We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.
Sam Keen

The office had been a madhouse. Everyone had been at each others throats. It as the start of autumn, the season of change and death – of promotions and lay-backs – and it seemed that everyone could feel it. The team of young men Enjolras worked with were practically tearing each others throats out with their teeth. He'd contemplated opening the third story window and leading his coworkers out single file by the authority of the decorative rifle their boss kept over his desk.

Enjolras unlocked the door to his apartment and pushed inside, sending up a little thankful prayer that he hadn't accepted either of his best friend's offers to move in with him once they'd moved on to the university. He wasn't in the mood to deal with anything beyond finding the right news channel and the softest clothes he owned. His stomach was twisting on itself with the need to eat but he couldn't even entertain the thought of finding something edible in his house.

He walked in and a delicious smell hit him full in the face. Savory, warm, mouth-watering. The TV was on and set to a news station already. The blonde quickly hung up his jacket and put his briefcase aside, following his nose all the way to the kitchen. There was a huge meal laid out on his usually paper-strewn wooden table. All the files and books that had been there before were now stacked neatly against the wall. A painter with a stubbled jaw knelt in front of the oven, watching through the little window as whatever was inside baked to (most likely) perfection.

Grantaire turned to look at him, long curls bouncing across his forehead and grazing his cheeks, "There you are."

"R," Enjolras leaned against the doorway, "I didn't expect you. What's going on?"

"The few texts you sent me today sounded tense." Grantaire stood and went to the fridge, pulling out some chilled wine. "I wanted to do something nice for you."

"You really didn't have to," Enjolras pointed out, watching the other pop open the bottle and carefully pour out a glass. "This must have taken hours."

"Not nearly." Grantaire pushed the class into his hand and pushed him towards the living room, forcing him to sit down on the couch. "Stay here. I'll get a plate together."

"Really, Grantaire, this is too m – hm." His protest was silenced with a firm kiss to the mouth.

"Shut up," the younger man gave his hair a little tug, making him grin, "Watch your boring daily dose of failing democracy and let me feed you."

Enjolras watched his denim-clad savior walk back into the kitchen. The tension flowed out of him, shoulders slumping into the cushion while he kicked off his much-too-expensive shoes. Usually he was much too meticulous and worried about the strain on the structure but tonight he didn't care. He sipped at the deliciously tart drink and let his eyes lazily follow the ticker tape scrolling along the bottom of the screen.

Grantaire came back in with two plates, putting one in front of the blonde and the other in his own lap. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table and started shoving the brown sauce covered beef in his face, managing to scoop up some rice with each forkful. Enjolras stared down into his wine, letting it swirl around a few times before his mind caught up.

"Where did you get the money for all this?"

Grantaire grinned around the lip of his beer. He set it aside before digging into his pocket, pale digits plucking out a sizable wad of cash held together with a rubber band.

Blue eyes went wide. "R...where did you get that?"

"I sold my two Apollo paintings as a set to an art dealer in Paris," Grantaire proclaimed proudly, " 'Ponine made me put pictures of them up on her website and this guy fell in love with them. He practically gave me a blank check. He drove down here to get them and everything. It was pretty fantastic."

He tossed the money on the table before returning to his food with a gusto. Enjolras just stared, mouth gaping dumbly as he processed what he'd just heard. Sold the paintings? The ones inspired by him? He wasn't sure what the feeling in his gut was but it was hard to keep down.

"You sold the archangel painting you just finished?"

"Mm-hmm."

"And the...one of me?"

"Yep."

Enjolras frowned at the TV, mulling it over.

Grantaire saw this, tongue darting out to lap the sauce from his lip. "Enj...you aren't angry, are you?"

"Of course not." He quickly slapped a smile on his face. "They are your pieces and I'm happy you sold them. As I always am. I just thought that they would hold some sentimentality."

" 'Sentiment'?"

"It's not funny," Enjolras insisted as red colored his cheeks, "I thought they meant a lot to you."

"I don't need them anymore," Grantaire laughed and shoved an elbow into the older man's side, "I have you now, O' Fearless Leader. What is paint and canvas compared to your sweet flesh?"

Enjolras felt the breath leave him. "Grantaire."

He was still smiling, "What?"

"I just..." Perfect teeth grazed over the swell of his mouth. "It's nothing."

Deciding that the matter was over, Grantaire started talking about the leading story. Amid the chatter about Venezuela and the riots, Enjolras' mind started whirling around the plans he'd been laying down for years. New options started sliding into place, decisions he'd deemed hard started to soften up. Like the proverbial Grinch, he felt his heart grow three sizes in his chest. He watched the man's face dance with a dozen different emotions as he talked of the plight.

Grantaire was...spectacular.

Grantaire didn't want to wake up but his brain was already ahead of him. He'd never fall back asleep now. The artist stretched out to warm and flex all his muscles, pillows and blankets shifting and moving with him. He made an embarrassingly high noise as his ribs and spine popped to make themselves known. He collapsed into the mattress with a satisfied purr and managed to pry his eyes open.

He gave a small gasp of surprise. Cobalt shaded eyes were staring back at him, miles of tan skin laid out beside him with only a strip of sheet to hide his lover's modesty. Golden hair was ruffled up in mountainous spikes that, if traced, could have easily made a halo. There was a soft look upon Enjolras' face, lips curled upwards in an easy smile.

