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Grantaire never bought into the whole “prom is the best night of your life” bullshit. It was the stupidest marketing gambits he had ever heard, and anyone who fell for it was an idiot, or would end up leading incredibly sad, boring lives. No matter where you went to school, prom would be just another lame, cheesy high school dance. Albeit a more expensive lame cheesy high school dance than the run of the mill homecoming or winter formal.
So it’s not like he was planning on enjoying his prom. (And the only reason he was going in the first place was because Joly thought it was integral to Grantaire’s high school experience). But he didn’t expect to be so miserable. And he shouldn’t be miserable, because against all expectations, the senior student government managed to put together an actually nice event. It might be the first prom in the history of the school that was kind of cool.
No, the cause of Grantaire’s misery was actually the reason the prom was (to everyone else) such a success in the first place, because the cause of his misery was senior class president. The cause of Grantaire’s misery was currently serving punch and chatting happily to Combeferre.
Bossuet tutted.
“Am I being obvious?” Grantaire asked.
“The only thing more obvious than the way you’re staring at Enjolras is the way he’s not staring at you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” Bossuet said.
“I’m thirsty,” Joly said loudly. “Let’s get a drink.”
Grantaire squinted suspiciously at him. Joly had a surprisingly good poker face. There was a chance Joly had gotten distracted and hadn’t heard Grantaire and Bossuet’s exchange. It was unlikely though.
“Unless that’s a problem?” Joly said, fluttering his eyelashes innocently.
That devious bastard.
“Not a problem at all.”
So they went to the refreshment table, where Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre were ladling out drinks and resupplying snacks. The proceeds of the prom were supposed to go towards funding the senior class trip. Enjolras had suggested not using a wait staff, and using the money saved on service to go towards helping make the senior class trip more affordable to students who otherwise might not be able to attend. The student government members seemed enthusiastic about this suggestion, and had eagerly signed up for shifts.
“Hey!” Courfeyrac said, pouring drinks for them before they reached the table. “Having fun?”
Joly nodded. “The place looks great. The decorations are really nice.”
“The decoration credit all goes to Jehan,” Combeferre said. “I’ll let him know. You guys are still on for your shift later, right?”
Joly and Bossuet replied in the affirmative.
“Who else is going to be joining us?” Bossuet asked.
“Me,” said Enjolras.
“Double shifts?” Joly said. “I don’t envy you.”
“I’m not taking double shifts,” Enjolras said. “I’m doing every shift.”
Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged a look that said they didn’t approve of him working so hard, but were smart enough not to say it. Grantaire however, could never resist doing something stupid, especially if that something stupid involved riling up Enjolras, so of course he opened his mouth.
“Jeez. It’s prom. You should loosen up and have a little bit of fun.”
Enjolras stiffened before he finally looked at Grantaire. “Of course that’d be your recommendation. After all, you’re the expert in ‘having a bit of fun’. Some of us have other priorities. Now if you’ll excuse me, we need more cups.”
“What,” Combeferre said as soon as Enjolras was out of earshot. “Was that all about?”
His stony expression said that he had guessed what it might be about, but Grantaire wasn’t going to confirm it for him. “I have to pee,” he blurted, then all but fled.
Almost the entire school knew he and Enjolras didn’t see eye to eye on most things. Almost the entire school also knew he and Enjolras had started making out in supply closets or empty classrooms earlier that year. Apparently the building tension between them was a subject of much interest to their peers. There was Enjolras, the golden boy who was obviously destined for greatness (despite his frequent visits to the principal’s office for being disruptive). And there was Grantaire, the class clown, who was good at making his classmates laugh and not much else. Apparently, everyone who ever saw the two of them go at it at in student government meetings knew it was only a matter of time before the dam of unresolved sexual tension exploded and Enjolras and Grantaire.
What wasn’t common knowledge was what happened about a month ago. They had been in the middle of an intense make-out session when Enjolras pulled away.
“Go to prom with me,” he said breathlessly.
Grantaire froze. “What?”’
“I said go to prom with me. Please.”
This was bad. This was not good. Grantaire could handle being Enjolras’s (badly kept) dirty little secret. But anything more than that, anything even vaguely resembling a relationship meant Grantaire had a bigger chance to mess things up, and Enjolras was too important to disappoint. Grantaire had to get out before it got too serious.
“I didn’t think we were really the type to go to prom together,” Grantaire said lightly.
“But we could be,” Enjolras said earnestly. “I like you, and I think we could be really good together. Give me a chance to prove it.”
