had been Enjolras' assistant for three years, and best friend for over ten. Her predominant role in Enjolras life depended on which one of them you asked, but whatever way you cut it, Jehan was practiced at this; talking down Enojlras from a murderous mood in the tightest of time crunches.
"If she fucks me up I'm never gonna make NLAC." Enjolras said. She’d been angling to make the university selection for The National Liberal Arts Convention ever since she got her fellowship. It was the most celebrated annual gathering for arts fields in the United States.
“You’re totally going to N-Lac.” Jean patted the pin straight as she finally fastened it below Enjolras’s collarbone. “You’ve been single handedly holding the department up all year. Your ideas are amazing. They’d be out of their minds not to bring you. And forget about Grantaire, okay? She's just here as a guest.”
Enjolras pressed her lips together. The smooth glide of waxy lipstick sweet on her tongue.
"She's going to make the program look like a joke."
"That's the department's problem for inviting her. It has nothing to do with you. Try and relax." Jean squeezed her upper arm. “Come on. Let’s go through.”
Jehan held open the tall door, it hissed softly on its hydraulic. The two of them went quietly through into a small alcove behind the stage and the burst of fuzzy sound system washed over them. A rough voice was cushioned by an echo and electric static.
Enjolras knew that voice too well. She'd spent plenty of evenings whittling her boredom away by scowling at her laptop. Tasteless piss jokes and puns bounced around her apartment from her tinny laptop speakers, computer screen balancing on her chest and casting dim light onto Enjolras' expression of disgust.
'She's making academia accessible' Jehan would say through a mouthful of salad during one sunny brunch when Enjolras found out that Grantaire had a Tiktok account.
'She's torpedoing her credibility'. she responded.
She found out about Grantaire at the same time as everyone else, from a student’s viral Tiktok, documenting her outfits each week. Every single look was inappropriate and finished off with a grubby boot. Sometimes she flashed a glittering hip-flask from a disastrously-placed pocket.
Ms. Grantaire had a doctorate, but refused to use her honorific. No one knew her first name. It wasn’t listed anywhere. She let students call her ‘G’. Just ‘G’, like was trying to be the cool substitute in a room of high-schoolers. Even in the plain YouTube uploads of her lectures, the theatrics were irritating. The subdued wave as she walked into a classroom. The lewd comments at what Enjolras could only imagine was nine in the morning.
It was always a possibility that their paths would cross. Linguistics and Anthropology brushed shoulders from time to time. If and when it happened, Grantaire was destined to be Enjolras' worst enemy. Or worst nightmare, more accurately. She was a Professor under the age of forty pandering to a hundred thousand teenage followers on The Internet. And all with the full endorsement of her home college, NYU. NYU, who rejected Enjolras' job application two years after she completed her master's with barely a sentence.
Jehan gestured to a metal fold-out chair, letting Enjolras sit as she stood beside her, arms folded over a black backpack with Enjolras' things in it. Only a sliver of stage was visible through the wings. Through the gap, there was the sway of sickly green sequins glinting in the LED lighting, hanging over twin black lines tracing calves down into a pair of combat boots: muddy, black and heel-less. Enjolras wrinkled her nose and turned pointedly to stare at the plywood shelf opposite, running the length of the wing backboard.
A diamanté green Starbucks cup sat nestled in a torn scrap of felt sound-proofing curtain. Underneath it, a thick book with a French title. Enjolras couldn’t make it out in the low light.
Graintaire's voice was deeper in the auditorium, and fuller through the speakers, carrying the familiar lazy lilt of her vowels and tired confidence. Enjolras straightened her back and blinked back a wave of something deep in her chest. Nerves, maybe. The crowd erupted into laughter at something Grantaire said. Enjolras' eyes fluttered closed. Focusing on the points she was going to hit. Some time later, her eyes snapped open again at the sound of applause.
“And I’m sure you’re all thrilled to hear from our next speaker.” Grantaire was saying as the claps died down. “Some of you will have spent many hours in this woman’s presence in the run-up to finals, and of that I am extremely envious. But we are all blessed to share the next precious forty five minutes with her; Ms. Julia Enjolras. She is here to introduce you to the world of queer resistance through music and subculture.”
The audience clapped politely as Enjolras made her way onto the carpeted stage, blinking into the light and trying to keep a friendly smile on her face. She gripped her notes in her hands and made it to the lectern.
She didn’t get a chance to graciously pass Grantaire, who had already hopped off the front of the platform and into a vacant seat in the front row.
“Wasn’t that great?” She said into the mic as she reached the podium. “And thank you, Ms. Grantaire, for that very sweet introduction.”
She caught Grantaire dip her head against the spotlight, making a quiet, flat handed clapping motion towards Enjolras.