He looked (dare he even think it) happy.

"Come with me."

The words were sweet, reminding him of all the times the man kissed him on the cheek or ran his fingers through his curls.

Grantaire rubbed a fist across his tired eyes, blinking hard in an attempt to clear the haze of the early hour. "I'm sorry?"

"Towards the end of summer, Combeferre and I are planning on leaving to Paris," Enjolras replied, gaze dancing over him, "He's applied for a job there. 'Head of Finance' for some up-and-coming green company. It's fine pay and he could do some real good if he can help them up off the ground. I've already talked to my boss and there's no bad blood if I transfer there. It's a different firm but they looked over my work and they're overjoyed to have me. I'll be within a real courtroom, speaking on the behalf of others. It's all I've ever wanted and – my God, you're beautiful when you just wake up."

Grantaire blushed all the way up to his hairline, but the nagging worm of hurt in heart wouldn't leave.

"You're going? Strike that." He managed to sit up on his elbows, glaring down the blonde, "You've already gone in your mind, which means I'm really here in bed alone."

The bliss on Enjolras' face faded. "What do you mean?"

Grantaire swallowed thickly, afraid to choke, "It means I've already been left behind."

"No." A look of horror came over the man's handsome face and he sat up quickly, grabbing the artist's hand and squeezing. "God, R, no! It's quite the opposite."

"When were you planning on telling me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"With no warning! No hint!"

"I just figured it out last night," the blonde actually grinned, "This is the earliest warning I could give."

"And before?" he accused, not falling into that smile, "What were you going to do yesterday morning with me?"

"I wanted to know if we would work," Enjolras replied in that bluntly honest way that meant he'd never handled something like this before, "I had to know you were ready to stay at my side, if it should come down to it."

Realization clicked. "The paintings?"

Full lips grazed his knuckles. "You are a dynamic young man, R, and I would be happy to spend the rest of my life trying to figure you out."

"I love you," Grantaire spilled out in a stupid, flat tone, "I've never heard you say it to me, and I would never want to if you didn't mean it."

Golden brows knit together. "Have I not just said that?"

His laugh was bitter and wrong for the tenderness of the situation. "I think I would remember."

"Is 'love' not offering up their life to someone else in hopes they will share it with you? Is 'love' something else than desiring to wake up with someone every morning and fall in bed with them every night? I want to go to work and find paint on my new shirt. I want you to be out in the world trying to sketch shadows and discover I've packed you snacks because you never remember to. I want to live with you next to 'Ferre and 'Feyrac. I want to-" Enjolras laughed brightly, "I want to accidentally hear them have sex through the wall and be grossed out with you!"

The laughter was infectious. "I want that too!"

"I love you," Enjolras enunciated sharply with that same sweet tone, letting it flow with the same rhythm into the next words, "Come with me."

Grantaire felt his chest go tight.

"Are they not the same?" the blonde murmured, brushing some hair back from the other's face.

"They are," Grantaire sniffed, shaking his head, "God, Apollo, of course they are."

"Will you take my father's money?" Enjolras pushed tentatively, "I won't unless you agree."

"One hundred thousand euro buys a shit ton of paint."

They dropped their foreheads together, sharing a small laugh.

"I will follow you anywhere," Grantaire swore.

"I will take you with me," Enjolras promised back.

Their noses brushed, two sets of blue eyes falling closed as they swathed themselves in the intimacy of the moment.

"It won't be easy."

"God damn it, Enjolras." Grantaire dragged their hands up and placed a kiss on both of them, letting his teeth dig a little into the side of the blonde's palm. "When has anything ever been easy for us?"

Alright, alright *slow clap* Tears all around, right? I'm sorry it took so long but I was clinging onto this story tooth and nail. It survived not one but TWO computer malfunctions. I literally lost it twice and still managed to finish it. Not many of my fics can say that. The boys are just too much fun to write and I'm here to say that I am SO NOT done writing in the Les Mis fandom. You guys are truly welcoming and sweet and – damn – dedicated.

There's going to be a sequel to this where we learn how 'Ferre and 'Feyrac manage to cope with the move and how all that goes. Maybe do a little drop in visit from the others, but definitely get a peek at E and R and how they get along. There's that fishing AU to deal with, plus – sorry, not sorry – I started another Les Mis AU with E/R as the main couple and you'll never actually guess what kind of crossover it is.

Skyrim.

No, I'm not joking and I'm not apologizing because it's so much fun to play the game as my Enjolras character. I channel the muse through to him and make game decisions off that. It's a very political game so our fearless leader fits right in. But how does Grantaire fit? You'll find out (and so will I because I haven't got that far). It won't be a long thing, just a series of one shots since I've been working on that skill.

MORAL OF THE STORY:

If you haven't written E/R yourself, do it. You'll learn some things, you'll fall in love, you'll cry, you'll angst, it's fantastic. Trust me. That, and keep the above quote in mind next time you go looking for love. Thoughtful, true words.

My friends, I must leave you now. Last bow and all that. I really hope you did enjoy it, and I hope you had as much reading and waiting for it as I had writing it. It was one of my favorite experiences and I'll never regret it.

If you've been around since the beginning, thank you for sticking around for all of that. If you've been reading it for the past twelve hours and you should've been sleeping/doing homework/studying/cleaning, you need to go take a nap and get some food probably.

I love you guys. The boys love you too.