Work Text:
When people ask Marius and Grantaire how they met, Grantaire always answers before Marius can stop him:
“He offered to pay me, and then we slept together.”
“Rent!” Marius is always flustered, no matter how many times it happens, “I offered to pay rent! We met because I was looking for a place to live!”
Grantaire, of course, finds this hilarious. Partly because of how Marius reacts to it, and partly because what he’s saying is, technically, the truth.
“It is not true!” says Marius, indignant whenever Grantaire uses that particular line of defence.
“Well, it’s trueish. It’s the truth without context. Besides, the truth is a little boring in this case.”
“The truth is not boring!”
It’s almost funny that their argument about this revolves around the truth-or-not of Grantaire explanation, since it was really Marius’ tendency to tell the absolute, whole truth that led to him flat sharing with Grantaire.
He’d been looking for places all week, but it was so close to the start of the semester that campus housing only had a few spaces left on their waiting lists, and most people had already found the flatmates or roommates they needed to make rent. Grantaire’s number had been on a flyer on the notice board outside the campus bookstore - ‘flatmate wanted, furnishings included’.
Grantaire answered after five rings. His voice was hoarse. “Hello?”
“Um, hello, is this Grantaire?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“Um, my name is, uh, Marius, and I saw your flyer for a flat share? I mean, you’re looking for someone to share with? Is the room still available?”
“That’s a lot of questions for this early in the morning.”
“It’s one in the afternoon.”
“I’m sure it’s early morning somewhere in the world. But yeah, the room’s still available. The landlord wants me to interview people, though God only knows why, can you be on campus in like an hour?”
“I’m already on campus, so, yes.”
Grantaire’s laugh turns into a cough. “See you soon then. I’ll meet your outside the café.”
“Okay, I –“ Grantaire had already hung up.
Grantaire arrives ten minutes late, looking a bit like death.
“Marius, right?” Grantaire says, as he drops into the seat opposite him.
“How did you know?”
“Well, there’s no one else here. That was a big clue.” He pauses, and digs around in his battered messenger bag for a moment, bringing out a crumbled piece of paper and a pen. “Right, let’s get this over with, question time. Name?”
“Marius Ponmercy.”
“Age?”
“Twenty one.”
“Uh huh,” Grantaire scribbles the answers down, “and what are you studying?”
“I’m, uh, majoring in political science.”
“You got a job to help pay rent?”
“Um, maybe? I just had a job interview at the bookstore on campus, and I think it went okay? They’re supposed to call me tomorrow.”
“Mmm hmmm. Okay, last question: why this place?”
“What?”
“Well, it’s nine days before classes start. I would think that a political science major like yourself would be better organised.”
Marius’ uncle often told him that his biggest flaw was his tendency to speak before thinking things through. That is not Marius’ actual problem. He does think before he speaks. It’s just that he’s always felt that a quick truth is better and easier than thinking up a lie, even if that quick truth is embarrassing or stupid.
“I had other housing lined up, the campus housing? It’s sort of supposed to be part of the scholarship I got. But I got kicked off the wait-listing.”
Grantaire puts the pen down flat on the table, looking interested for the first time. “Seriously? What did you do?”
“It’s more like what I didn’t do. My grandfather is good friends with the Dean, and he doesn’t exactly approve of my choices. My scholarship had already gone through so he couldn’t get it revoked, but the campus housing technically isn’t a part of the scholarship, it’s only heavily implied that your application will be sped through. In my case I think it was probably put through a shredder.”
He might be a little bitter about it.
Grantaire snorts at that. “Your grandfather doesn’t approve of you being a political science major?”
“Oh, he’s fine with that part. It’s what I intend to do with it that’s the problem.”
“And what, exactly, do you intend to with it?”
Marius smiled sheepishly. “Work for a non-profit.”
Grantaire put his hand over his heart, dramatic. “Oh, the horror, the shame!”
“Well, the world would be a dull old place if we were all like our parents. That’s what I always tell my sister, anyway.” Grantaire scribbled something else on the paper. “Right, when can you move in?”
“Um, any time, really. I don’t really know too many people so I’m kind of sleeping in my car right now.”
“Well, in that case, you can move in today if you want.”
“Are you serious?”
“As an classical theory textbook. I mean, you seem like an okay guy, and I -”
“Thank you! I really don’t know what else I would have, I mean, thank you.” Marius leaned across the table and gave Grantaire what he would later describe as The World’s Most Awkward Hug.
Grantaire freezes for a moment and then pats Marius on the back. “Um, well, if you’re paying half the rent then you’re kind of doing me a favour.”
Grantaire laughs when he sees Marius’ car, the backseat piled with boxes. Marius’ old suitcase balanced on top, half open.
“Holy shit, you really were living in your car!”
“It was just for a couple of days. I was driving down before that.”
They swap quick, introductory stories on the way to the house – Grantaire grew up quite close to the university, but he spent a year travelling through Europe (“mostly bartending and sleeping in bus stations” but his smile is light, only happy memories). Marius grew up in a boarding school, and he doesn’t miss a thing about it (“it was built about two hundred miles from the closest town, basically just to make it harder for you to run away”).
“Well, here we are,” says Grantaire as they pull up, “your new home.”
It’s an older-style brick apartment, tiny and two stories. The window frames and the door have been painted bright red, and a climbing rose is overtaking one of the downstairs windows.
Marius falls in love instantly.
He notices Grantaire looking at him expectantly. Marius beams at him. “I love it!”
Grantaire laughs. “You haven’t even seen inside yet.”
He does a quick tour of the house –
Downstairs: “The kitchen is a bit gross-looking, I know, but that’s just the colour of the tiles.”
“My old flatmate actually found this couch by the side of the road. It’s great, if put all your weight in the middle, you’ll fall through. So, uh, don’t do that.”
“I’ve just been keeping all my art crap under the stairs, but I can move it into my room if you need the space.”
And upstairs: “My room, covered in paint at the moment, don’t tell the landlord.”
“The hot tap has a tendency to fall off if you twist it too hard too fast, so unless you like cold showers, don’t do that.”
“Here’s your room, I –“
Marius cuts him off then, turning around to take in the old wooden dresser, the cheap computer desk, and the ikea-standard-double bed. “Excellent!”
“Well, I guess it’s not like you need a lot of room for your stuff, unless you’ve got more coming?”
“No, it’s just what’s in the car. Speaking of which, could you give me a hand bringing it up?”
“No.” Grantaire laughs at the look on Marius’ face. “Of course I can, you’ve only got like three boxes.”
They order pizza after they move the boxes (there is, in fact, five boxes, plus two suitcases, and a garbage bag that has Marius’ bedding in it), and fall asleep together on the couch. It’s the best sleep Marius has had in two weeks, and when he wakes there’s a blanket over him.
When Grantaire wakes up a few hours later, Marius makes breakfast as a thank you.
“Wow”, says Grantaire, “you are my new best friend.”
Marius laughs.
(It turns out to be true.)