She took a steadying breath, letting her fingers rest on the lectern only for a moment before she began.
***
Enjolras was leaving the stage through the wings, avoiding being snagged into the drinks reception. She was glowing from the twenty minutes of impromptu questions. She gathered up the satchel Jean had left for her beside the stage and got ready to go find her in the corridor.
In the corner of her eye she noticed the Starbucks cup and book still sitting on the shelf. She paused, peering around the corner. The hall was draining of people making for the foyer for drinks. The front row, where Grantaire had sat, was already vacant.
Enjolras thought for a moment, then gathered up the cup and book into her bag.
Jean was waiting for her away from the main exits by the water fountain where it was still quiet.
“You did so well up there!” She cooed. “Do you wanna get late lunch? You deserve it. My treat?”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Enjolras said in a rare flourish of affection. “I can’t. I’m gonna head home. I have a lot to catch up on.”
Jehan pouted at her and Enjolras patted her arm with the two fingers not gripping her water bottle.
“Maybe this weekend.”
“Sure, let me know.” Jean beamed up at her.
“You don’t need a ride, do you?”
“No, I can take the train.” Jean said. “I’ll, uh- Maybe I’ll just hang out and grab a free drink.”
“Perfect.” Enjolras leant down and air-kissed her cheek. “Have fun.”
***
Enjolras left the building and made for the parking lot with a spring in her step. She was part-way across the quad when she heard her name.
“Hey, Julia.”
She glanced over her shoulder to find, in the flesh, Grantaire gaining on her. The click and grate of her heels grew louder as she trotted up alongside her.
“Hello.” Enjolras looked sideways as if she was a child who had accidentally put its hand in hers in the supermarket. Sun was blinding over her face, soft-edged freckles spread out underneath some sort of shimmer on her cheeks. Not quite highlight. Maybe a shine-foundation. In honesty it looked like she'd used drugstore glitter hair aerosol as a setting spray.
“Did you know that nice young lady is in love with you?” Grantaire said.
“Excuse me?” Enjolras did not stop. She was going to make it to her car and out of this interaction in record time. Her feet were pinching in her heels as they skipped over the lumpy asphalt.
“Redhead back there.” Grantaire pointed back towards Turing Hall. “Poor thing’s mooning over her orange juice. She watched you strut out of that hall like you were princess charming abandoning her at the ball.”
“My assistant?” Enjolras did not permit herself to sound taken aback. She did not reward quirkiness with her attention. “She’s definitely not in love with me.”
“Your program sounds great!” Grantaire skated on brightly. “I’m a fan.”
“Thank you. It is.”
“Did you catch my little number?”
“Your lecture?” Enjolras said blandly. “Yeah. Very interesting.”
“Ouch. Listen, I’m trying to find someone who’ll give me a real answer about where to get a drink around here?”
“They’re keeping it from you, are they?” Enjolras was unable to suppress a short laugh. She cleared her throat.
“They are.” Grantaire said emphatically. “They keep directing me to student bars. I told them I’d sooner go back to working the pole."
Witnessing her energy up close, Enjolras began to wonder if this woman was actually under the influence. It was a huge pet peeve of hers when kids would comment ‘what drug is she on’, and ‘I want what she’s having’ under Grantaire’s posts. It validated the blatant pandering. But right now the cameras were off and the audience was gone, and nevertheless, she was bouncing. Deep brown eyes alert and wide.
“Understandable.” Enjolras said evenly. Grantaire put a hand up to her brow, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. Her nails were the same long, deadly looking acrylics from her videos. On someone else they'd make Enjolras' mouth water. Dark black ink trailed from the join of her wrist under the cuff of her dress. Enjolras lingered there for a moment, identifying the hilt of a dagger disappearing underneath the sleeve.
They’d reached Enjolras’ car and came to an undirected sort of stop beside the bonnet of her Subaru.
“You should try Samuel’s.” She offered. “It’s a little way out but it’s fun. Gay bar.”
“Oh, finally. Thank you, doll. Won’t you join me? I'll be leaving thirty minutes after I get to my hotel and get out of this hideous dress.”
“I don’t know.” She reached into the satchel Jean had brought her. Her hand brushed against the Starbucks cup. Suddenly feeling very weird to have taken it, she ignored it and pulled out her keys.
“I have a lot of work to do. I’ve been preparing for today so, you know, other stuff got left-“
“To fester.” Grantaire supplied.
“-by the wayside.” Enjolras finished shortly.
“Come on. You can’t leave a young woman like me alone in a town like this. I’d love to hear some more about your master's thesis. Sounded fascinating.”