It was everything Grantaire wanted to hear. He had dreamed of Enjolras saying something like this for years. It was finally coming true. Which terrified the shit out of him.
“Sorry, but I really don’t see us that way.”
“What do you mean?”
Grantaire shrugged. “I always thought this was just a bit of fun.”
Enjolras scanned his face carefully, because he wasn’t as oblivious as people liked to think he was. “Why are you saying this?”
Because he was scared and had never been brave. Because he didn’t deserve Enjolras.
Grantaire shrugged. “Because it’s true. I don’t feel that way about you.”
In the month that followed, things between them became more tense than they had ever been before. Rather than arguing with Grantaire or openly expressing his disdain, Enjolras did something far worse and either ignored him, or treated him with indifference. Maybe it was time to bury the hatchet.
He found Enjolras in the hallway. Surprisingly, Enjolras actually did have cups with him.
“I need to talk to you,” Grantaire told him.
“I’m busy,” Enjolras replied, not even breaking stride.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.” He didn’t have to specify what he was referring to.
That at least got Enjolras stop and look at him.
“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” he said.
“Really? Then why have you been acting so pissed at me?”
“You know, you told me once that you believed in me,” Enjolras said. “I always thought you fight for the things you believe in. You didn’t hurt my feelings because I know you like me the same way I like you. You have feelings for me. But if you’re not willing to give us a chance, let alone fight for us, what do those feelings even mean?”
Grantaire froze and couldn’t do anything but watch Enjolras walk away.
He stayed in that hallway for what seemed like forever until Joly and Bossuet found him.
“Come on,” Joly sighed. “Let’s get you dancing. That always makes you feel better, right?”
It did, because dancing was one of the few things Grantaire prided himself on being able to do well. He danced for about an hour, and it still wasn’t enough to completely dispel the rain cloud Grantaire felt over him. He was about to slip out again, when the music paused, and Courfeyac, the class secretary bounded on stage.
“And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for!” Courfeyrac said enthusiastically. “Time to announce the prom queen and king!”
The audience cheered.
“Our class secretary, Combeferre tallied up the votes,” Courfeyrac said, waving a sealed envelope in front of everyone, who nodded their approval. Combeferre had an infallible reputation for honesty and integrity. “So first, let’s announce our queen.”
Courfeyrac was a great showman, and made a production of opening the envelope.
“Ms. Cosette Fauchelevent. Get up here, Cosette!”
Cosette was all smiles as she ascended the stage, looking radiant in her pink dress that she had designed and sewn herself. She graciously accepted the crown and a large bouquet of flowers.
“And now, the prom king, with who our queen will share a dance with,” Courfeyrac took a deep breath and opened the envelope. “Mr. Jean Grantaire!”
Grantaire stiffened, even as he felt hands on his back pushing him towards the stage. He always assumed his classmates just put up with his antics, but maybe they actually liked him. Grantaire felt unsteady onstage. He chanced a glance out in the audience, and saw Enjolras lining up punch cups and refilling them, paying him absolutely no mind. And it hurt.
He knew what he had to do. He stumbled towards the microphone. Courfeyrac took a step back, like he was operating on auto-pilot.
“Thank you, for this,” Grantaire said, gesturing to the crown. “But uh, you know, I don’t really believe in monarchy as a system.”
Titters rippled through the crowd. Enjolras paused in his refreshment duties, and Grantaire thought he detected a glimmer of a smile.
“And no offense to Cosette, but there is only person in this room tonight that I want to dance with, if I haven’t completely ruined things,” Enjolras now stopped pretending to not hear him and looked right at him. “So with that in mind,” Grantaire swallowed. “I would like to abdicate and name Marius Pontmercy as my successor. Not as prom king. But as your democratically elected prom representative.”
Courfeyrac hit Grantaire on the back, grinning like a maniac. Grantaire hopped off stage, only dimly aware that everyone was watching him as he strode through the parted crowd to where Enjolras stood.
“May I have this dance?”
“You’re always so dramatic,” Enjolras muttered.
“Is that a no?”
“It’s a yes, you complete dork,” Enjolras said, accepting Grantaire’s hand.
They joined Cosette and Marius in the center of the dance floor. It was nice, holding Enjolras so close, and finally admitting that there was something between them. It wasn’t the best night of Grantaire’s life- he hoped that was still ahead of him (ahead of them, if he was lucky). But it was probably in the top ten.