Enjolras rounded her car and clicked the door open. She allowed herself a moment to study Grantaire beneath the glare of the sun. Her dress was swim-suit-tight from collar to breast, and it really was hideous.The sequins were all different shapes, and they popped emerald against black velvet in the daylight. They made no sense beside her messy hair or dirty boots. Even if it had been cohesive, it was a ridiculous outfit to talk at college.
Enjolras bit her lower lip into her mouth, begrudgingly acknowledging that Grantaire somehow made it work. Not just the dress. The whole thing, if only in how puzzlingly nonsensical it was.
“Fine.” She said. “I can be there for seven.”
Enjolras sat with her hands on the wheel of her car, engine on, waiting for Grantaire to clear the parking lot. She had four hours before she needed to head to Samuel's. The thought of hanging around her apartment and waiting made her itchy.
She squinted into the refracted light off the hood of her car, over to the Student's Union and killed the engine.
***
She clicked over to the student bar, businesslike; as if she'd forgotten her ID at the bar and was simply here to collect it off the compact but cute Courfeyrac.
"Hi." she said, ignoring a knowing look on Courf's face.
"I hear your lecture went great today." he was already pouring her a white wine.
A hand landed on her shoulder, startling her. She turned to find Marius from the Philosophy department unsubtly raking a glance down her body. She smiled tightly and inched backwards in as natural a way as she could. Courfeyrac cleared his throat, pushing the wine towards her.
This was Enjolras' own fault. She'd cashed in several lonely evenings after work allowing Marius to press his knee to the inside of her own and eye her chest after a couple of drinks.
“We should go somewhere different sometime.” He'd said last time they were here, huddled in the grasp of an up-cycled crate monstrosity posing as a booth. Groups of twenty-somethings yelling around the pool table four feet to their left. “Away from work.”
This, of course, meant away from students’ and colleagues’ view so he could get his hand up her skirt. Perhaps Enjolras' desire to roll her eyes was ungenerous. She'd been accepting the sweet ciders and rosé he'd been buying her for all of two months. Still, it wasn't happening. Not tonight. She was sad, but she was a little ways from melting into unfamiliar hands.
She'd promptly got to her feet. She swayed, losing balance. He reached out, concern on his face. It made her nauseous.
“Are you okay, Jules?” He said.
“Yeah. It’s the heels.” She found her footing and gathered her purse. “I’m sorry, I forgot I have to feed my neighbour’s cats.”
Now, Courfeyrac was looking unsubtly between the two of them. His boredom of this dance was evident in the square of his shoulders. Courf wasn't a friend, necessarily, but he'd seen Enjolras in a more colourful array of moods and modes than some of her other colleagues. Bar work was like that, she knew from her own college days.
"Thank you." Enjolras said to Marius.
"Do you want to come and sit?" He gestured to a small pair of crates at a table by the window.
"Oh, no. I'm sort of here on an emergency... um-" Enjolras tapped at her glass. Marius blinked at her like he was trying to put a puzzle together. Behind the bar, Courf audibly sighed and turned away to stack dirty glasses in the sink.
"Just a quick one." Enjolras qualified when her floundering refused to land.
"I see. Any plans tonight?"
"My mother's visiting." Enjolras lied briskly, with a tilt of her head. Behind Marius' eyes the puzzle slotted together. He bought it.
"You better down that, then." Marius said amiably. The two of them stood there while she took an awkwardly deep sip.
"Actually, Courf-" she said, fighting down a cough as the mouthful stung in her throat. He turned around wearily. "Can I get this in a plastic cup?"
"That urgent, huh?" Marius said.
"I might as well make use of the buzz and clean up before she gets here."
Marius nodded, something else in his expression now. Enjolras chose not to focus on it and zeroed in on the stream Courfeyrac poured from the glass into a cup.
"Do you want something, Pontmercy?" Courfeyrac wiped his fingers as a single stray droplet of wine escaped the rim. He handed it to Enjolras.
"No." Marius said. "Not right now."
Enjolras clutched the loose plastic in her hands. If she squeezed it even a little bit it would crumple completely. She held her hand perfectly still. Gentle, neutral hold.
"Well, I should go."
"You better had." Marius said with a forced smile. Enjolras forced one back, likely less convincingly. Courfeyrac turned his back on them again, whispering something under his breath.
***
“Be honest. You hate me.” Grantaire’ fingers were templed on the table.
They sat opposite one another in the lounge of Samuel’s. It was a club, but there was a small bar with a terrace at the rear. If you made it around sunset, the whole room was warm with orange light. A dying sunbeam fell into the dregs of Enjolras’s Cosmo which Grantaire had, mysteriously and correctly, selected for her.
It was actually irritating how well she was doing. She had already picked a table near the window when Enjolras arrived. She held out a hand and greeted her with a smile and ’please, call me R’. She kept a grasp on her hand as she guided Enjolras up the step into the lounge.
Enjolras eyed her as she returned to her seat. She wore her same black shoes and tights from the lecture, all beneath a ragged lavender dress and three-quarter length navy jeans. The mismatch was so extreme that it was enthralling. It also quelled Enjolras’ worries that her shoes were too high, or her pants too tight.
She’d debated in the mirror between low ruby kitten heels and black platform Mary-Janes. One look at her ass in the platforms paired with her beige riding slacks and she’d kicked the kitten heels back in the closet, but her confidence faltered at the more-than-one looks she was attracting once she began her walk to the bar.
“Hatred would overstate your impact on my life.” Enjolras said. A response which apparently delighted Grantaire. It put a wide smile on her face. Lots of unlikely things had this effect. Enjolras cursing about her delayed tram as she’d entered the bar; a waiter spilling a glass of tap water onto an old gay couple across the room. Grantaire beamed like she was in an infomercial.
“My classes, though. You don’t like?”
“I think your approach is a little gimmicky.” Enjolras said.
“Sure!” Grantaire was either totally unfazed or was an Oscar winner in waiting. “But wouldn’t you say the same of your own?”
“What are you talking about?” Enjolras said, genuinely surprised. Her teaching style was by-the-book. She was friendly but not over personable; never remembered names. Jean sometimes brought muffins on test days. Totally ordinary.
“You think you’re drawing a flock of grads all hours of every weekday to stare at your anthropological expertise?”
“That’s what they have paid thousands of dollars for, yes.”
“You shouldn’t be ashamed of a gimmick. I, personally, think yours is wonderful.”
“I don’t have a gimmick. I’m not dropping f-bombs on the internet for relatability or whatever. I just teach.” Enjolras prickled. It was silly. Grantaire was a court jester. Nothing she said meant anything.
Cool it, Jules, she heard Jean’s voice in her ear.
Grantaire said nothing, but gestured to Enjolras’s outfit, with a pronounced glance from the tips of her black patent shoes to the lacy collar of her white blouse, tucked neatly into a black corset sprayed to her waist. Enjolras felt like she was being undressed. She put an arm over her lap.
“If you’re referring to my clothing, I wrote an article about self expression in the workplace.”
“Yes. I think we have the same approach, you know.”
“Doubtful. I can send you a link later.”
“I’m familiar.” Grantaire said with a pleasant shake of her head. Her curls were piled behind her ears, spilling out of a velvet green scrunchie.
“So we’re on the same page.” Enjolras bit back. “My style choices have nothing to do with my professional success.”
“That’s not what your paper said.” Grantaire stirred her drink, eyelashes dark against her rounded cheeks as she looked down. Enjolras suddenly became aware of her own day-old make-up. She nonchalantly pressed a knuckle to the bottom of her lash to be sure it wasn’t hanging off.
“What did you think it said?” She asked through her teeth.
“Clothing has no correlation to professional ability. You didn’t analyse success.”
Enjolras bristled. She didn’t care if Grantaire saw it. She worked her ass off for her job and she wasn’t about to hear it degraded by a wannabe-zoomer professor of fucking talking. She took a cooling breath and put on a smile.
“You know, what. I’ve got to go get going.”
“So soon? Alright, darling.” Grantaire smiled up at her like she’d just won a prize.
For an unexplained reason, Enjolras leant down and pressed a kiss beside Grantaire’s cheek before she walked herself calmly across the floor. She didn’t look behind her as the door swung closed, skin prickling in the evening air.
***
“She’s a pain in the ass.” Enjolras said. “As expected.”
Jean was gawping at her across the desk. She’d pulled up the coffee table and was eating breakfast with Enjolras in her office. She didn’t really need to be there that early, but she usually made it in time to bring coffee and a brownie for them to share.
“I can not believe you went out with her.”
“Don’t phrase it that way.” Enjolras wrinkled her nose. “I was curious. But now…”
Enjolras took a bite of the brownie.
“Now, I know.” She said with finality. “She is genuinely nuts though so, credit where it’s due.”
“Are you going to see her again?” Jean’s eyes cast down to where she was ripping up a sugar packet.
Enjolras shrugged.
“I’m sure we’ll run into each other at some point.”
“Well, you definitely don’t have a choice about running into her.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s staying to do an intro to sociology module. Do you ever read the newsletter?”
“No. She’s staying here?”
“Just until summer break.”
“That bitch.” Enjolras breathed, dropping back in her seat.
“Maybe you can make a friend.” Jean said, ripping and ripping at her sugar packet until it was sprinkling into papery snow, an odd edge in her voice.